“The sounds had now ceased.  I inferred that the burglar—­for he could be none other—­had gone to the pantry, where the plate-chest was kept.  On this I turned the Yale latch and softly opened the door.  It is my habit to keep all locks and hinges thoroughly oiled, and consequently the door opened without a sound.  There was no one in the dining-room; but one burner of the gas was alight and various articles of silver plate were laid on the table, just as they had been when my wife was murdered.  I drew the museum door to—­I could not shut it because of the noise the spring latch would have made—­and slipped behind a Japanese screen that stood near the dining-room door.  I had just taken my place when a stealthy footstep approached along the hall.  It entered the room and then there was a faint clink of metal.  I peeped cautiously round the screen and looked on the back of a man who was standing by the table on which he was noiselessly depositing a number of spoons and forks and a candlestick.  Although his back was towards me, a mirror on the opposite wall gave me a good view of his face; a wooden, expressionless face, such as I have since learned to associate with the English habitual criminal; the penal servitude face, in fact.

“He was a careful operator.  He turned over each piece thoroughly, weighing it in his hand and giving especial attention to the hall-mark.  And, as I watched him, the thought came into my mind that, perchance, this was the very wretch who had murdered my wife, come back for the spoil that he had then had to abandon.  It was quite possible, even likely, and at the thought I felt my cheeks flush and a strange, fierce pleasure, such as I had never felt before, swept into my consciousness.  I could have laughed aloud, but I did not.  Also, I could have knocked him down with perfect ease as he stood, but I did not.  Why did I not?  Was it a vague, sporting sense of fairness?  Or was it a catlike instinct impelling me to play with my quarry?  I cannot say.  Only I know that the idea of dealing him a blow from behind did not attract me.

“Presently he shuffled away (in list slippers) to fetch a fresh cargo.  Then some ferociously playful impulse led me to steal out of my hiding-place and gather up a number of spoons and forks, a salt-cellar, a candlestick and an entree-dish and retire again behind the screen.  Then my friend returned with a fresh consignment; and as he was anxiously looking over the fresh pieces, I crept silently out at the other end of the screen, out of the open doorway and down the hall to the pantry.  Here a lighted candle showed the plate-chest open and half empty, with a few pieces of plate on a side table.  Quickly but silently I replaced in the chest the spoons and other pieces that I had collected, and then stole back to my place behind the screen and resumed my observations.

“My guest was quite absorbed in his task.  He had a habit—­common, I believe, among ’old lags’—­of talking to himself; and very poor stuff his conversation was, though it was better than his arithmetic, as I gathered from his attempts to compute the weight of the booty.  Anon, he retired for another consignment, and once more I came out and gathered up a little selection from his stock; and when he returned laden with spoil, I went off, as before, and put the articles back in the plate-chest.