Bill counted a hundred slowly and then got up. As quickly and as noiselessly as possible he dressed himself in the dark. He put the dummy figure in the bed, arranged the clothes so that just enough but not too much of it was showing, and stood by the door looking at it. For a casual glance the room was just about light enough. Then very quietly, very slowly he opened the door. All was still. There was no light from beneath the door of Cayley’s room. Very quietly, very carefully he crept along the passage to Antony’s room. He opened the door and went in.
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?”