“No, it was not fancy!” and his heart began to throb violently, his breath came short, and he looked wildly to right and left, and then walked across the road to stand beneath the trees to make sure that no one was watching from there.
But he was quite alone as far as he could see, and he ran lightly back to the railings, wild with excitement now, and stood gazing across the little garden at that back window which was heavily curtained; but right up in the left-hand corner there was a faint glow, which he soon proved to himself could not be a reflection on the glass from outside.
Then he was right; and, panting now as if he had been running heavily, he went round into the street, reached the front of the house, where, as he had expected, he could see low down the faintly illumined blind of the housekeeper’s room, and then rang gently.
He waited, and there was no response; and he rang again, but the time passed again; minutes—more probably moments—elapsed before he heard a window opened softly overhead.
“What is it?” said a woman’s voice.
“Come down and open the door, Berry,” said the boy quickly.
“You, Master Frank?”
“Yes; make haste.”
“Is—is any one with you?” said the woman in a whisper, “because I don’t like opening the door after dark.”
“No, I’m quite alone. Make haste.”