“But he’ll find himself mistaken,” Geoffrey murmured as, having locked the door, he turned away.  At this instant a faint knocking was audible, and, gathering that McVay had some final instructions to give, Geoffrey again opened the door.

“By the way,” said the burglar, and for the first time a certain constraint, amounting almost to embarrassment, was discernible in his manner, “my sister has no idea about—­it would be a great shock to her—­in fact, you understand, she has not discovered exactly how our money comes to us.”

“Do you expect me to believe that?” asked Geoffrey.

“I grant it does not sound likely,” returned McVay, “and indeed would not be possible with any other man than myself.  But I hit upon a pretty good yarn,—­worked out well everyway.  I told her—­”

“I don’t want to hear your infernal lies.”

“But it might be convenient for you to know.  I told her,” McVay chuckled, “that I was employed as night watchman at Drake’s paper mill.  That of course kept me out all night, and—­”

“She must think night watchmen get good wages.”

“That was just it.  I told her Drake was an old friend of mine, and just wanted an excuse to give me an allowance until he found me a better job.  You see I just lost a nice job in a bank—­”

“I suppose it would be indiscreet to inquire why?”

“Well, we won’t discuss it,” said McVay with an agreeable smile.  “Of course she could understand that such an inferior position as a watchman’s had to be kept a profound secret, hence our remote mode of life, and the fact that I don’t allow a butcher or baker to come near us.  I tell her that if it were known that I had held such a poor position, it would interfere with my getting a better.  So, if you should happen to find that you have to explain to her why I am detained here—­”

“If I should explain to her,” said Geoffrey.  “What do you suppose I am going to do?”

“Well, I suppose you will find it necessary,” said McVay.  “Indeed, as a matter of fact, I would much rather have you do it than do it myself.  Still, you might bear in mind to tell her as gently as possible.  If she were your own sister—­”

“Oh, go to the devil,” said Geoffrey, and slammed the door.

III

Geoffrey was born with a love of adventure, and his dislike to his present expedition arose not from fear, but from a consciousness that if he did run into a den of thieves he would think himself such an ass to have come.  Indeed, there seemed a fair chance that he might think this even if nothing worse happened than that the hut proved empty, for he would have had a long walk for nothing better than to provide McVay with an opportunity to escape.  He did not see exactly how McVay could get out, but he was aware that few people would think it wise to leave a burglar locked in a closet in an empty house with some hours of leisure at his disposal.