‘It is a dry, starlight evening,’ she replied.  ’I will go for a little walk if your object is merely a private conversation with Miss Aldclyffe.’

‘Very well, do; there’s no accounting for tastes,’ he said.  A few commonplaces then passed between her and Miss Aldclyffe, and Anne went upstairs to bonnet and cloak herself.  She came down, opened the front door, and went out.

She looked around to realize the night.  It was dark, mournful, and quiet.  Then she stood still.  From the moment that Manston had requested her absence, a strong and burning desire had prevailed in her to know the subject of Miss Aldclyffe’s conversation with him.  Simple curiosity was not entirely what inspired her.  Her suspicions had been thoroughly aroused by the discovery of the morning.  A conviction that her future depended on her power to combat a man who, in desperate circumstances, would be far from a friend to her, prompted a strategic movement to acquire the important secret that was in handling now.  The woman thought and thought, and regarded the dull dark trees, anxiously debating how the thing could be done.

Stealthily re-opening the front door she entered the hall, and advancing and pausing alternately, came close to the door of the room in which Miss Aldclyffe and Manston conversed.  Nothing could be heard through the keyhole or panels.  At a great risk she softly turned the knob and opened the door to a width of about half-an-inch, performing the act so delicately that three minutes, at least, were occupied in completing it.  At that instant Miss Aldclyffe said—­

‘There’s a draught somewhere.  The door is ajar, I think.’

Anne glided back under the staircase.  Manston came forward and closed the door.  This chance was now cut off, and she considered again.  The parlour, or sitting-room, in which the conference took place, had the window-shutters fixed on the outside of the window, as is usual in the back portions of old country-houses.  The shutters were hinged one on each side of the opening, and met in the middle, where they were fastened by a bolt passing continuously through them and the wood mullion within, the bolt being secured on the inside by a pin, which was seldom inserted till Manston and herself were about to retire for the night; sometimes not at all.

If she returned to the door of the room she might be discovered at any moment, but could she listen at the window, which overlooked a part of the garden never visited after nightfall, she would be safe from disturbance.  The idea was worth a trial.

She glided round to the window, took the head of the bolt between her finger and thumb, and softly screwed it round until it was entirely withdrawn from its position.  The shutters remained as before, whilst, where the bolt had come out, was now a shining hole three-quarters of an inch in diameter, through which one might see into the middle of the room.  She applied her eye to the orifice.