"Well, you don't want a machine-gun, do you?" says I. "And don't go
shootin' reckless. Here, lemme get on the other side. Close to the
house, now, on the grass, until we can get a peek around the--"

"S-s-s-sh!" says Cecil, grippin' my arm. He was strong on shushin' me
up, the Lieutenant was. This time, though, he had the right dope; for a
few steps more and we got a view of the back porch.

And there are the two maids, hand in hand, watchin' the motions of the
squatty gent, who is unlockin' the summer-house. He disappears inside.

At that Cecil just has to cut loose. Before I can stop him, he's stepped
out, pulled his gun, and is wavin' it at the two females.

"I say, now! Hands up! No nonsense," he orders.

"Howly saints!" wails the square-built party, clutchin' the slim one
desperate. "Maggie! Maggie!"

Maggie she's turned pale in the gills, her mouth is hangin' open, and her
eyes are bugged, but she ain't too scared to put up an argument.

"Have yez a warrant?" she demands. "Annyways, my Cousin Tim Fealey'll go
bail for us. An' if it was that Swede janitor next door made the
complaint on us I'll--"

"Woman!" breaks in the Lieutenant. "Don't you know that you have been
apprehended in a grave offense? You'd best tell all. Now, who put you
up to this? Your master, eh?"