The Chase of the Golden Plate

When the Burglar awoke to consciousness he was as near heaven as any mere man ever dares expect to be. He was comfortable -- quite comfortable -- wrapped in a delicious, languorous lassitude which forbade him opening his eyes to realisation. A woman's hand lay on his forehead, caressingly, and dimly he knew that another hand cuddled cosily in one of his own. He lay still, trying to remember, before he opened his eyes. Someone beside him breathed softly, and he listened, as if to music.

Gradually the need of action -- just what action and to what purpose did not occur to him -- impressed itself on his mind. He raised the disengaged hand to his face and touched the mask, which had been pushed back on his forehead. Then he recalled the ball, the shot, the chase, the hiding in the woods. He opened his eyes with a start. Utter darkness lay about him -- for a moment he was not certain whether it was the darkness of blindness or of night.