[James returns on tiptoe as if the burglars were beneath the table.  He signs to every one to breathe no more, and then whispers his news.]

James.  He’s there.  I had no sooner gone out than I saw him sliding down the garden wall, close to the rhubarbs.

Alick.  What’s he like?

James.  He’s an ugly customer.  That’s all I could see.  There was a little carpet bag in his hand.

David.  That’s him.

James.  He slunk into the rhodydendrons, and he’s there now, watching the window.

David.  We have him.  Out with the light.

[The room is beautified by a chandelier fitted for three gas jets, but with the advance of progress one of these has been removed and the incandescent light put in its place.  This alone is lit.  Alick climbs a chair, pulls a little chain, and the room is now but vaguely lit by the fire.  It plays fitfully on four sparkling faces.]

Maggie.  Do you think he saw you, James?

James.  I couldn’t say, but in any case I was too clever for him.  I looked up at the stars, and yawned loud at them as if I was tremendous sleepy.

[There is a long pause during which they are lurking in the shadows.  At last they hear some movement, and they steal like ghosts from the room.  We see David turning out the lobby light; then the door closes and an empty room awaits the intruder with a shudder of expectancy.  The window opens and shuts as softly as if this were a mother peering in to see whether her baby is asleep.  Then the head of a man shows between the curtains.  The remainder of him follows.  He is carrying a little carpet bag.  He stands irresolute; what puzzles him evidently is that the Wylies should have retired to rest without lifting that piece of coal off the fire.  He opens the door and peeps into the lobby, listening to the wag-at-the-wall clock.  All seems serene, and he turns on the light.  We see him clearly now.  He is John Shand, age twenty-one, boots muddy, as an indignant carpet can testify.  He wears a shabby topcoat and a cockerty bonnet; otherwise he is in the well-worn corduroys of a railway porter.  His movements, at first stealthy, become almost homely as he feels that he is secure.  He opens the bag and takes out a bunch of keys, a small paper parcel, and a black implement that may be a burglar’s jemmy.  This cool customer examines the fire and piles on more coals.  With the keys he opens the door of the bookcase, selects two large volumes, and brings them to the table.  He takes off his topcoat and opens his parcel, which we now see contains sheets of foolscap paper.  His next action shows that the ‘jemmy’ is really a ruler.  He knows where the pen and ink are kept.  He pulls the fine chair nearer to the table, sits on it, and proceeds to write, occasionally dotting the carpet with ink as he stabs the air with his pen.  He is so occupied that he does not see the door opening, and the Wylie family staring at him.  They are armed with sticks.]