Anxious and dejected at the increasing difficulties that confronted him, he was moving toward the door when a light, buoyant step sounded on the veranda.  In a moment the living-room lights were switched on from the entry and a woman called out sharply:—­

“Stop right where you are or I’ll shoot!”

The authoritative voice of the speaker, the quickness with which she had grasped the situation and leveled her revolver, brought The Hopper to an abrupt halt in the middle of the room, where he fell with a discordant crash across the keyboard of a grand piano.  He turned, cowering, to confront a tall, young woman in a long ulster who advanced toward him slowly, but with every mark of determination upon her face.  The Hopper stared beyond the gun, held in a very steady hand, into a pair of fearless dark eyes.  In all his experiences he had never been cornered by a woman, and he stood gaping at his captor in astonishment.  She was a very pretty young woman, with cheeks that still had the curve of youth, but with a chin that spoke for much firmness of character.  A fur toque perched a little to one side gave her a boyish air.

This undoubtedly was Shaver’s mother who had caught him prowling in her house, and all The Hopper’s plans for explaining her son’s disappearance and returning him in a manner to win praise and gratitude went glimmering.  There was nothing in the appearance of this Muriel to encourage a hope that she was either embarrassed or alarmed by his presence.  He had been captured many times, but the trick had never been turned by any one so cool as this young woman.  She seemed to be pondering with the greatest calmness what disposition she should make of him.  In the intentness of her thought the revolver wavered for an instant, and The Hopper, without taking his eyes from her, made a cat-like spring that brought him to the window he had raised against just such an emergency.

“None of that!” she cried, walking slowly toward him without lowering the pistol.  “If you attempt to jump from that window I’ll shoot!  But it’s cold in here and you may lower it.”

The Hopper, weighing the chances, decided that the odds were heavily against escape, and lowered the window.

“Now,” said Muriel, “step into that corner and keep your hands up where I can watch them.”

The Hopper obeyed her instructions strictly.  There was a telephone on the table near her and he expected her to summon help; but to his surprise she calmly seated herself, resting her right elbow on the arm of the chair, her head slightly tilted to one side, as she inspected him with greater attention along the blueblack barrel of her automatic.  Unless he made a dash for liberty this extraordinary woman would, at her leisure, turn him over to the police as a housebreaker and his peaceful life as a chicken farmer would be at an end.  Her prolonged silence troubled The Hopper.  He had not been more nervous when waiting for the report of the juries which at times had passed upon his conduct, or for judges to fix his term of imprisonment.