He also thought of thieving cats, and thanked them mentally. He
likewise became aware of the near presence of pastry. The smell was
delicious, but a sense of duty restrained him.

Number 666 smiled to himself to think how well his trap had acted, but
the smile was lost in darkness.

Meanwhile, the chief operator, Bunky, went round to the back door.
Sniveller, who had been taught the geography of the mansion from a
well-executed plan, proceeded to the same door inside. Giles could have
patted his little head as he carefully drew back the bolts and turned
the key. Another moment, and Bunky, on his stocking soles, stood within
the mansion.

Yet another moment, and Bunky was enjoying an embrace that squeezed most
of the wind out of his body, strong though he was, for Number 666 was
apt to forget his excessive power when duty constrained him to act with
promptitude.

"Now, then, show a light," said Giles, quietly.

Two bull's-eyes flashed out their rich beams at the word, and lit up a
tableau of three, in attitudes faintly resembling those of the Laocoon,
without the serpents.

"Fetch the bracelets," said Giles.

At these words the bull's-eyes converged, and Sniveller, bolting through
the open door, vanished--he was never heard of more!

Then followed two sharp _clicks_, succeeded by a sigh of relief as
Number 666 relaxed his arms.

"You needn't rouse the household unless you feel inclined, my man," said
Giles to Bunky in a low voice.

Bunky did _not_ feel inclined. He thought it better, on the whole, to
let the sleeping dogs lie, and wisely submitted to inevitable fate. He
was marched off to jail, while one of the constables remained behind to
see the house made safe, and acquaint Sir Richard of his deliverance
from the threatened danger.

Referring to this matter on the following day in the servants' hall,
Thomas Balls filled a foaming tankard of ginger-beer--for, strange to
say, he was an abstainer, though a butler--and proposed, in a highly
eulogistic speech, the health and prosperity of that admirable body of
men, the Metropolitan Police, with which toast he begged to couple the
name of Number 666!

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

NUMBER 666 OFF DUTY.

Some time after the attempt made upon Sir Richard Brandon's house, Giles
Scott was seated at his own fireside, helmet and truncheon laid aside,
uniform taken off, and a free and easy suit of plain clothes put on.

His pretty wife sat beside him darning a