the precious porcelains. In his survey of the landscape he noted with
trepidation the presence of two big limousines in the highway in front of
the cottage and decided that if possible he must see Muriel alone and make
his report to her.

The moment he entered the kitchen he heard the clash of voices in angry
dispute in the living-room. Even Shaver was startled by the violence of
the conversation in progress within, and clutched tightly a fold of The
Hopper's trousers.

"I tell you it's John Wilton who has stolen Billie!" a man cried
tempestuously. "Anybody who would enter a neighbor's house in the dead of
night and try to rob him--rob him, yes, and _murder_ him in the most
brutal fashion--would not scruple to steal his own grandchild!"

"Me's gwanpa," whispered Shaver, gripping The Hopper's hand, "an' 'im's
mad."

That Mr. Talbot was very angry indeed was established beyond cavil.
However, Mr. Wilton was apparently quite capable of taking care of himself
in the dispute.

"You talk about my stealing when you robbed me of my Lang-Yao--bribed my
servants to plunder my safe! I want you to understand once for all, Roger
Talbot, that if that jar isn't returned within one hour,--within one hour,
sir,--I shall turn you over to the police!"

"Liar!" bellowed Talbot, who possessed a voice of great resonance. "You
can't mitigate your foul crime by charging me with another! I never saw
your jar; I never wanted it! I wouldn't have the thing on my place!"