r the night if it doesn't inconvenience us. Signed
'Wilfrid Pigeoncote.' Must be the Snatcher; none of the others have a
motor. I suppose he's bringing us a present for the silver wedding."

"Good gracious!" said Mrs. Peter, as a thought struck her; "this is
rather an awkward time to have a person with his failing in the house.
All those silver presents set out in the drawing-room, and others coming
by every post; I hardly know what we've got and what are still to come.
We can't lock them all up; he's sure to want to see them."

"We must keep a sharp look-out, that's all," said Peter reassuringly.

"But these practised kleptomaniacs are so clever," said his wife,
apprehensively, "and it will be so awkward if he suspects that we are
watching him."

Awkwardness was indeed the prevailing note that evening when the passing
traveller was being entertained. The talk flitted nervously and
hurriedly from one impersonal topic to another. The guest had none of
the furtive, half-apologetic air that his cousins had rather expected to
find; he was polite, well-assured, and, perhaps, just a little inclined
to "put on side". His hosts, on the other hand, wore an uneasy manner
that might have been the hallmark of conscious depravity. In the drawing-
room, after dinner, their nervousness and awkwardness increased.

"Oh, we haven't shown you the silver-wedding presents," said Mrs. Peter,
suddenly, as though struck by a brilliant idea for entertaining the
guest; "here they all are. Such nice, useful gifts. A few duplicates,
of course."

"Seven cream jugs," put in Peter.

"Yes, isn't it annoying," went on Mrs. Peter; "seven of them. We feel
that we must live on cream for the rest of our lives. Of course, some of
them can be changed."

Wilfrid occupied himself chiefly with such of the gifts as were of
antique interest, carrying one or two of them over to the lamp to examine
their marks. The anxiety of his hosts at these moments resembled the
solicitude of a cat whose newly born kittens are being handed round for
inspection.

"Let me see; did you give me back the mustard-pot? This is its place
here," piped Mrs. Peter.

"Sorry. I put it down by the claret-jug," said Wilfrid, busy with
another object.

"Oh, just let me have the sugar-sifter again," asked Mrs. Peter, dogged
determination showing through her nervousness; "I must label it who it
comes from before I forget."

Vigilance was not completely crowned with a