There was the low growl of a dog, a short bark, and then a
muttered oath, a thud, and a groan that was not human. Poor Basil
Perrowne ground his teeth, for he had heard the last gasp of the
faithful Muggins. A hand was on the outside knob of the door. Mr. Bangs
turned the key and drew back the catch of the lock, when two men thrust
themselves in. "Ware's the lights, you blarsted fool?" one of the
ruffians asked. The detective drew back, and the others with him, till
all five had entered. Then Mr. Perrowne threw open the office door, and
Timotheus that of the linen closet. In the sudden light cast on the
scene the pistol men fired and the burglars tumbled back, two hanging on
to three. "Don't shoot," cried Mr. Bangs to the gunners, "but kem on,
fellow them up." After the fugitives they went, not too quickly,
although the bereaved parson was longing for a shot at the murderer of
Muggins. The burglars were on the road, and the waggon, driven by a
woman, was coming to meet them. "Now then," said the detective, as a
couple of revolver shots whizzed past him, "give the scoundrels thet
velley, before there's any denger of hitting the woman.
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