As midnight approached, an increasing anxiety possessed him.  The horse and cart had been standing under the window for what appeared to be hours, and yet they would not bring out the bags.  What in the name of reason were they waiting for now?  Then at last he detected the movement of shuffling footsteps; he heard voices—­Ridgett’s voice among the others; a wheel grated against the curbstone, and the cart rolled away.  The sounds of the church clock chiming twelve mingled with the reverberations made by the horse’s hoofs as the cart passed between the garden walls.  Thank goodness, anyhow, they had got it off to its time.

With a sigh, he turned on his back and stared at the darkness that hid the ceiling.  Ah!  A profuse perspiration had broken out on his neck and chest.  To give himself more air he pulled down the too generous supply of bed clothes, and in imagination he followed the cart.

It was progressing slowly and steadily along the five miles of road to the railway junction.  Would Perkins, the driver, break the regulations to-night and pick up somebody for a ride with the sacred bags?  Such a gross breach of duty would render Perkins, or his employer, liable to a heavy penalty; and again and again Dale had reminded him of the risks attending misbehavior.  But unwatched men grow bold.  This would be a night to bring temptation in the way of Perkins.  Some villager—­workman, field-laborer, wood-cutter—­tramping the road would perhaps ask for a lift.  “What cheer, mate!  I’m for the night-mail.  Give us a lift’s far as junction, and I’ll stan’ the price of a pint to you.”

A glance up and down the empty road—­and then “Jump in.  Wunnerful weather we’re having, aren’t us?” So much for the wise regulation! Most wise regulation, if one understand it properly.  For when once you begin tampering with the inviolable nature of a mail-cart, where are you to stop?  Suppose your chance passenger proves to be not an honest subject, but a malefactor—­one of a gang.  “Take that, ye swab.”  A clump on the side of his head, and the driver is sent endways from the box-seat; the cart gallops on to where the, rest of the gang lurk waiting for it; strong arms, long legs, and the monstrous deed is consummated.  Her Majesty’s bags have been stolen.

Though so dark in this bedroom, there would be light enough out there.  There was no moon; but the summer night, as he knew, would never deepen to real obscurity.  It would keep all of a piece till dawn, like a sort of gray dusk, heavy and impenetrable beneath the trees, but quite transparent on the heath and in the glades; and then it would become all silvery and trembling; the wet bracken would glisten faintly, high branches of beech trees would glow startlingly, each needle on top of the lofty firs would change to a tiny sword of fire—­just as he had seen happen so often years ago, when as an undisciplined lad he lay out in the woods for his pleasure.