courage. So an instant later, holding the small pistol partly
concealed by her skirt, Vera slipped noiselessly back again into the
hall, moving along in the shadow near the wall. Within a few feet of the
sitting-room suddenly the thief appeared in the doorway. The next
instant, startled by her appearance, he made a headlong rush down the
stairs with his purpose too nearly accomplished to think of surrender.

As Vera followed she wondered if, when the thief reached the front door,
where he must pause in opening it, would she then have the courage to
fire? Much as she desired to secure the stolen money, she felt the
instinctive feminine dislike of wounding another human being.

Yet now she discovered that, in spite of having failed to notice the
fact on her way upstairs, the front door was not locked. It had been
purposely left slightly ajar so that there need be no dangerous delay.

But before the thief actually reached the front door majestically it was
flung open. From the outside a voice called "Halt."

[Illustration: "Have You Nothing Better to do than Steal?"]

Immediately after, instead of a policeman as she anticipated, Vera
beheld one of the most singular figures she had ever seen. For the
moment, in her excitement and confusion, she could not tell whether the
figure was a woman's or a man's. A long arm was thrust forward, then,
such was the thief's surprise, that he allowed the stolen pocketbook to
be removed from his grasp without opposition.

As Vera regained sufficient equanimity to cover him with her pistol she
heard a rich Irish voice unmistakably a woman's, saying:

"Sure, man alive and have you nothing better to do than steal when the
world is so hard put for honest soldiers and workmen to carry on her
affairs. Now get you away and pray the saints to forgive you, for the
next time you'll not be let off so easily."

Glad to take the newcomer at her word, the man vanished. Then before
Vera could either move or speak, the surprising visitor marched up to
her.

"Put that pistol away, child, and never handle it again, or you will
injure yourself! Now take me upstairs to Polly Burton's sitting-room and
make me some tea, for the plain truth is I am famished. I have just
arrived in New York from Boston, and travel in war times certainly has
its drawbacks. But if you will wait I'll first bring my suitcase inside
the hall until we feel more like carrying it upstairs."

Before Vera could offer her assistan