hich even a dog
descends from bad to worse.

While he was engaged with it the Slogger gently patted his head.

Suddenly Dumps found his muzzle grasped and held tight in a powerful
hand. He tried to bark and yell, but could produce nothing better than
a scarcely audible whine. His sides were at the same instant grasped by
a pair of powerful knees, while a rope was twisted round his neck, and
the process of strangulation began.

But strangulation was not the Slogger's intention. He had been
carefully warned not to kill.

"Mind, now, you don't screw 'im up too tight," Brassey had said, when
giving the boy his instructions before starting. "Dogs is vurth munny.
Just 'old 'im tight and quiet till you get the flannel bag on 'is head,
and then stand by till I've sacked the swag."

Accordingly, having effected the bagging of the dog's head, the young
burglar went to the door, holding Dumps tight in his arms, and uttered a
pretty loud and life-like caterwaul. Brassey heard it, emerged from the
shade of his pillar, and was soon beside his comrade.

When Dumps smelt and heard the new-comer, he redoubled his efforts to
free his head and yell, but the Slogger was too much for him.

Few words were wasted on this occasion. The couple understood their
work. Brassey took up the lamp.

"Wery considerate of 'em to 'ave a light all ready for us," he muttered,
as he lowered the flame a little, and glided into the kitchen, leaving
the Slogger on guard in the scullery. Here he found a variety of gins
and snares carefully placed for him--and such as he--by strict orders of
Mrs McTougall. Besides a swing-bell on the window shutter--similar to
that which had done so little service on the scullery door--there was a
coal-scuttle with the kitchen tongs balanced against it and a tin
slop-pail in company with the kitchen shovel, and a watering-pan,
which--the poker being already engaged to John--was balanced on its own
rose and handle, all ready to fail with a touch. These outworks being
echelloned along the floor rendered it impossible for an intruder to
cross the kitchen in the dark without overturning one or more of them.
Thanks to the lamp, Brassey steered his way carefully and with a grim
smile.

At John Waters's door he paused and listened. John's nose revealed his
condition.

Gliding up the stairs on shoeless feet the burglar entered the
dining-room, picked the locks of the sideboard with marvellous celerity,
unfolded a