"It's Wilkins, I expect. No one else has any right here," replied Templeton. "I'll take a look."
Peeping round the frame of the window, through the dirty pane, he was able to distinguish nothing but a man's form at the further end of the shop. The lamp, hanging from the middle of the roof, was turned very low, and the bent attitude of the man, with his back three-parts towards the window, rendered it impossible to discern his features. He was covered with a long waterproof, and a storm cap was pulled low over his head. From his movements it was clear that he was trying one key after another.
"It's not Wilkins," whispered Templeton. "I never saw him dressed like that."
"Then it's a burglar," replied Eves. "Nab him!"
They moved on tip-toe to the door. Templeton grasped the handle, murmuring:
"I'll turn it suddenly—then make a dash!"
There was absolute quiet all around, and the sound of jingling keys came faintly through the door. After a few moments' pause Templeton turned the handle noiselessly, and pushed the door open. The damp weather had, however, swollen the timber, and the slight sound it made as it strained against the door-post attracted the attention of the man beyond. Still stooping over the drawer, he turned his head sharply.
"My hat! Noakes!" muttered Eves.
Springing into the shop past Templeton, who had halted on recognising Noakes, as if to consider matters, Eves dashed at the waterproofed figure. The moment's warning had enabled Noakes to prepare for attack. He projected a bony shoulder, prevented Eves from getting the clutch he intended, and made a rush towards the door.
"Collar him, Bob!" cried Eves.