The stealthy movement ended in a quick rush. Harver's huge, apelike arms gathered up all the curtains in one wide sweep, and he held something in the enveloping folds of the curtains like a fish in a net.
He carried his whole capture bodily back into the centre of the room, tearing the curtains down as if they had been held with thin cotton. There he threw the bundle down, and stood back while the intruder struggled into view.
"Well, who are you?" barked Essenden feebly, from the outskirts of the group.
The man on the floor pulled his cap off his eyes and blinked dazedly about him. He was not a beautiful sight. The suit he wore was stained and dusty. Portions of a pair of vividly striped socks were visible between the frayed ends of his trousers and the tops of a pair of muddy boots. Round his neck, presumably as a substitute for shirt and collar and tie, he wore a red choker. His cap was very purple. It appeared to be several days since he had last shaved, and a black shield obscuring one eye gave his face a sinister and unsavoury appearance. And when he spoke he whined.
"I wasn't doin' no 'arm, guv'nor."
Harver reached out one ham-like hand to the man's collar and yanked him to his feet.
"What's your name?" he demanded.
"George," said the burglar miserably.
"George what?"
"Albert George."