"We don't want her to hear me till I'm upstairs," he whispered. "Put 'em
outside, handy for me to pick up."

The boatswain obeyed, and Mr. Travers--who was by no means a good hand at
darning socks--shivered as he trod lightly over a stone floor. Then,
following the instructions of Mr. Benn, he made his way to the stairs and
mounted noiselessly.

But for a slight stumble half-way up his progress was very creditable for
an amateur. He paused and listened and, all being silent, made his way
to the landing and stopped out-side a door. Despite himself his heart
was beating faster than usual.

He pushed the door open slowly and started as it creaked. Nothing
happening he pushed again, and standing just inside saw, by a small ewer
silhouetted against the casement, that he was in a bedroom. He listened
for the sound of breathing, but in vain.

"Quiet sleeper," he reflected; "or perhaps it is an empty room. Now, I
wonder whether--"

The sound of an opening door made him start violently, and he stood
still, scarcely breathing, with his ears on the alert. A light shone on
the landing, and peeping round the door he saw a woman coming along the
corridor--a younger and better-looking woman than he had expected to
see. In one hand she held aloft a candle, in the other she bore a
double-barrelled gun. Mr. Travers withdrew into the room and, as the
light came nearer, slipped into a big cupboard by the side of the
fireplace and, standing bolt upright, waited. The light came into the
room.