But Sandy’s spirits rose as he cautiously crept up, to find that Jane’s window was closed; he could just distinguish that from the faint glimmering of the glass. The robbers would gain no entrance, then, there; upon that point he could feel happy, and, with a weight removed from his mind, he stood thinking of what he should do.
He did not for a moment entertain a doubt but that it was Gurdon and his friends come back at last, perhaps ready to force an entrance, and open to murder as well as to rob. But Sandy’s heart was glad within him—his lassie was free of all complicity; and if they got at her now, it should only be over his strong body. But he felt that there was no fear of Jane being again deceived; the last occasion had been too plain an unveiling of John Gurdon’s character; so, hastily making up his mind as to his proceedings, he crept from amongst the bushes on his hands and knees, and set himself to try and discover where the nocturnal visitors now were, previously to taking further steps to baffle their plot.
The gardener had not long to seek, for before he had advanced far, a faint whispering told him where the enemy lay, while at the same moment the snap of a fastening and the gliding up of a window told him that an entrance had been effected.
The Burglary.
“The de’ils ha been quick about it,” muttered Sandy; “and they’ve gone through the libr’y window, while, if that door I broke open has been mended again, it’s a strange thing to me. What shall I do?—ring them all up? No,” he said, after a pause; “then perhaps we shouldn’t catch them, for before I could get round again from the bell, they’d have slipped out of the window. No, we must catch them, for it strikes me verra strongly that if this is Mr Jock Gurdon, I should like to see him transported to the other side of the watter.”
For a few moments Sandy McCray stood thoughtful and puzzling what to do. He could easily have alarmed the burglars, for such they evidently were; but then that was not sufficient—there must be a capture made. But suddenly a bright thought struck him—he would run round to the butler’s pantry, and try and rouse whoever slept there. But did any one sleep there? Gurdon’s place had never been filled up, and it was most likely that the footman and under-butler still kept their places in the hall.
“I have it,” muttered Sandy, at last; and setting off across the lawn at a brisk trot, he made his way to the kitchen-garden, but what he sought was not there, of course not: it was round by the potting shed, he recollected then; and on cautiously proceeding there, he picked up from where it lay beside a wall a twenty-round light garden ladder, and set off with it to the front of the house, where he had spoken to Jane that morning.
“One—two—three—four; that’s the window,” muttered Sandy, and the next instant, exerting his great strength, he raised the ladder and rested the top against the window sill.
Fortunately, the window entered so quickly by the burglars was on the other side of the house, and the gardener was able to take his steps for giving an alarm unheard by them.