“We are within sight of the crib,” said Peace. “I shall leave you here in charge of ‘Tommy.’”
“Who’s ‘Tommy?’”
“The pony.”
“Oh, I see. Well, and what then?”
“You wait here till I come back. The house is some little distance off from where we are now. So much the better. I don’t want the trap to be seen by any chance passenger. Here you are pretty safe from observation, but if a bobby does hail within sight you can drive slowly on—and after he has gone return to this spot or near it. I shall be sure to find you. If I do not I shall give a whistle, and you’ll know I am at hand.”
“Oh, you are going to crack the crib all by yourself then?”
“I shall manage it better without a companion; besides, some one must be left in charge of ‘Tommy’ and the trap—don’t you see that? Tommy’s worth his weight in gold, and I wouldn’t lose him for the best man or woman that ever breathed.”
“You were always fond of animals, Charlie, and you ain’t altered in that respect, I see.”
Peace left the gipsy, and proceeded to the habitation he proposed operating on, and Rawton had to content himself as best he could in the dark lane till the return of his companion.
A quarter of an hour passed over, then half an hour; the gipsy felt cold and uncomfortable. He got out of the trap, and walked backwards and forwards in the lane to break the monotony of the hour.