“There’s a man in Mr. Coristine’s room, either in the cupboard-wardrobe or under the bed,” she answered, and slipped quietly upstairs to her own apartment.

Quickly the information was imparted, and the detective at once took command.

“Mr. Terry, I know you are a good shot.  Tek my kerbine which is loaded, and wetch the windows of Mr. Coristine’s room outside.  Give Mr. Errol a pistol, Squire, and kem on.  Ah, Mr. Perrowne, we went you, sir; bring that lemp end follow us.”

All obeyed, and slipped up stairs with as little noise as possible.  Mr. Bangs opened the door and listened.  Intuitively, he knew that Miss Carmichael was right; somebody was in that room.  Whispering to Mr. Errol to guard the door, and to the Squire to stand by the wardrobe, he took the lamp from Mr. Perrowne and flashed it under and over the bed.  There was nobody there.  In a moment, however, the wardrobe door burst open, the Squire was overturned, the light kicked over and extinguished, and Mr. Errol pushed aside, when three feminine voices called:  “Help, quick!” and, tumbling over one another into the hall, the clever lookers for burglars found their man in the grasp of three picturesque figures in dressing gowns.  They were at once relieved of their capture, and many anxious enquiries were made as to whether they had received any injuries from the felonious intruder.  It appeared that they had not received any of importance, and that Miss Carmichael was the first to arrest the flight of the robber.

The household was aroused.  The colonel came down with his pistols.  Timotheus, Rufus and Maguffin awaited orders, so he ordered them to arm, and posted them as sentries, relieving Mr. Terry from his watch on the windows.  Then the examination of the prisoner began.  He was the youth who had driven the buckboard over for the doctor on the eventful Monday morning.  His name was Rawdon, but he was not the son of Altamont Rawdon.  His father’s name was Reginald, who was Altamont’s brother.

“Where is your fether?” asked Mr. Bangs.

“I dunno,” he answered, sulkily.

“Then I ken tell you.  He is dead, berned to death by yore precious encle Eltemont.”

“O my God!” exclaimed the youth; “is that so?”

“Esk any of these gentlemen, end they will tell you that yore fether end old Flower were berned to death, end thet a keroner’s jury set on their remains, which are buried.”

“You say as ’ow my huncle Haltamont did that?”

“Yes, I do, end, whet’s more, you know it.”

Having terrorized his victim, and antagonized him to Rawdon, the detective drew from him the information that five men, three of Rawdon’s old employees, the tavern-keeper Matt, and Newcome, were coming at midnight to burglarize the house and get possession of the dug-up treasure.  He confessed that he had slipped into the house while the party was away picnicking, and, knowing that Coristine had left without his knapsack, had looked round till he found a room with knapsacks in it.  There he intended to remain till his confederates should require his services to open the house to them.