’Mrs Tresize at Landeweddy. 48.  White gate, entrance back.  By Celler.  Mem.  I large chest.  To be handled quick and hidn in orchd if necessry.  Reported good money, but near.  No help here but 1 servt maid.’

Doctor Unonius stared at the paper, and from the paper lifted his eyes to stare at the black bulk of the farm-house buildings, the stretch of roof, the tall chimneys looming above the tamarisks.  But the close rays of the lamp dazzled his eyes, and he saw nothing—­ nothing but the white gate glimmering at the end of the courtlege wall.  While he peered and blinked, memory recalled to him old Mrs Puckey’s tale of the money-chest kept by the widow Tresize beneath her bed.

Mischief was brewing, beyond a doubt.  Precisely what that mischief might be he could not determine.  But somewhere behind him was a man—­a stranger, dressed in woman’s clothes—­making at dead of night for a house occupied by two women only; for a house that held money.  And this man had been carrying a bag which contained among other things a pistol, probably loaded, a pair of boots with rubber soles, a map, and a memorandum which said (and almost certainly with truth) that the house was unprotected save by one servant maid.

It was clear that he must call at once and give warning; that he must awaken the widow, at whatever cost to her nerves, and offer his protection.  It might be that he had checkmated the ruffian and thrown him off his game.  Very likely he had.  A man with this evidence against him, and minus the pistol with which he had intended to do his infernal work, would—­ten to one—­be heading away from justice, and for dear life.  Still, where so much was mystery, the doctor decided to take no risks.  Whatever the event, his course of action—­his only possible course—­lay plain before him.  Here of a sudden it occurred to Doctor Unonius that the man, though travelling alone, might be travelling to meet accomplices; and these accomplices might be hiding around and waiting, even at this moment.

He remembered that beyond the white gate a short farm-road led around to the back entrance of the building.  With this new suspicion of a conspiracy in his mind, it cost him no small effort of courage to dismount, pistol in hand, from the gig and push the white gate open.

It fell back, as he remembered later, on a well-oiled hinge, and he stood aside while old Dapple, doubtless greatly wondering, obeyed his call and dragged the gig through.  This was a nervous moment, for now the doctor could not rid himself of the apprehension that eyes might be watching him from behind the hedge.  He remembered, too, that the widow Tresize kept a couple of sheep dogs, notoriously savage ones.  It was strange that they did not awake and give tongue.

On the thought of this, as Dapple drew the gig through the gateway, Doctor Unonius edged up close to the step. . . .  It might be all very well for Odysseus to squat on the ground when attacked by the hounds of Eumaeus, but Odysseus had not the resource (perhaps better) of springing into a gig.