ceaseless dictation remained. Then that, too, faltered and died....

For a second master and men stood motionless. Then the former pointed to
Daphne and me, and Numbers Three and Four whipped to our side.

Somebody, whistling softly, was descending the stairs....

Just as it became recognizable the air slid out of a whistle into a
song, and my unwitting brother-in-law invested the last two lines with
all the mockery of pathos of which his inferior baritone voice was
capable.

"I'm for ever b-b-blowing b-b-bub-b-bles,
B-blinkin' b-bub-b-bles in the air."

He entered upon the last word, started ever so slightly at his
reception, and then stood extremely still.

"Bubbles be blowed," he said. "B-b-burglars, what? Shall I moisten the
lips? Or would you rather I wore a sickly smile? I should like it to be
a good photograph. You know, you can't touch me, Reggibald. I'm in
balk." His eyes wandered round the room. "Why, there's Nobby. And what's
the game? Musical Chairs? I know a better one than that." His eyes
returned to the master. "Now, don't you look and I'll hide in the
hassock! Then, when I say 'Cuckoo,' you put down the musket and wish.
Then--excuse me."

Calmly he twitched a Paisley shawl from the back of the sofa and crossed
to his wife. Tenderly he wrapped it about her feet and knees. By the
time he had finished a third chair was awaiting him, and Numbers Three