For a moment he drew back in dismay; but the singularity of the other man's occupation arrested him. He was kneeling on the floor before the wall at the far end of the room. He had a lamp or candle by his side. What on earth was he doing? Had he surprised the Lord High Chancellor, the keeper of the King of England's conscience, worshipping by stealth at some pagan shrine? What were the rites he was performing? Curiosity impelled Mr. Hilton forward. As he drew nearer, the situation unfolded itself. He had done the Lord Chancellor an injustice. It was not he. A man was kneeling before a safe built into the wall. He was drilling holes into the door by the light of a lamp. He was a real burglar! The humour of the situation struck Mr. Hilton so keenly that he nearly laughed. For some time he watched the operation, expecting each moment to be discovered. Then, as the man continued absorbed in his work, Mr. Hilton sank noiselessly into an easy chair behind him. To prepare for contingencies, his hand had stolen to his coat pocket, and now held a small revolver. For half an hour longer he continued to admire the businesslike methods of the burglar. The door of the safe had now been pierced through all round the lock. The man turned to reach another tool. In so doing his eye caught sight of a patent leather boot and a trouser leg, where before there had been empty space. The phenomenon fascinated him. He slowly turned his head, following the clue upward until his eyes were level with the barrel of Mr. Hilton's revolver. His jaw fell, and he stiffened. "Please keep as you are for a minute," said a low voice from behind the weapon. "I wish you to understand the situation. There is no immediate cause for anxiety. I am--er--a friend in disguise. You may go on with your most interesting work. I shall give no alarm. Do you understand?" "Who the blazes are you?" asked the burglar. "Your curiosity is natural. I am in your own noble profession--a top-sawyer or a swell mobsman, I forget which; but I have the certificate at home." "None of yer gammon," said the burglar. "Can't you put that thing down an' say wot yer game is." "William," Mr. Hilton replied, "I wish you clearly to understand that you have nothing at all to do with my game. You go on drilling those nice little holes. When you've got that door open we'll discuss matters further. Please proceed." [Illustration: "'YOU MAY GO ON WITH YOUR MOST INTERESTING WORK.'" (_p. 141._)] "D'you take me for a mug?" asked the burglar defiantly. "I shall, if you don't go on with your work. This instrument goes off on the slightest provocation, and the wound it makes is very painful." The burglar turned, and resumed his work; but he did not seem to have much heart in it, nor to derive much encouragement from Mr. Hilton's occasional promptings. Every now and then he looked round suspiciously. Another half-hour passed before he had prized the bolts back, and the door was open.