"Well, I am only one man," he admitted, as though it were possible he had been mistaken for half a dozen; "so perhaps it would be best to make fast the door, and go in search of a policeman."
"You must not leave us, Mr. Simpkins; we cannot be left!" cried a chorus of female voices, and Miss Durrant sobbed out that they might all be murdered before he came back.
"We'll lock the door, any way," said Simpkins, with reviving spirits. "Where's the key?"
The key was of course on the other side of the door. Miss Durrant had slammed the door behind her as she rushed from the room.
Simpkins looked at the door, and hesitated. Edith, whose wits were not paralysed by fright, had observed that all this while no sound came from the room. Neither window nor door had been opened. She began to feel incredulous concerning her aunt's burglar.
"I'll get the key," she said; "I'm not afraid to open the door. I daresay it is only another cat."
"A cat, Edith!" cried her aunt indignantly. "Why, I saw the man's eyes—such fierce eyes—gleaming at me, and his hair all tangled over his face. Oh, Edith!"
For Edith at that moment opened the door, and peeped cautiously round it. She saw the burglar at once. He had emerged from his hiding-place, feeling further concealment useless, and now stood on the hearth-rug in his ragged, clinging garments, with his fair hair falling disordered over his face, which expressed the utmost confusion and shame.
"Why, it's a boy!" said Edith, and she advanced into the room.
Gus came forward to meet her, his hands outstretched imploringly. "Oh, teacher, I'm so sorry!" he said. "I would not have come, but I couldn't help it. Lucas brought me; he made me come into the house."