sight as much as possible till night walked slowly home. His step was
light, but he carried a face in which care and exultation were strangely
mingled.

By ten o'clock that night care was in the ascendant, and by eleven, when
he discerned the red glow of Mr. Travers's pipe set as a beacon against a
dark background of hedge, the boatswain was ready to curse his inventive
powers. Mr. Travers greeted him cheerily and, honestly attributing the
fact to good food and a couple of pints of beer he had had since the
boatswain left him, said that he was ready for anything.

Mr. Benn grunted and led the way in silence. There was no moon, but the
night was clear, and Mr. Travers, after one or two light-hearted attempts
at conversation, abandoned the effort and fell to whistling softly
instead.

Except for one lighted window the village slept in darkness, but the
boatswain, who had been walking with the stealth of a Red Indian on the
war-path, breathed more freely after they had left it behind. A renewal
of his antics a little farther on apprised Mr. Travers that they were
approaching their destination, and a minute or two later they came to a
small inn standing just off the road. "All shut up and Mrs. Waters abed,
bless her," whispered the boatswain, after walking care-fully round the
house. "How do you feel?"

"I'm all right," said Mr. Travers. "I feel as if I'd been burgling all
my life. How do you feel?"

"Narvous," said Mr. Benn, pausing under a small window at the rear of the
house. "This is the one."