The gong up-stairs had chimed six times and stopped.
I stared at Hawkins, and Hawkins at me, and the inventor's countenance went white.
Far above, the evening calm was disturbed by a stamping and threshing noise, punctuated now and then by a muffled shout.
“There!” cried the inventor. There was a wealth of satisfaction in that one word.
“Well, somebody's caught,” I said.
“You bet he is!” replied Hawkins, with a nervous chuckle. “Six bells—that's the top story back—one of the servants' rooms. Somebody must have thought the house deserted and come in from the roof.”
Bang! Bang! Bang! The intruder wasn't submitting to the caresses of the crook-trap without a struggle. Also, from the volume and vigor of the racket, it was painfully clear that the intruder was a robust individual.
“Well?” said Hawkins, still staring at me with a rigid smile.
“Well?”
“Well, we've got to go up there and capture him,” announced the inventor, gathering himself for the task. “Come on.”