“At that we left it, and I didn’t speak to him again until the thing occurred which even now—though seven years have slipped by—is as clearly imprinted on my brain as if it had happened last night.
“I couldn’t sleep very well that night, and at about two I switched on my light, with the idea of reading. I was just reaching out for a book when I heard the sound of voices from a room almost opposite. I listened for a moment, then I got up and went to the door. For the voices were excited and angry; something unusual was evidently happening. For a moment or two I hesitated; then I slipped on a dressing-gown and looked out. Across the passage the door of a room was open, and through it the light was streaming out. And then I heard Joe Maitland speak, and his words literally rooted me to the ground with amazement.
“ ‘So, Mr. Digby, you’re just a common damned thief. The gentleman crook—what? The amateur cracksman. That’s what they call them on the stage, I believe. Sounds better. But I prefer the more homely name of thief.’
“It was then that I appeared in the door, and Maitland swung round.
“ ‘Oh, it’s you, is it, Tranton?’ He had a revolver in his hand, and he lowered it when he saw who it was. ‘A pretty tableau, isn’t it? It appears that a second edition of—what was the gentleman’s name—Raffles, wasn’t it?—has been honouring me with his presence. Unfortunately, Tom and I both happened to hear him.’
“But I was paying no attention to what he was saying; my eyes were fixed on Digby and—Tom. Digby, with a quiet smile on his face and his hands in his pockets, was standing beside an open safe. He was still in evening clothes, and once he glanced my way. Then he looked back again at his host, and I looked at Tom. He was in his dressing-gown, and he was shivering as if he had the ague. He was standing close to his father, and a little behind him—and Joe Maitland was too engrossed with Digby to notice the condition he was in.
“ ‘Can you advance any reason, Mr. Digby,’ he demanded, ‘why I shouldn’t call up the local police?’
“ ‘None whatever, Mr. Maitland,’ he answered gravely. ‘Your son caught me fair and square.’
“And it seemed to me that Tom made an effort to speak, though no words came from his lips.
“ ‘You damned scoundrel!’ cried Maitland. ‘You come to my house—you make love to my daughter—and then you abuse my hospitality by trying to steal my wife’s jewellery!’