trousers and oil-stained jacket that he was wearing and hung them on a
nail just inside the door. Then he gave a last look round, presumably
to satisfy himself that everything was in order, and shutting the door
with a bang, turned the key in the lock.

I naturally thought he was going to stuff that desirable object into
his pocket, but as it happened he did nothing of the kind. With a
throb of half-incredulous delight I saw that he was standing on
tiptoe, inserting it into some small hiding-place just under the edge
of the iron roof.

I didn't wait for further information. At any moment someone might
have come blundering round the corner of the paling, and I felt that I
had tempted Fate quite enough already. So, abandoning my peep-hole,
I turned round, and with infinite care crawled back across the grass
into the shelter of the trees.

Once there, however, I rolled over on the ground and metaphorically
hugged myself. The situation may not appear to have warranted such
excessive rapture, but when a man is practically hopeless even the
wildest of possible chances comes to him like music and sunshine.
Forgetting my hunger and my wet clothes in my excitement, I lay there
thinking out my plan of action. I could do nothing, of course, until
it was dark: in fact it would be really better to wait till the
household had gone to bed, for several of the back windows looked
right out on the garage. Then, provided I could climb the paling and
get out the bicycle without being spotted, I had only to push it up
the drive to find myself on the Devonport road.

With this comforting reflection I settled myself down to wait. It was