“That’s old Macey,” muttered Vane, “fishing for perch in his favourite hole.”
Feeling pretty certain that the others would not be far away, he stood peering about till he caught sight of another figure away to his right.
“Gilmore surely,” he muttered; and then his eyes wandered again till they lighted upon a figure seated at the foot of a tree close by the one he had settled to be Gilmore.
“Old Distie,” said Vane, with a laugh. “What an idle fellow he is. Never happy unless he is sitting or lying down somewhere. I suppose it’s from coming out of a hot country, where people do lie about a great deal.”
“That’s all right,” he thought, “they will not bother me, and I needn’t mind, for it’s pretty good proof that the rector is out.”
Feeling fresh confidence at this, but, at the same time, horribly annoyed with himself because of the shrinking feeling which troubled him, he went straight up the path to the porch and rang.
Joseph, the rector’s footman, came hurrying into the hall, pulling down the sides of his coat, and looked surprised and injured on seeing that it was only one of “Master’s pupils.”
“I only wanted the keys of the church, Joe,” said Vane, carelessly.
“There they hang, sir,” replied the man, pointing to a niche in the porch.
“Yes, I know, but I didn’t like to take them without speaking,” said Vane; and the next minute he was on his way to the churchyard through the rectory garden, hugging the duplicate keys in his pocket, and satisfied that he could reach the belfry-door without being seen by the sexton.