When I got home on Thursday from a day in town, Joyce met me at the gate. She looked scared.
"We've had a burglar," she said. "The silver's gone. Oh, why didn't I take the warning?"
This was my big scene, but I never believe in rushing a good climax, so I simply said—
"The silver gone? Dear, dear. A burglar, did you say? I told you they were about."
"Really, I'm not joking," said Joyce. "Both Jessie and I were out this afternoon and he must have got in by the scullery window, which I'm afraid was unlatched."
I was enjoying her consternation immensely.
"A burglar?" I repeated. "How very interesting!"
"Oh," said Joyce, stamping her foot, "can't you do something?"
"My dear Joyce," I said, fixing her with my eleven-stone look, "let us stop this mummery. Behold the burglar!" and I struck the attitude that I thought would have done credit to Sir Herbert.
"You!" she said; "but——"