[Illustration: THE MEN WERE TAKING SILVER OUT OF TWO GREAT CHESTS.]
Gerald stopped and thought hard; he held his head with both hands to do it. You know the way--the same as you sometimes do for simple equations or the dates of the battles of the Civil War.
Then with pencil, note-book, a window-ledge, and all the cleverness he could find at the moment, he wrote:--
"_You know the room where the silver is. Burglars are burgling it, the thick door is picked. Send a man for police. I will follow the burglars if they get away ere police arrive on the spot._"
This letter, tied tightly round a stone by means of a shoe-lace, thundered through the window of the room where Mabel and her aunt, in the ardour of reunion, were enjoying a supper of unusual charm--stewed plums, cream, sponge-cakes, custard in cups, and cold bread-and-butter pudding.
Gerald, in hungry invisibility, looked wistfully at the supper before he threw the stone. He waited till the shrieks had died away, saw the stone picked up, the warning letter read.
"Nonsense!" said the aunt, growing calmer. "How wicked! Of course it's a hoax."
"Oh! do send for the police, like he says," wailed Mabel.
"Send for the police at once," said Gerald, outside, in the manliest voice he could find.
"You'll only blame yourself if you don't. I can't do any more for you."
"I--I'll set the dogs on you!" cried the aunt.
"Oh, auntie, _don't_!" Mabel was dancing with agitation. "It's true--I know it's true. Do--do wake Bates!"
"I don't believe a word of it," said the aunt. No more did Bates when, owing to Mabel's persistent worryings, he was awakened. But when he had seen the paper, and had to choose whether he'd go to the strong-room and see that there really wasn't anything to believe or go for the police on his bicycle, he chose the latter course.
When the police arrived the strong-room door stood ajar, and the silver, or as much of it as three men could carry, was gone.
Gerald's note-book and pencil came into play again later on that night. It was five in the morning before he crept into bed, tired out and cold as a stone.
"Master Gerald!"--it was Eliza's voice in his ears--"it's seven o'clock and another fine day, and there's been another burglary---- My cats alive!" she screamed, as she drew up the blind and turned towards the bed; "look at his bed, all crocked with black, and him not there! Oh, Jimminy!" It was a scream this time. Kathleen came running from her room; Jimmy sat up in his bed and rubbed his eyes.