“Very glad to make your lordship’s acquaintance,” said Teddy Watkins.

“I presume you saw the rascals making for the shrubbery, and dropped down on them?”

“That’s exactly how it happened,” said Mr Watkins.

“You should have waited till they got in at the window,” said Lord Aveling; “they would get it hotter if they had actually committed the burglary.  And it was lucky for you two of the policemen were out by the gates, and followed up the three of you.  I doubt if you could have secured the two of them—­though it was confoundedly plucky of you, all the same.”

“Yes, I ought to have thought of all that,” said Mr Watkins; “but one can’t think of everythink.”

“Certainly not,” said Lord Aveling.  “I am afraid they have mauled you a little,” he added.  The party was now moving towards the house.  “You walk rather lame.  May I offer you my arm?”

And instead of entering Hammerpond House by the dressing-room window, Mr Watkins entered it—­slightly intoxicated, and inclined now to cheerfulness again—­on the arm of a real live peer, and by the front door.  “This,” thought Mr Watkins, “is burgling in style!” The “scoundrels,” seen by the gaslight, proved to be mere local amateurs unknown to Mr Watkins, and they were taken down into the pantry and there watched over by the three policemen, two gamekeepers with loaded guns, the butler, an ostler, and a carman, until the dawn allowed of their removal to Hazelhurst police-station.  Mr Watkins was made much of in the saloon.  They devoted a sofa to him, and would not hear of a return to the village that night.  Lady Aveling was sure he was brilliantly original, and said her idea of Turner was just such another rough, half-inebriated, deep-eyed, brave, and clever man.  Some one brought up a remarkable little folding-ladder that had been picked up in the shrubbery, and showed him how it was put together.  They also described how wires had been found in the shrubbery, evidently placed there to trip-up unwary pursuers.  It was lucky he had escaped these snares.  And they showed him the jewels.

Mr Watkins had the sense not to talk too much, and in any conversational difficulty fell back on his internal pains.  At last he was seized with stiffness in the back, and yawning.  Everyone suddenly awoke to the fact that it was a shame to keep him talking after his affray, so he retired early to his room, the little red room next to Lord Aveling’s suite.

The dawn found a deserted easel bearing a canvas with a green inscription, in the Hammerpond Park, and it found Hammerpond House in commotion.  But if the dawn found Mr Teddy Watkins and the Aveling diamonds, it did not communicate the information to the police.

A MOTH—­GENUS NOVO

Probably you have heard of Hapley—­not W.T.  Hapley, the son, but the celebrated Hapley, the Hapley of Periplaneta Hapliia, Hapley the entomologist.  If so you know at least of the great feud between Hapley and Professor Pawkins.  Though certain of its consequences may be new to you.  For those who have not, a word or two of explanation is necessary, which the idle reader may go over with a glancing eye, if his indolence so incline him.