She re-entered the house and ran lightly upstairs. The candle was still
alight and the gun was leaning against the bed-post; but the visitor had
disappeared. Conscious of an odd feeling of disappointment, she looked
round the empty room.

"Come and look at him," entreated a voice, and she turned and beheld the
amused countenance of her late prisoner at the door.

"I've been watching from the back window," he said, nodding. "You're a
wonder; that's what you are. Come and look at him."

Mrs. Waters followed, and leaning out of the window watched with simple
pleasure the efforts of the amateur sexton. Mr. Benn was digging like
one possessed, only pausing at intervals to straighten his back and to
cast a fearsome glance around him. The only thing that marred her
pleasure was the behaviour of Mr. Travers, who was struggling for a place
with all the fervour of a citizen at the Lord Mayor's show.

"Get back," she said, in a fierce whisper. "He'll see you."

Mr. Travers with obvious reluctance obeyed, just as the victim looked up.

"Is that you, Mrs. Waters?" inquired the boatswain, fearfully.

"Yes, of course it is," snapped the widow. "Who else should it be, do
you think? Go on! What are you stopping for?"

Mr. Benn's breathing as he bent to his task again was distinctly audible.
The head of Mr. Travers ranged itself once more alongside the widow's.