"Eh?" said the amazed Mr. Travers. "Oh, Lord!"
"H'sh! Stop that laughing," commanded the voice. "He'll hear you. Be quiet!"
The key turned in the lock, and Mr. Travers, stepping forth, clapped his hand over his mouth and endeavoured to obey. Mrs. Waters, stepping back with the gun ready, scrutinized him closely.
"Come on to the landing," said Mr. Travers, eagerly. "We don't want anybody else to hear. Fire into this."
He snatched a patchwork rug from the floor and stuck it up against the balusters. "You stay here," said Mrs. Waters. He nodded.
She pointed the gun at the hearth-rug, the walls shook with the explosion, and, with a shriek that set Mr. Travers's teeth on edge, she rushed downstairs and, drawing back the bolts of the back door, tottered outside and into the arms of the agitated boatswain.
"Oh! oh! oh!" she cried.
"What—what's the matter?" gasped the boatswain.
The widow struggled in his arms. "A burglar," she said, in a tense whisper. "But it's all right; I've killed him."
"Kill—" stuttered the other. "Kill——Killed him?"