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.”

Mr. Travers stepped back a few paces and gazed up at the house.  All was still.  For a few moments he stood listening and then re-joined the boatswain.

“Good-bye, mate,” he said, hoisting himself on to the sill.  “Death or victory.”

The boatswain whispered and thrust a couple of sovereigns into his hand.  “Take your time; there’s no hurry,” he muttered.  “I want to pull myself together.  Frighten ’er enough, but not too much.  When she screams I’ll come in.”

Mr. Travers slipped inside and then thrust his head out of the window.  “Won’t she think it funny you should be so handy?” he inquired.

“No; it’s my faithful ’art,” said the boat-swain, “keeping watch over her every night, that’s the ticket.  She won’t know no better.”

Mr. Travers grinned, and removing his boots passed them out to the other.  “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—­”