y. Come and look."

Well, I was up by then, and half awake, so I tries to peer out into the
back yard. I'm all for grantin' a general alibi, though.

"Maybe you was only dreamin', Vee," says I. "Anyway, let's wait until
mornin', and then----"

"There!" she breaks in excited. "Just beyond the garden trellis. See?"

Yep. There's no denyin' that someone is sneakin' around out there. First
off I thought it might be a female in a white skirt and a raincoat; but
when we gets the head showin' plain above some bushes we can make out a
mustache.

"It's a man!" gasps Vee, clutchin' me by the sleeve.

"Uh-huh," says I. "So it is."

"Well?" says Vee.

I expect that was my cue to come across with the bold and noble acts.
But, somehow, I didn't yearn to dash out into the moonlight in my
pajamas and mix in rough with a total stranger. But I didn't mean to
give it away if I could help it.

"Got a nerve, ain't he?" says I. "Let's wait; maybe he'll fall into the
pond."

"How absurd!" says Vee. "No; we must do something right away."

"Of course," says I. "I'll shout and ask him what the blazes he thinks
he's doin'."

"Don't," says Vee. "There may be others--in the house. And before you
let him know you see him, you ought to be armed. Get your revolver."

At that I just gawped at Vee, for she knows well enough I don't own
anything more deadly than a safety razor, and that all the gun-play I
ever indulged in was once or twice at a Coney Island shootin' gallery
where I slaughtered a clay pipe by aimin' at a glass ball.

"Whaddye mean, revolver?" I asks.

"S-s-s-sh!" says she. "There's that Turkish pistol, you know, that Mr.
Shinn left hanging over the mantel in the living-room."

"Think it's loaded?" I whispers.

"It might be," says Vee. "Anyway, it's better than nothing. Let's get
it."

"All right," says I. "Soon as I get something on. Just a sec."

So I jumps into a pair of trousers and a coat and some bath slippers,
while Vee throws on a dressin'-sack. We feels our way sleuthy
downstairs, and after rappin' my shins on a couple of rockers I gets
down the old pistol. It's a curious, wicked-lookin' antique about two
feet long, with a lot of carvin' and silver inlay on the barrel. I'd
never examined the thing to see how it worked, but it feels sort of
comfortin' just to grip it in my hand. We unlocks the back door easy.

"Now you stay inside, Vee," says I, "while I go scoutin' and----"

"No indeed," says Vee. "I am