“Come on, then. Bob Hopley must be asleep.”
“One moment,” said Tom, hesitating. “Let’s ask the Doctor to let us go.”
“He wouldn’t,” I cried impatiently.
“No, he wouldn’t,” said Tom. “Come on.”
We opened our door softly, stole down, and reached the schoolroom unseen, after listening at the masters’ sitting-room door, and hearing them chatting together. One of the windows was open to ventilate the place after its crowded state all the evening, for, in that out-of-the-way part of the country, there was no fear felt of housebreakers, and, stepping up on the desk, I thrust out my legs, and dropped lightly into the playground, to be followed by Mercer, who was breathing hard with excitement. Then, making for the grounds in front, we saw a light shining out before us on to the closely-cut lawn.
The Doctor’s window was open, and, as we crept by, sheltered by the shrubs, there was another report, and the Doctor came and looked out.
“I’m afraid it’s poachers, my dears,” he said. “Well, I’m not a gamekeeper.”
We hurried along the lawn, leaving him looking out, ran lightly along the grassy marge of the carriage drive, and passed through the swing gate, but stopped short.
“Caught,” I said to myself, as a tall, dark figure stepped out before us.
“Hallo! where are you young gents going?”