Then the officer opened the door.  Evidently the burglar was wise enough to appreciate the futility of fighting against odds.  Perhaps he did not wish to add the charge of manslaughter to that of robbery.  Certainly, he did not feel himself called to sudden death.  At any rate, his hands were above his head, and in less than a second he was securely manacled.

The chief officer had been eying him closely.  “Say!” he exclaimed.  “Aren’t you Limber-Limb Grant?” The burglar grinned, but did not answer.  “By jove!” shouted the officer.  “It is!  Call the girls down here,” he ordered, and when they appeared, gazing at the burglar with mingled admiration, pity and fear, he congratulated them with considerable excitement.

“It’s Limber-Limb Grant,” he explained.  “There’s a reward of five hundred dollars for him.  You’ll get the money, as sure as you’re born.”  Then he turned again to the burglar.  “Say, Grant, what’s a fellow like you doing on such a fifth-rate job as this?  A Methodist parsonage is not just in your line, is it?”

Limber-Limb laughed sheepishly.  “Well,” he explained good-naturedly, “Chicago got too hot for me.  I had to get out in a hurry, and I couldn’t get my hands on any money.  I had a fine lot of jewels, but I was so pushed I couldn’t use them.  I came here and loafed around town for a while, because folks said Mount Mark was so fast asleep it did not even wake up long enough to read the daily papers.  I heard about this parsonage bunch, and knew the old man had gone off to get more religion.  This afternoon at the station I saw a detective from Chicago get off the train, and I knew what that meant.  But I needed some cash, and so I wasn’t above a little job on the side.  I never dreamed of getting done up by a bunch of preacher’s kids.  I went upstairs to get those family jewels I’ve heard about, and one of the little ones gave the alarm.  I already had some of them, so I came down at once.  I stopped in the dungeon to get that money, and first thing I knew the door banged shut.  That’s all.  You’re welcome to the five hundred dollars, ladies.  Some one was bound to get it sooner or later, and I’m partial to the ladies, every time.”

Limber-Limb Grant was a modern thief of the new class.  At that moment, in Chicago, he had in storage, a hundred thousand dollars’ worth of jewels, which he could not dispose of on the pressure of the moment.  The law was crowding him close, and he was obliged to choose between meeting the law, or running away from it.  He ran.  He reached Mount Mark, and trusted to its drowsiness for concealment for a few weeks.  But that afternoon the arrival of a detective gave him warning, and he planned his departure promptly.  A parsonage occupied by only five girls held no terrors for him, and with fifty dollars and a few fairly good jewels, a man of his talent could accomplish wonders.

But Mount Mark had aroused from its lethargy.  Limber-Limb Grant was in the hands of the law.