J. Archibald McKackney
across the fender, the sailor had shot one of them through the shoulder and beaten the other to the floor with the heavy butt of his weapon.
Having stood me on my feet, my rescuer disarmed his captives, made them fast to chairs with deft knots and hitches and flew up-stairs to muster the servants. One by one he removed their gags and bonds, kicked and cuffed the effects of chloroform from their addled brains and drove them trooping down ahead of him. While they bandaged the hurts of the burglars I was able to steer my tottering limbs to the telephone and summon the police from Coveport.
By the time the captives had been carted away to the hospital, daylight was streaming through the library windows. It illumined with a splendid radiance the beard of Hank Wilkins, who was engaged in plucking from its incarnadined depths a wondrous store of jewels. I watched him with profound gratitude and admiration. The sailor paused in his task to chant a melodious inspiration:
