She rose in her white dressing-gown.
"Listen," said she.
The door-bell suddenly clanged. Every one screamed except Mrs. Leighton.
"I do wish you would keep quiet," said she. "The police will think we are being murdered." She moved to the door. But again she was arrested by piercing directions.
"Talk to them at the window, mummy. They might be the burglars themselves. How are we to know? Do talk at the window."
"I'm extremely cold," said Mrs. Leighton, "and I'd rather ask them in whoever they are, than talk to them at an open window."
By the time she had finished, however, Jean, the valiant, had the window open and had discovered a policeman. They had "scoured the premises," he said, and no thief was to be found. Mrs. Leighton wrapped herself in an eiderdown quilt.
"Will you come in, please, and open my kitchen door? Cook thinks they may be there," she said.
With deep thankfulness they let in the policeman. A sergeant appeared. He was very sympathetic and reassuring. "Best not to proceed too quickly," he said in a fat, slow way. "I have a man still outside watching. So if 'e's 'ere, Miss, we'll catch 'im either way. A grand thing the telephone."
He unlocked the door, and thoroughly investigated the kitchen.