He was getting a little tired of the painful monotony of his task, which, up to the present time, had been a thankless and fruitless one.
On the ninth night, about half-past two o’clock in the morning, which, to say the truth, sounds a good deal like a bull, for how can it be night if it is morning? But, of course, the reader will understand we are speaking figuratively.
About half-past two, or it might be a little later, Mr. Wrench pricked up his ears. He heard the sound of a key turning the lock of what he supposed to be the outer door. He was assured of this upon hearing the door gently closed.
Then soft footsteps were audible in the passage, and the little flap of the counter was thrown back. A man passed through and came behind the bar, then all was silent for the space of a few seconds.
Mr. Wrench was on the tiptoe of expectation.
The bird was coming into the net.
The striking of a lucifer was the next thing he heard. One gas-burner was ignited; it burnt very feebly as the strange visitor had only partially turned it on, nevertheless there was sufficient light for Mr. Wrench to observe the actions of his man through the slits of his sentry box, for he felt perfectly assured that it was his man.
The detective was too practised a hand to emerge from his place of temporary concealment. He must make sure before he pounced upon his prey.
The man drew from his pocket a bunch of keys. With one of these he opened the till, and, gathering up its contents, he slid the loose coins, gold and silver mingled together, into a canvas bag; this he placed in a small carpet bag which he had already deposited on the counter.
After this he went to the plate basket and abstracted therefrom several spoons and forks. He seemed to have a perfect knowledge of the place, and evidently understood where everything was kept.