Neddy, the Shover, and gentlemanly Mike tiptoed off to the window, on the right hand side of the door as one approached the house from the road.  The bottom of the window was about seven feet from the ground.  Neddy bent down and offered his broad back as a platform to his companion.  Mike mounted thereon and began his work.  That, in itself, was child’s play to him; the matchboarding was but lightly nailed on; the fastenings came away in a moment under the skillful application of his instrument; the window sash behind was not even bolted, for the bolt had perished with time and had not been replaced.  So far, very good!  But at this early point Mike received his first surprise.  He could not see much of the interior; a tall curtain stretched across the entire breadth of the window, distant about two feet from it; but he could see that the room was lighted up.

Very cautiously he completed his work on the matchboarding, handing down each plank to Neddy when he had detached it.  Then he cut out a pane of glass—­it was all A.B.C. to him—­put his hand in and raised the sash a little; then it was simple to push it up from below.  But the sash had not been raised for years; it stuck; when it yielded to his efforts, it gave a loud creak.  He flung one leg over the window-sill and sat poised there, listening.  The room was lighted up; but if there were anyone in it, he must be asleep, or very hard of hearing, or that creak would have aroused his attention.

Released from his office as a support, Neddy rose, and hauled himself up by his arms till he could see in the window.  “Lights!” he whispered.  Mike nodded and got in—­on the dais, behind the curtain.  Neddy scrambled up after him, finding some help from a stunted but sturdy old apple tree that grew against the wall.  Now they were both inside, behind the tall curtain.

“Come on,” Mike whispered.  “We must see if there’s anybody here, and, if there isn’t, put out the light.”  For on either side of the curtain there was room for a streak of light which might by chance be seen from the road.

Mike advanced round the left-side edge of the curtain; he had perceived by now that it formed the back of some structure, though he could not yet see of what nature the structure was; nor was he now examining.  For as he stepped out on the dais at the side of the canopy, his eyes were engrossed by another feature of this strange apartment.  He stretched back his hand and caught hold of Neddy’s brawny arm, pulling him forward.  “See that—­that hole, Neddy?”

For the moment they forgot the lights; they forgot the possibility of an occupant of the room—­which indeed was, save for their own whispers, absolutely still; they stood looking at the strange hole, and then into one another’s faces, for a few seconds.  Then they stole softly nearer to it.  “That’s a blasted funny ’ole!” breathed Neddy.  “Look’s like a bloke’s—­”

Mike’s fingers squeezed his arm tighter, evidently again claiming his attention.  “My hat, we needn’t look far for the stuff!” he whispered.  An uneasy whisper it was; the whole place looked queer, and that hole was uncanny—­it had its contents.