Yes, it's common knowledge that we go to our beds at ten. [Chuckling] That's what we're counting on.
MAGGIE. Counting on?
DAVID. You stupid whelp.
JAMES. What have I done?
MAGGIE [folding her arms]. There's something up. You've got to tell me, David.
DAVID [who knows when he is beaten]. Go out and watch, James.
MAGGIE. Watch?
[JAMES takes himself off, armed, as MAGGIE notices, with a stick.]
DAVID [in his alert business way]. Maggie, there are burglars about.
MAGGIE. Burglars? [She sits rigid, but she is not the kind to scream.]
DAVID. We hadn't meant for to tell you till we nabbed them; but they've been in this room twice of late. We sat up last night waiting for them, and we're to sit up again to-night.
MAGGIE. The silver plate.
DAVID. It's all safe as yet. That makes us think that they were either frightened away these other times, or that they are coming back for to make a clean sweep.
MAGGIE. How did you get to know about this?
DAVID. It was on Tuesday that the polissman called at the quarry with a very queer story. He had seen a man climbing out at this window at ten past two.
MAGGIE. Did he chase him?
DAVID. It was so dark he lost sight of him at once.
ALICK. Tell her about the window.
DAVID. We've found out that the catch of the window has been pushed back by slipping the blade of a knife between the woodwork.
MAGGIE. David.
ALICK. The polissman said he was carrying a little carpet bag.
MAGGIE. The silver plate IS gone.
DAVID. No, no. We were thinking that very likely he has bunches of keys in the bag.
MAGGIE. Or weapons.
DAVID. As for that, we have some pretty stout weapons ourselves in the umbrella stand. So, if you'll go to your bed, Maggie--
MAGGIE. Me? and my brothers in danger.
ALICK. There's just one of them.
MAGGIE. The polissman just saw one.
DAVID [licking his palms]. I would be very pleased if there were three of them.
MAGGIE. I watch with you. I would be very pleased if there were four of them.
DAVID. And they say she has no charm!
[JAMES returns on tiptoe as if the burglars were beneath the table. He signs to every one to breathe no more, and then whispers his news.]
JAMES. He's there. I had no sooner gone out than I saw him sliding down the garden wall, close to the rhubarbs.
ALICK. What's he like?
JAMES. He's an ugly customer. That's all I could see. There was a little carpet bag in his hand.
DAVID. That's him.
JAMES. He slunk into the rhodydendrons, and he's there now, watching the window.
DAVID. We have him. Out with the light.
[The room is beautified by a chandelier fitted for three gas jets, but with the advance of progress one of these has been removed and the incandescent light put in its place. This alone is lit. ALICK climbs a chair, pulls a little chain, and the room is now but vaguely lit by the fire. It plays fitfully on four sparkling faces.]
MAGGIE. Do you think he saw you, James?
JAMES. I couldn't say, but in any case I was too clever for him. I looked up at the stars, and yawned loud at them as if I was tremendous sleepy.
[There is a long pause during which they are lurking in the shadows. At last they hear some movement, and they steal like ghosts from the room. We see DAVID turning out the lobby light; then the door closes and an empty room awaits the intruder with a shudder of expectancy. The window opens and shuts as softly as if this were a mother peering in to see whether her baby is asleep. Then the head of a man shows between the curtains. The remainder of him follows. He is carrying a little carpet bag. He stands irresolute; what puzzles him evidently is that the Wylies should have retired to rest without lifting that piece of coal off the fire. He opens the door and peeps into the lobby, listening to the wag-at-the-wall clock. All seems serene, and he turns on the light. We see him clearly now. He is JOHN SHAND, age twenty-one, boots muddy, as an indignant carpet can testify. He wears a shabby topcoat and a cockerty bonnet; otherwise he is in the well- worn corduroys of a railway porter.