"Gracious me!" cried the alarmed Mrs. Jeckell. "A thief! He may be murderin' Samuel!" She rushed across to the plate room, and in a minute a storm of voices proceeded therefrom. Finally the three emerged, two hot and flurried, and the stranger, looking cool and determined, carrying a bag in one hand and a gold cup in the other. The porter hung on to his arm. The artist was in front of the door. When she saw the man with the bag and cup she gave a little gasp of surprise, and a wave of colour overspread her face. The man seemed equally astonished. "You!" he said at last. "They're both thieves," whispered Mrs. Jeckell to her husband. "They're acting in collision. I'll shout for the perlice while you keep 'em." And she ran from the room. "You are in danger," said the artist rapidly in French. "Put the cup in your pocket. Give me the bag, and knock the porter down." The man obeyed with the promptitude of a soldier. Leaving Mr. Jeckell prostrate on the floor, they hurried from the Hall. At the street door was Mrs. Jeckell, wildly beckoning to a distant policeman. "You take down there," said the artist. "Good-bye." She ran off in the opposite direction, still holding the bag, and dived down a side street. Mrs. Jeckell grew frantically insistent to the policeman, who now came up. "Which one?" he puffed. "The man. No, it's in the bag. Both of 'em," she cried. At this moment her husband appeared at the door, with blood streaming from his nose. "They've killed Samuel," cried his horrified wife, running to him; but the policeman, though he wore the badge of St. John of Jerusalem on his arm, dashed down the street after the lady. By the time he returned, after a fruitless pursuit, Mr. Jeckell's nose had stopped bleeding. "Did you hever?" said the porter. "What the blazes did she mean by first givin' the alarm and then aidin' and abettin'? And she looked so innercent-like, too. The first hartist as I've ever encouraged, and the larst. Whatever will Mr. Toft say, Maria? It's as much as my place is worth. After all these years of faithful service, too!" But Mr. Toft was less demonstrative than might have been expected. The next gathering of the Burglars' Club proved the most important in the history of the Club since its foundation. Every detail of it is firmly impressed on the memory of each member present; yet they never by any chance refer to that meeting. One and all would like to forget it--if they could. It was held at Marmaduke Percy's rooms, his Grace of Dorchester, the President of the year, being in the chair. The Secretary read the minutes, and concluded: "The business of the evening is the payment of an entrance fee--the Nelson Goblet of the Fellmongers' Company--by Martin Legendre Craven, fourth Baron Horton, a cadet member of the Club." Lord Horton entered, bowed, and amidst general applause, placed on the table a richly-chased goblet of gold.