Sam mounted round by round, wondering whether the thin ladder would bear his weight or collapse and let him down, as a punishment for the degrading crime he was about to commit; and the higher he went, and the ladder vibrated more easily, the more nervous he grew. Twice he stopped breathless and full of dread.
“Is it safe?” he whispered.
“Yes; up with yer.”
Then he grasped the railing, stepped over into the little gallery, and, stooping down, soon found that he could unbolt the shutter.
The next minute he was inside, and descending at once into the laboratory, he took the screw-driver from his pocket, and had no difficulty in prizing open the drawers, the wood bending enough to set free the catch. A match gave him sufficient light, and when he paused before the right drawer, in which were several carefully-sealed-up papers and envelopes, he hesitated, wondering which would be the documents he wished to secure.
Helped by so feeble a light, it was hard work to tell, and at last he came to the conclusion that it would be best to make sure; and to this end he gathered all together, and thrust them, to the number of eight or nine, into his breast-pocket and buttoned his jacket.
“Hurrah!” he muttered. “Safe. Now for home.”
He had hardly conceived this thought, when a sound overhead caught his ear, and he felt for the moment that Pete had come to see what he was doing. The next minute he was in full flight, pursued by Tom, as we have seen, and at last reached the ground, thanks to the help of Pete, who, after lying in hiding while the ladder was lowered, hurriedly raised it again.
Just as Tom was half-way down Pete gave the ladder a wrench, hoisted one leg, and sent it sidewise. Then—
“This way,” he whispered, catching Sam’s hand, guiding him to the corner of the yard, and as soon as they were over leading the way at a steady dog-trot.