he person of his neighbor. Wilton, though taller, lacked
the rotund Talbot's liveliness of attack.

An authoritative voice, which The Hopper attributed to Shaver's father,
anxiously demanding what was the matter, terminated The Hopper's
enjoyment of the struggle. Enough was the matter to satisfy The Hopper
that a prolonged stay in the neighborhood might be highly detrimental to
his future liberty. The combatants had rolled a considerable distance away
from the shelves and were near a door leading into a room beyond. A young
man in a bath-wrapper dashed upon the scene, and in his precipitate
arrival upon the battle-field fell sprawling across the prone figures. The
Hopper, suddenly inspired to deeds of prowess, crawled through the window,
sprang past the three men, seized the blue-and-white vase which Wilton had
separated from the rest of Talbot's treasures, and then with one hop
gained the window. As he turned for a last look, a pistol cracked and he
landed upon the terrace amid a shower of glass from a shattered pane.

A woman of unmistakable Celtic origin screamed murder from a third-story
window. The thought of murder was disagreeable to The Hopper. Shaver's
father had missed him by only the matter of a foot or two, and as he had
no intention of offering himself again as a target he stood not upon the
order of his going.

He effected a running pick-up of the Lang-Yao, and with this art treasure
under one arm and the plum-blossom vase under the other, he sprinted for
the highway, stumbling over shrubbery, bumping into a stone bench that all
but caused disaster, and finally reached the road on which he continued
his flight toward New Haven, followed by cries in many keys and a
fusillade of pistol shots.

Arriving presently at a hamlet, where he paused for breath in the rear of
a country store, he found a basket and a quantity of paper in which he
carefully packed his loot. Over the top he spread some faded lettuce
leaves and discarded carnations which communicated something of a blithe
holiday air to his encumbrance. Elsewhere he found a bicycle under a shed,
and while cycling over a snowy road in the dark, hampered by a basket
containing pottery representative of the highest genius of the Orient, was
not without its difficulties and dangers, The Hopper made rapid progress.

Halfway through New Haven he approached two policemen and slowed down to
allay suspicion.

"Merry Chris'mas!" he called as he passed them and