In an unenviable humor I stumbled across the room, tripping and barking my shins over various malignant hassocks, tables, and chairs.  Finding the switch at last, I flooded the room with light, and saw myself in the mirror, with tie and coat askew.

“Now,” I muttered, straightening them viciously, “we’ll see what he took away.”  But the trunk seemed undisturbed when I examined it, and my various bags and suitcases were securely locked.  I had found Forrest’s power of attorney and was storing it in my pocket when voices rose outside.

A group of four was approaching, comprised of a spruce, dress-coated manager; a short thick-set, broad-faced man who was doubtless the long-overdue detective; a professional-appearing gentleman with a black bag, obviously the house-physician; and the policeman that I had summoned from his stroll below.  The latter, in an excited brogue, was recounting his late vision of the thief, “hangin’ between hivin and earth, no less,” while the detective scornfully accused him of having been asleep or jingled, on the ground of my late telephone to the effect that I was holding the man.

The manager, as was natural, took the initiative, bustling past me into my room and peering eagerly around.

“I needn’t say, Mr. Bayne,” he orated fluently, “how sorry I am that this has happened—­especially beneath our roof.  It is our first case, I assure you, of anything so regrettable.  If it gets into the papers it won’t do us any good.  Now the important thing is to take the fellow out by the rear without courting notice.  Why, where is he?” he asked hopefully.  “Surely he isn’t gone?”

“Sure, and didn’t I tell ye?  ’Tis without eyes ye think me!” The policeman was resentful, and so, to tell the truth, was I. The whole maddening affair seemed bent on turning to farce at every angle; the doctor, as a final straw, had just offered sotto voce to mix me a soothing draft!

“Gone!  Of course he’s gone, man!” I exclaimed with some natural temper.  “Did you expect him to sit here waiting all this time?  What on earth have you been doing—­reading the papers—­playing bridge?  A dozen thieves could have escaped since I telephoned downstairs!”

“But you said,” he murmured, apparently dazed, “that you could hold him.”  A tactless remark, which failed to assuage my wrath!

“So I could,” I responded savagely.  “But I didn’t expect him to turn into a conjuring trick, which is what he did.  He went out that window head foremost, down the ladder, and into the room below.  Let’s be after him—­though we stand as much chance of catching him as we do of finding the King of England!” and I turned toward the doorway, where the manager, the doctor and the detective were massed.

The manager put his hand upon my arm.  I looked down at it with raised eyebrows, and he took it away.

“Excuse me, sir,” he said, adopting a manner of appeal, “but if you’ll reflect for a moment you’ll see how it is, I know.  People don’t care for houses where burglars fly in and out of windows; it makes them nervous; you wouldn’t believe how easily a hotel can get a bad name and lose its clientele.  Besides, from what you tell me, the fellow must be well away by this time.  You’d do me a favor—­a big one—­by dropping the matter here.”