"Yes, the regular constable was off Christmasing somewhere it seems, so he put a substitute on his job, a stranger from somewhere. Some substitute that! No mulling over hot toddies on Christmas night for him! He saw the marauder crawling in through the Rectory window! He saw him fumbling now to the left, now to the right, all through the front hall! He followed him up the stairs to a closet where the silver was evidently kept! He caught the man red-handed as it were! Or rather—white-handed," flushed the Master of the House for some quite unaccountable reason. "To be perfectly accurate," he explained conscientiously, "he was caught with a pair of—of—" Delicately he spelt out the word. "With a pair of—c-o-r-s-e-t-s rolled up in his hand. But inside the roll it seemed there was a solid silver—very elaborate carving set which the Parish had recently presented. The wretch was just unrolling it,—them, when he was caught."
"That was Bertrand!" said Flame. "My Father's Lay Reader."
It was the man's turn now to jump to his feet.
"What?" he cried.
"I sent him for the carving knife," said Flame.
"What?" repeated the man. Consternation versus Hilarity went racing suddenly like a cat-and-dog combat across his eyes.
"Yes," said Flame.
From the outside door the sound of furious knocking occurred suddenly.
"That sounds to me like—like parents' knocking," shivered Flame.
"It sounds to me like an escaped Lay Reader," said her Host.