The night was very still. I could see right out into the moonlit garden, and as the window was partly open, could trust my ears to catch the faintest sound. But scarcely a leaf moved. The dead stillness was almost oppressive.
The suspense began to affect me soon. I have not the slightest fear of the dark; but as minute after minute passed and no result followed my careful preparations, I began to think I had failed. The net must have been set too conspicuously; and so set in vain.
To pass the time I began to count my pulse beats. One, two, three—to a hundred. Again one, two, three—to a second hundred; and a third, a fourth and a fifth. Then the counting became mechanical, and my thoughts wandered away. It became difficult to remain still.
An impulse seized me to cross the room to the window and look out, and I had to fight hard to restrain it.
Then I caught a sound in the garden. The rustling of a bush. I held my breath to listen. There was no wind stirring to account for it. Not a leaf of all those full in view moved. It was a sign therefore that the patience of some one beside myself had begun to give out.
I braced myself for what was to come, and in a second my wits were all concentrated and every nerve in my body thrilled with expectation, quickening to eager anxiety.
I had not long to wait.
There was another rustle of bushes, and a bird startled from its roosting perch, flew chirping its alarm across the lawn. The sharpness of the noise made me start.
Another pause followed; then another sound—this time a slight grating on the gravel; almost immediately a head showed at the window pane; and a man peered cautiously through the glass into the room.
I crouched closer into my hiding place as his face turned and the eyes seemed to sweep in all directions to make sure that no one else was there to see him.