“We’d be three to one, not countin’ Mrs. Flynn,” says I.

“Would you help, really?” he asks eager.  “You see, I’m not very strong.  And Tidman—­well, you can’t count much on him.  Besides, how does one know a burglar by sight?”

“They don’t wear uniforms, that’s a fact,” says I; “but I might ask him what he was doin’ down there and call for proof.  Then, if he was only takin’ the meter, why—­”

“Of course,” says Waldo.  “We will—­er—­you’ll do that for me, will you not?  Come along, Tidman.  You too, Peters.  We’ll just find out who the fellow is.”

I must say, it’s kind of a draggy rush line they formed, Tidman havin’ to be almost pushed, and Peters keepin’ well in the rear.  I finds myself leadin’ the assault, with Waldo a bad second, but tellin’ me which turns to make and urgin’ Tidman to follow close.

Sure enough, though, there on the laundry floor we discovers the victorious Mrs. Flynn, a wide, husky party, with something flattened underneath.  About all that’s visible is a pair of run-over shoes and part of a coat sleeve that’s been ripped off.  She seems glad to see us.

“Thanks be!” says she, sighin’ grateful.  “It’s faint and wake I am strugglin’ with this murderous little shrimp.  Ah, squirm, will ye!  There’s men to handle ye now, and the coppers’ll soon be here.  Will ye take charge of him, Mr. Pettigrew?”

“No, no!  Please, Mrs. Flynn!” protests Waldo.  “You are doing excellently.  Don’t let him up just yet.”

“O-o-o-o!” moans the flattened gent.  “My poor back!”

“If you could ease up a bit, so we might get a look at him,” I suggests.  “We want to see if he’s really a burglar.”

“He’s that, all right,” says Mrs. Flynn.  “Didn’t I catch him red-handed prowlin’ about?  But if ye want to see what his ugly mug looks like, ye may.  There!  Sit ye up and face the gintlemen!”

She’s a shifty party with her hands and feet, for with a couple of body twists Mrs. Flynn is on her knees behind him with his arms pinned to the small of his back.

“There, thief of the wor-ruld!” says she.  “Tell ’em whatever you came to steal.”

“Go on,” says I.  “Mind the lady.”

“I—­I’m no thief; really, gentlemen,” says he.  “You can see that, I trust.”

“Sure!” says I.  “Just mistook the basement for the drawin’-room, didn’t you?  And you was about to leave cards on the fam’ly.  What name did you say?”

“I—­I’d rather not give my name,” says he, hangin’ his head.

“It’s being done in the best circles,” says I.  “These calls incog. are gettin’ to be bad form.  Isn’t that right, Mr. Pettigrew?”

“If he is a gas man or a plumber,” says Waldo, “why doesn’t he say so at once?”

“There’s your cue,” says I.  “Now come across with the alibi.”

“I—­I can’t explain just how I happen to be here,” says the gent, “but—­but there are those who can.”