intruder a month before, because no rain had fallen in London during that period.
Upon the steps, and in the garden, were wisps of straw and pieces of waste paper, the drift of the London street, blown there by the wind. Old boots and rags, tossed over the wall, lay about, and amid the tangle some stunted roses, defying the disorder, were blooming.
In a few moments we went to the rear of the premises, and at the inspector's orders Saunders produced from his pocket a putty knife, and made an attempt to push back the catch of the scullery window. But the sash could not be lifted. It had been secured by two long screws passing through the sashes.
Three windows we tried, and each gave the same result, whereupon the inspector said: "We must force the door."
From his inner pocket Saunders produced a short but business-like steel jemmy of the type used by burglars—indeed, it was, they told me, one which had been found upon a member of that fraternity—and quickly commenced work upon the back door.
At first he could make no impression upon it, but after about ten minutes there was a sound of the cracking of wood, and the
