now!"

"No one," answered Prudence. "I was alone all afternoon, and there has
been no one in this evening."

He passed slowly through the dining-room into the hall, closely
followed by his son and the five girls, already much reassured. As he
passed the dungeon door he paused for a moment, listening intently, his
head bent.

"Oh, Mr. Allan," cried Prudence, "let's look in the dungeon first. I
want to see if the money is safe." Her hand was already on the lock,
but he shoved her away quickly.

"Is there any way out of that closet besides this door?" he asked.

"No. We call it the dungeon," laughed Prudence, her self-possession
quite recovered. "It is right under the stairs, and not even a mouse
could gnaw its way out, with this door shut."

"Who shut that door?" he inquired, still holding Prudence's hand from
the lock. Then without waiting for an answer, he went on, "Let's go
back in the other room a minute. Come on, all of you." In the
living-room, he hurried to the telephone, and spoke to the operator in
a low voice. "Call the police headquarters, and have them send two or
three men to the Methodist parsonage, right away. We've got a burglar
locked in a closet, and they'll have to get him out. Please hurry."

At this, the girls crowded around him again in renewed fear.