ago, but he didn't take anything, and Mr. Thornton let him go."
"That is so, Inspector." Mr. Tombs confirmed the statement, while Jane looked reproachful and Miss Antrobus sympathetic.
"That may be, sir," said the policeman. "Birds of a feather would naturally assist each other—even when swell cracksmen, as these Thorntons certainly are. Very sorry for unpleasantness, miss, but I've got the warrants both for arrest and search."
"They aren't here," said Jane.
"But their apartments are," said the large policeman. "Perhaps the gentleman would show us the way? One room kept locked? I daresay we shall find a way to deal with that. Excuse me, ladies."
••••••
Well, there was no doubt about it. The charming Thorntons—so kind, so considerate, so well-read, so accomplished—had been just burglars. (Well, not just burglars—they had been other things as well, as Jane and Lucilla insisted on remembering.) They had used the cases of 'cello and violin and double bass to carry their booty into the house, and the locked room to conceal it in. The police had quite a rich harvest in the things the Thorntons had had to leave behind. They had not been able to take away all their plunder, but they had taken themselves away. Quite successfully—to the secret joy of Lucilla and Jane.
"But it's horrible!" said Lucilla to Mr. Tombs, pacing distracted in the garden. "I shall never believe in anyone again. And what will become of them? And what will become of them? They're sure to be caught some time, even if they get away safely this time."
"Well," said Mr. Tombs, pulling his moustache, "the fact is . . . Can you keep a secret?"
"Yes, if I want to," said Lucilla making a sound distinction.
"Well, I don't think they will be caught. They've got
