“Well ’m,” he said, touching his cap.  “Thank you kindly.  I’ve ’ad a fine tea.  I ‘ave.  A dam’ fine tea.  An’ I’ll not forget yer kindness to a pore ole soldier.”  Here he winked brazenly at William.  “An’ good day ter you orl.”

Mrs. de Vere Carter floated out to the front door with him, and William followed as in a dream.

Mrs. Brown found her voice.

“We’d better have the chair disinfected,” she murmured to Ethel.

Then Mrs. de Vere Carter returned smiling to herself and eyeing the young editor surmisingly.

“I witnessed a pretty scene the other day in a suburban drawing-room....”  It might begin like that.

William followed the amazing figure round the house again to the library window.  Here it turned to him with a friendly grin.

“I’m just goin’ to ’ave that look round upstairs now.  See?” he said.  “An’ once more, yer don’t need ter say nothin’ to no one.  See?”

With the familiar, beloved gesture he drew his old cap down over his eyes, and was gone.

William wandered upstairs a few minutes later to find his visitor standing at the landing window, his pockets bulging.

“I’m goin’ to try this ’ere window, young gent,” he said in a quick, business-like voice.  “I see yer pa coming in at the front gate.  Give me a shove.  Quick, nar.”

Mr. Brown entered the drawing-room.

“Mulroyd’s had his house burgled now,” he said.  “Every bit of his wife’s jewellery gone.  They’ve got some clues, though.  It’s a gang all right, and one of them is a chap without ears.  Grows his hair long to hide it.  But it’s a clue.  The police are hunting for him.”

He looked in amazement at the horror-stricken faces before him.  Mrs. Brown sat down weakly.

“Ethel, my smelling salts!  They’re on the mantel-piece.”

Robert grew pale.

“Good Lord—­my silver cricket cup,” he gasped, racing upstairs.

The landing window had been too small, and Mr. Blank too big, though William did his best.

There came to the astounded listeners the sound of a fierce scuffle, then Robert descended, his hair rumpled and his tie awry, holding William by the arm.  William looked pale and apprehensive.  “He was there,” panted Robert, “just getting out of the window.  He chucked the things out of his pockets and got away.  I couldn’t stop him.  And—­and William was there——­”

William’s face assumed the expression of one who is prepared for the worst.

“The plucky little chap!  Struggling with him!  Trying to pull him back from the window!  All by himself!”

“I wasn’t,” cried William excitedly.  “I was helping him.  He’s my friend.  I——­”

But they heard not a word.  They crowded round him, praised him, shook hands with him, asked if he was hurt.  Mrs. de Vere Carter kept up one perpetual scream of delight and congratulation.