rimly, and, bidding the constables to remain on the
landing, led the way upwards.

As we ascended, faint rustlings continued to be audible from above, and
on the second-floor landing we met a man descending briskly, but without
hurry, from the third. It was Mr. Barton, and I could not but admire the
composure with which he passed the two detectives. But suddenly his
glance fell on Thorndyke, and his composure vanished. With a wild stare
of incredulous horror, he halted as if petrified; then he broke away and
raced furiously down the stairs, and a moment later a muffled shout and
the sound of a scuffle told us that he had received a check. On the next
flight we met two more men, who, more hurried and less self-possessed,
endeavoured to push past; but the sergeant barred the way.

"Why, bless me!" exclaimed the latter, "it's Moakey; and isn't that Tom
Harris?"

"It's all right, sergeant," said Moakey plaintively, striving to escape
from the officer's grip. "We've come to the wrong house, that's all."

The sergeant smiled indulgently. "I know," he replied. "But you're
always coming to the wrong house, Moakey; and now you're just coming
along with me to the right house."

He slipped his hand inside his captive's coat, and adroitly fished out a
large, folding jemmy; whereupon the discomforted burglar abandoned all
further protest.

On our return to the first-floor, we found Mr. Barton sulkily awaiting
us, handcuffed to one of the constables, and watched by Polton with
pensive disapproval.

"I needn't trouble you to-night, Doctor," said the sergeant, as he
marshalled his little troop of captors and captives. "You'll hear from
us in the morning. Good-night, sir."

The melancholy procession moved off down the stairs, and we retired into
our chambers with Anstey to smoke a last pipe.

"A capable man, that Barton," observed Thorndyke--"ready, plausible, and
ingenious, but spoilt by prolonged contact with fools. I wonder if the
police will perceive the significance of this little affair."

"They will be more acute than I am if they do," said I.

"Naturally," interposed Anstey, who loved to "cheek" his revered senior,
"because there isn't any. It's only Thorndyke's bounce. He is really in
a deuce of a fog himself."

However this may have been, the police were a good deal puzzled by the
incident, for, on the following morning, we received a visit from no
less a person than Superintendent Miller, of Scotland Yard.

"T