At six young Bourne left his friend Grim among a waste of empty teacups, plates, and jam-pots, and went to Acton's room.
"I've arranged all," said that worthy. "I've seen the proprietor of the hotel down at Bring, and he's going to have a smart dog-cart and a smarter horse to do the dozen miles between here and Charing Cross ready for us at nine. He says we shall be rattled into town within the hour. So if we aren't in time to spot Raffles we are down on our luck with a vengeance. Your room is on the ground floor, isn't it?"
"Yes," said Jack, "overlooking Corker's flowerbeds."
"Well, pull up the window after supper as quietly as you can, and slip into the garden. Then scoot through the field, and you'll find me waiting for you in the hotel stables. You can pass the word to your chums in Corker's that you aren't going to be on show after supper, and then they won't be routing you out."
"My chums are mostly in Biffen's," said Jack. "Grim and Rogers, etc."
"Good omen," said Acton. "Leave your window so that you can easily shove it up when you come back, and leave your school cap behind, and bring a tweed instead. Got such an article?"
"Yes."
"How's your room lighted?"
"Oh, we have the electric. It is switched off at ten, so that the light will not give any trouble, Acton."
"Well, bolt your door, too. It seems as though the fates were fighting for us, eh, young 'un?"