"Dinner as usual, sir?" said the landlord of The Happy Heart, looking into the parlor where Tony and Robert were playing piquet.

"Please, Mr. Glew," said Tony. "Seven o'clock as usual. Oh, by the way, have you got such a thing as a lantern?"

"A lantern!" interjected Robert in surprise. "Why, what——" He was checked by a kick under the table.

"I dare say I can find you one, sir," said the landlord. "We don't need 'em these summer nights, but I'll be bound there's one knocking about somewhere."

"Thanks. My friend and I are enthusiastic collectors of butterflies and moths. We mean to try for some of the latter to-night; so, if we are not in till late, you won't be surprised or imagine burglars."

"Bless you, no, sir!" said Glew, and went out to look for the lantern. As soon as the door closed Robert began to speak.

"Don't think me censorious, Mr. Wild, if you please; but, really now, was there any need for that?"

"The lantern? Rather! We may have to——"

"No—not the lantern. The—the perversion——"

"Oh! you mean the lie. Don't apologize, Bangs, old chap! you haven't offended me in the least. I like people to say what they think.—Well, the lie.... Yes, I think it was necessary. Conspirators can't stick at trifles. Besides, it's on my conscience, so there's no need for you to worry."

"But wouldn't an excuse——"

"Have done equally well? Possibly, though I never save the ha'porth of tar. And an excuse would have been only a lie in another form—just as culpable. But don't let's worry over this: I want to tell you of the plan of campaign."

Robert subsided, content to have recorded a protest, however mild. He loved adventure; but, being a man trained in meticulous accuracy, he did not take kindly to deception—verbal deception, at any rate. The path of an adventurer he had found a trifle thorny, trodden by a man of conscience, but still he had enjoyed it and hoped to tread it still further. But he was careful to leave most of the talking to his comrade.

"While you, Bangs," pursued Tony, leaning against the mantelpiece, "have been living the lotus life and acting slugabed, I have been working hard. Ever since I got a hint that Brown was in touch with The Quiet House I have been following him like the proverbial sleuth hound. I have discovered—at the expense of torn trousers and soaking feet—that he keeps tryst nightly with that charming bit of womanhood I spoke to once—and only once, alas! He has a private entry over the wall, having driven some large nails into the outer side, well off the beaten track. Up there the gay Lothario climbs—drops into the garden—meets his divinity, and voilÀ tout!"

"What happens?" asked Robert eagerly.

"The usual thing, Bangs. Exchange of kisses and confidences—which I, alas! can hear but imperfectly."

"But you don't listen!" exclaimed Robert, scandalized. Tony sighed.

"I have to steel myself. In high politics, you know ... but, of course, I shall never tell."

"Oh!"

The disappointment was obvious, and Tony laughed.

"No, old fellow, love's young dream and so forth must be respected. Honestly, I've only watched, hoping to get a clew—perhaps some conversation with the girl when Brown goes home. No good! No earthly good! Brown sees her safe to the house and then comes back. He stands on a convenient garden roller and climbs. Then he drops, and off home. Ditto me, disgusted, envious, lacking information. To-night I mean to move."

"Yes!"

"We'll lie in wait, Bangs, and have a word with them. A coil of rope and a sack—those shall be our only tools. While Brown is talking we'll try to slip the sack over his head and tie him up. I don't think the lady will scream, for it seems to me that there's a kind of counterplot afoot—either against Billy, the Turkish government, or Miss Arkwright. (I still feel sure she is not Miss Arkwright, but a maid of sorts.) Now, if I'm right in my conjectures she won't be keen on advertising Brown's presence to her mistress. If I'm wrong and she does scream and help comes, we must bolt to the wall and clear out at once. If we succeed, we'll have a talk with her and try to find out something. I'm tired of waiting in the dark. Now, are you game to help?"

Robert wagged his head nervously.

"Of course, Mr. Wild, I'm as ready for adventure as I ever was. But—but this is a serious business. It—it might mean prison!"

"It might," agreed Tony; "but I don't think it need if we're smart. Anyhow, we must be prepared to risk a little for a great adventure. If we're cute about the sack business I think I can manage the roping part all right. You would have to hold the lady."

"B-but——"

"She's awfully pretty ..."

"That is no inducement, Mr. Wild. You forget——"

"Come, Bangs, none of your 'perversions!' I don't forget anything. How many chaps half your age would jump at the chance of capturing a beautiful anarchist!"

"I am not an old man yet, Mr. Wild," said Robert with some heat. "You misunderstand me. I love romance and can take an interest—a detached interest, of course—an appreciative and artistic interest in a pretty woman. What I am thinking of is the law. But, since you put it like that, I will come and risk it."

"Good," said Tony, concealing a smile. "Don't let your interest be too detached, old boy, or she may get away into the house. Grip her firmly by the wrists."

They spent the rest of the summer evening in maturing their plans and piquet. Having given his word Mr. Hedderwick scorned to withdraw, though it was plain that he did not relish the prospect of a night attack. Tony, in addition to the lantern, procured some rope and a sack from the landlord. "To put the moths in, Mr. Glew," he said brightly by way of explanation.

"To put the morths in!" repeated Glew in a dazed fashion. "To put the MORTHS in! TO PUT THE——"

He was still repeating the formula when the adventurous pair set out.

It was a quarter past ten, thirty minutes before the odd-job man was wont to meet the lady of his heart. They reached The Quiet House in some ten minutes, and then skirted the wall for a short distance, till Tony stopped with a whispered "Here we are!" It was in a bridle-path that they found themselves, about eighty yards from the main road that ran through Shereling. Tony crouched down behind a convenient clump of bramble and lighted the lamp.

"I'll light you up the wall," he said softly. "When you get to the top, hang by your hands and drop quietly down. There's soft grass ten feet beneath you. As soon as you're up I shall put out the light, for I know the way by heart now."

With a resentful obedience Robert observed the big nails that had been driven into the brickwork by the amorous Brown. Heartily wishing himself at home—or at least in the snug security of The Happy Heart—but loath to plead his years or cowardice, Mr. Hedderwick put his foot on the lowest spike, grasped one above his head, and began the ascent. To an active boy it would have been a trivial feat; to an elderly adventurer it was full of pain, and in spite of an heroic spirit he was more than once on the point of climbing down again. Something, however, forbade the refusal of the adventure: curiosity or shame held him to his word. The glimmer of Tony's lantern following—nay, leading him ever upward, shone like a beacon of promise in the dark. The thought spurred him, and it was not until he had one leg across the top of the wall that he reflected on a change of simile: the light might rather be a will-o'-the-wisp luring him to destruction or disgrace. For a moment his courage failed.

"Mr. Wild!" he whispered despairingly, "I'm——"

The light went out.

"All right?" said the cheering voice of his fellow criminal. "Good. I'm coming."

He began to follow, rope, sack and lantern coiled over his shoulders. With a groan of resolution Robert wiped the sweat of fear from his forehead and dropped lightly to the ground.

Tony joined him a moment later, breathing a little quickly from the climb. Without a word he walked cautiously forward, Robert close behind, until they reached a thicket of elder-bushes. Into the heart of this they crept, making as little noise as possible. Presently, when Tony judged they were so placed as to be secure from observation, themselves able to observe, they halted. "May as well sit down," whispered Tony; "quite likely we shall have to wait a bit." He spread the sack upon the ground and the two of them established themselves upon it, clasping their knees.

The night, most luckily, was fine. There was no hint of rain, and little dew was falling. There was no moon, and the fitful starlight only served to display the immensity of the darkness, the monstrous tree-shapes looming threateningly on them, the overwhelming horror of The Quiet House. Black against the dark background of the sky it reared its bulk above them, seeming to menace the guilty pair with nightmare terrors, starting ghoulish fancies, prosaic fears of the police, a child's dread of the dark and all its goblins. It was so silent, powerful, unknown. Mr. Hedderwick's flesh crept with a chill that was not climatic, and instinctively he huddled closer to his companion.

"Can we smoke?" he breathed.

"No. They might see the glow."

"They," of course meant Brown and his accomplice; but, uttered beneath that lowering sky, those gloomy trees, in the atmosphere of intrigue and hypothetical bloodshed, the words assumed an awful import to Mr. Hedderwick. Romance cut with a keener edge across his quivering soul. He was getting his fill of adventures, and with an unfeigned zeal he now wished himself safe at Bloomsbury, even at the price of a Caudle's welcome. To think that he, a middle-aged—no! an old man, with a good wife—yes! a good wife, though sometimes a little overbearing—a churchwarden of Saint Frideswide's and all the rest—to think that he could be so harebrained and ungrateful as to embark on such an enterprise! It was incredible: he must be dreaming.... No; it was real. His right foot was in agony: it had gone to sleep.

"Ouch!" he said, stretching it. "What's the time, Mr. Wild?"

"Can't see. Daren't light a match. 'Fraid they're late. Shut up."

Time passed heavily to the unhappy man. A schoolboy, condemned to a caning, can face the prospect with a decent front if only the punishment is not deferred. "Cane me, if you must!" he would say, "but get it over and let's have done with it!" A fair request, provided the culprit be not a hardened nature whom it is policy to keep in suspense. In such a case the Third Degree may be justified. But suppose your culprit to be a sensitive shrinking nature, to whom the waiting is worse torture than the actual pain itself, is it not a refinement of cruelty to keep him on the tenter-hooks? Robert Hedderwick was of such, a gentle, kindly, romantic, imaginative fool. You who scorn his folly might pardon, could you but enter into half his feelings as he waits amid the elder-bushes.

At eleven o'clock there was promise of incident to cheer their hearts. From the other side of the house they heard a voice call sharply, "Who is there?" No answer was returned, but before the echoes died they saw a dark figure run silently across the lawn and clamber up the wall where they had made an entrance. Breathlessly they watched, and in another moment a second figure, carrying some lethal weapon, walked sharply into the field of vision. The newcomer made a tour of the house and part of the garden, but did not disturb the anxious watchers in the elders. As soon as he had disappeared Robert whispered, "What now? Shall we go after the man who climbed?"

"No," replied Tony, whispering too. "I don't understand this. It's a different program. Looks as if something is up. Better wait."

His companion sighed, for he had hoped release was at hand. Instead, he resigned himself to waiting.

An hour crept by with feet of lead. To the amateur plotters it seemed as if time itself were standing still. Robert thought it must be two o'clock at least, but Tony's common sense guessed it to be near midnight. Once the churchwarden ventured to suggest that honor was satisfied, curiosity likely to be disappointed; why not retire? Tony refused doggedly:

"I'm going to see it through now if we wait till five o'clock. No more lost chances!"

Robert groaned and rubbed his leg.

It was half past one when Robert, half asleep, conscious of nothing but discomfort, felt Tony plucking at his sleeve. He roused himself irritably, almost forgetful of their errand. Then, in the dim foreshadowing of dawn, he saw the outline of a man on the top of the wall. He awoke fully on the instant, clutching his fellow sufferer in pure fright, staring with wide-open eyes. The man dropped nimbly down upon the grass and walked noiselessly across the lawn.

They watched him eagerly, feeling that their sufferings were about to be rewarded, wondering whether they ought to follow or wait. If the first, they might be discovered; the second, they might lose him. For once in his life Tony was at a loss. He had reckoned on Brown's arrival, but not at a different hour, pursuing a new course. What was the best plan?

Fortunately the period of suspense was short. The figure, which had disappeared for a moment round the corner of the house, came into view once more. It still moved with surpassing stealth, but now it was carrying a long unwieldy object in one hand. It was a ladder. Tony nearly whistled when he saw this ominous contrivance, and Robert quivered with a satisfying impatience for the coming drama. Were they to see a new version of Romeo and Juliet, or was it merely a vulgar burglary?

The man paused, surveyed the blank unlighted house, and then reared his ladder against a window. He climbed rapidly up, but after a brief inspection descended with equal swiftness. He raised the ladder with no obvious effort, carried it some little distance along, and placed it at another window. It was clear that he was correcting a mistake.

"What"—began Robert in a thick whisper, but Tony clapped a hand on his mouth, fearing lest the faintest sound might betray them. Not that there was any real danger, for the night-prowler was twenty yards away, the wind had begun to rise, and the tree branches were sighing loudly enough to drown a human murmur. But Tony meant to run no risks: he was determined to see the play through to the end. Not the quiver of an eyelash must betray them. At all costs, silence.

They saw Brown—for who else could it be?—rear the ladder, then shift it a little to get a better foundation. He tried it with his hand to make sure that it was firm. At last, satisfied and resolute, he placed one foot upon it and began to climb. The watchers held their breath, unconscious of the drama within a drama about to burst upon them. Robert was trembling, his mouth still covered by Tony's precautionary hand. Brown was on the second rung, when the window above was suddenly flung open. The mysterious Billy leaned out, jug in hand. "Good evening!" he said distinctly, in pleasant gentlemanly accents that reached the watchers in the elders: "good evening. Have a drink?"

The wretched Brown was so bouleversÉ by the unexpected apparition that he stood fast, gaping wonderfully, upon the second rung. It was lucky that he had climbed no higher, for the cascade that fell with unerring aim fairly upon his countenance was the best part of a gallon of water. Apart from the hydraulic force exerted the wanton suddenness of the attack must have dashed him to the ground. He fell prone upon the grass, striving to disburden himself of an unwanted draft, pitiable, a spluttering ruin of a conspirator.

"Glwhtt!" said Robert from behind the hand of Tony. He was nigh to bursting with suppressed emotion. "Glwhtt! oh! glwhtt!"

Tony, too, found it hard to keep himself in hand. Despite his disappointment at beholding his fair hopes frustrated, it was no easy task to check the laugh. To see a man, bold, confident, assured of success, in one moment converted into a sodden and convulsive mass, weltering upon the lawn—it was catastrophic. If incongruity be the basis of the comic spirit, it was here with a vengeance.

"With a vengeance." The thought was impelled by the quick hurry of events. Brown, after gaspy flounderings for half a minute, recovered himself and stood erect. He shook an Olympian fist in powerless wrath toward the window, breathed a crimson oath that might have scorched the stars, and ran blunderingly toward the wall. He made for his point of entry by a straight path and dashed blindly through the elders. In his headlong course he trod convincingly on Robert's fingers, but sped on, heedless of the yelp of pain. "Ahoo!" whooped Mr. Hedderwick, leaping in his agony, unrecking of the consequences. "Ahoo! Ahoo!" He was wringing his hands in an ecstasy of anguish as Lionel came bursting from the house, a heavy walking-stick in his hand.

"The wall quick!" said Tony, seizing him by the arm. They had a start of thirty yards: Brown was over the wall and out of sight by this time, and there was still hope of escape. Had Tony been alone he would have got away, for they reached the wall well ahead of the frantic Lionel, aflame for blood. But chivalry forced him to let Robert climb first. "Up you go!" he said, thrusting the adventurous churchwarden upon the roller. There were no spikes to help or hinder on the inner wall. Robert caught hold of the top bricks and scrabbled piteously with his toes, searching for a foothold. Tony shoved fiercely from beneath, the thought of prison or the bowstring beating in his brain. With a heave of which he scarce thought himself capable he boosted Robert high in the air. Mr. Hedderwick flew up like a ball of india-rubber, rolled on to the top, and fell over the other side with a wail of apprehension. Luckily the mud was soft. But just as he touched the mud, Lionel came up with his quarry and seized him by the collar. Tony turned and struggled like a wildcat, but he was no match for the other. Lionel shortened his stick and drove it upward. With a grunt of pain Tony collapsed. "Whew!" said Lionel, vastly pleased as he contemplated the fallen foe. "There's one of 'em, anyhow. I hope I haven't killed the brute."