They waited, and the rustling made by the men crossing the hall back to the study was again heard, and then, for some little time, there was silence.
“They must be gone, sir,” whispered Maine, but almost as he spoke there came up from below a dull, heavy, stertorous snore, which was soon after accompanied by the heavy hard breathing of a sleeper, and an occasional snort and muttering, as of some one talking in his slumber.
“I think we may strike a light now, Maine,” said the vicar, quietly; and as he did so, and lit the chamber candle, John Maine moistened his hand to take a good grip of his waddy.
“Oh, we shan’t need that,” said the vicar, smiling. “Come along.”
He led the way downstairs to the study, where, on looking in, there lay one man extended upon the hearth-rug; another was on the couch; and the third slept heavily in the easy chair, with his head hanging over the arm, his uneasy position causing him to utter the snorts and mutterings that had ascended the stairs.
It was only a matter of ten minutes or so for the watchers to drag their prisoners down to the little cellar, where some straw was placed beneath their heads to save them from suffocation. Then the great key was turned, and the vicar and his companion returned to the study.
“Now for number four, John Maine,” said the vicar. “Come along.”
He resumed his boots, and John Maine was following his example when a low chirp was uttered, and a head appeared at the window.
John Maine was nearest, and he made a dash at the owner; but with a rush he disappeared, and before the garden-gate could be reached wheels and the sound of a horse galloping came to the pursuers’ ears.
“He has gone, John Maine,” said the vicar, coolly. “Never mind, the police may come across him. We have to go back and watch our prisoners.”