Antony was still in bed.  Bill walked across to wake him up, and then stopped rigid, and his heart thumped against his ribs.  There was somebody else in the room.

“All right, Bill,” said a whispering voice, and Antony stepped out from the curtains.

Bill gazed at him without saying anything.

“Rather good, isn’t it?” said Antony, coming closer and pointing to the bed.  “Come on; the sooner we get out now, the better.”

He led the way out of the window, the silent Bill following him.  They reached the ground safely and noiselessly, went quickly across the lawn and so, over the fence, into the park.  It was not until they were out of sight of the house that Bill felt it safe to speak.

“I quite thought it was you in bed,” he said.

“I hoped you would.  I shall be rather disappointed now if Cayley doesn’t call again.  It’s a pity to waste it.”

“He came all right just now?”

“Oh, rather.  What about you?”

Bill explained his feelings picturesquely.

“There wouldn’t have been much point in his killing you,” said Antony prosaically.  “Besides being too risky.”

“Oh!” said Bill.  And then, “I had rather hoped that it was his love for me which restrained him.”

Antony laughed.

“I doubt it ....  You didn’t turn up your light when you dressed?”

“Good Lord, no.  Did you want me to?”

Antony laughed again and took him by the arm.

“You’re a splendid conspirator, Bill.  You and I could take on anything together.”

The pond was waiting for them, more solemn in the moonlight.  The trees which crowned the sloping bank on the far side of it were mysteriously silent.  It seemed that they had the world very much to themselves.

Almost unconsciously Antony spoke in a whisper.

“There’s your tree, there’s mine.  As long as you don’t move, there’s no chance of his seeing you.  After he’s gone, don’t come out till I do.  He won’t be here for a quarter of an hour or so, so don’t be impatient.”

“Righto,” whispered Bill.

Antony gave him a nod and a smile, and they walked off to their posts.

The minutes went by slowly.  To Antony, lying hidden in the undergrowth at the foot of his tree, a new problem was presenting itself.  Suppose Cayley had to make more than one journey that night?  He might come back to find them in the boat; one of them, indeed, in the water.  And if they decided to wait in hiding, on the chance of Cayley coming back again, what was the least time they could safely allow?  Perhaps it would be better to go round to the front of the house and watch for his return there, the light in his bedroom, before conducting their experiments at the pond.  But then they might miss his second visit in this way, if he made a second visit.  It was difficult.

His eyes were fixed on the boat as he considered these things, and suddenly, as if materialized from nowhere, Cayley was standing by the boat.  In his hand was a small brown bag.