There is no use disguising the fact any longer. Mr. Lucas was a burglar, and he now proceeded to act after the manner of his craft. After affixing some adhesive material to the pane, he began to cut out a square of the window. The glass was thick, so the process was long, but Mr. Lucas toiled at it with a patience and perseverance worthy of a better cause. Only once did he desist--to follow the suggestion of a sudden impulse, and try all the windows of the house. But each was fastened, and Mr. Lucas resumed his original labour. It was fully an hour before he drew out the square of glass which enabled him to undo the catch inside. Then nearly as long passed before the removal of a second square at the foot allowed him to unscrew the bottom fastening. The window was open at last, and Lucas stepped inside. It was the second burglary of his life, and he reflected that so far all that had happened was greatly to the credit of his professional abilities. A moment afterwards he was chilled by the later thought that nothing in particular had happened so far, and that the possibilities of the near future were very great indeed. With his stealthy entry into Mr. Meyer's villa the personality of that gentleman had suddenly oppressed him. At Bournemouth all that day, with the sun shining, and the band playing popular airs, Mr. Meyer had occurred to him merely as an eccentric German gentleman; but now, at something after midnight, in the deathly stillness of his villa, Mr. Lucas only remembered the Teuton's sharp, decisive utterances, his piercing glances, and his large general reputation for unpleasantness as an enemy. Perhaps it was the sight of Mr. Meyer's empty chair that had brought this train of thought to his mind. The big folio he had been reading was still at its side. Lucas flashed his electric pocket light on the open page. "Love's Labour's Lost" met his eyes. This struck him as ominous. Lucas pulled himself together. What had he to do with empty chairs, and old folios, and omens? He was a burglar, out for the night on urgent business. Let him attend to it, and keep his dreams and soliloquies for the daytime. He walked across the polished floor, his rubber soles being absolutely noiseless. He raised the heavy curtain, and passed beneath it through the archway. There in front of him was the marble hall, bathed in coloured moonlight. The fountain played softly to the tones of gold, azure and red cast from the stained-glass window. If Mr. Lucas had been conversant with Keats he would doubtless have thought of St. Agnes' Eve; but presumably Mr. Lucas did not, for, keeping well to the wall, he stole quickly across to where stood the case containing the miniatures. [Illustration: "LUCAS DROPPED IT CAREFULLY INTO THE POCKET OF HIS NORFOLK JACKET." (_p. 218._)] "You bress de button, and it releases de trawers. So." He smiled as Mr. Meyer's pronunciation came back to him. He followed the instructions, and the drawers were free.