This had not been in the programme, and The Hopper weighed judicially his further duty in the matter.  Often as he had been the chief actor in daring robberies, he had never before enjoyed the high privilege of watching a rival’s labors with complete detachment.  Wilton must have known of the concealed cupboard whose panel fraudulently represented the works of Thomas Carlyle, the intent spectator reflected, just as Muriel had known, for though he used his lamp sparingly Wilton had found his way to it without difficulty.

The Hopper had no intention of permitting this monstrous larceny to be committed in contravention of his own rights in the premises, and he was considering the best method of wresting the vase from the hands of the insolent Wilton when events began to multiply with startling rapidity.  The panel swung open and the thief’s lamp flashed upon shelves of pottery.

At that moment a shout rose from somewhere in the house, and the library lights were thrown on, revealing Wilton before the shelves and their precious contents.  A short, stout gentleman with a gleaming bald pate, clad in pajamas, dashed across the room, and with a yell of rage flung himself upon the intruder with a violence that bore them both to the floor.

“Roger!  Roger!” bawled the smaller man, as he struggled with his adversary, who wriggled from under and rolled over upon Talbot, whose arms were clasped tightly about his neck.  This embrace seemed likely to continue for some time, so tenaciously had the little man gripped his neighbor.  The fat legs of the infuriated householder pawed the air as he hugged Wilton, who was now trying to free his head and gain a position of greater dignity.  Occasionally, as opportunity offered, the little man yelled vociferously, and from remote recesses of the house came answering cries demanding information as to the nature and whereabouts of the disturbance.

The contestants addressed themselves vigorously to a spirited rough-and-tumble fight.  Talbot, who was the more easily observed by reason of his shining pate and the pink stripes of his pajamas, appeared to be revolving about the person of his neighbor.  Wilton, though taller, lacked the rotund Talbot’s liveliness of attack.

An authoritative voice, which The Hopper attributed to Shaver’s father, anxiously demanding what was the matter, terminated The Hopper’s enjoyment of the struggle.  Enough was the matter to satisfy The Hopper that a prolonged stay in the neighborhood might be highly detrimental to his future liberty.  The combatants had rolled a considerable distance away from the shelves and were near a door leading into a room beyond.  A young man in a bath-wrapper dashed upon the scene, and in his precipitate arrival upon the battle-field fell sprawling across the prone figures.  The Hopper, suddenly inspired to deeds of prowess, crawled through the window, sprang past the three men, seized the blue-and-white vase which Wilton had separated from the rest of Talbot’s treasures, and then with one hop gained the window.  As he turned for a last look, a pistol cracked and he landed upon the terrace amid a shower of glass from a shattered pane.