"Good!" cried Eves, surveying the completed work. "In the darkness they won't see a thing."
"Suppose they don't come this way at all?" said Templeton.
"You're a horrible pessimist. Is there a better way? Aren't all my deductions good? Well, then, cheer up, and see if you can manage to laugh when the flies are trapped."
About half-past nine (summer time) Eves and Templeton left the farmhouse by the front door. Mrs. Trenchard locked the door behind them, and they had previously assured themselves that all the other doors and windows were securely fastened. Each carried a shot-gun. Two guns were always suspended on the wall of Mr. Trenchard's den, and it had occurred to Eves that they might prove useful.
It was a dark summer night. There was no moon, and the starlight was too feeble to throw any illumination upon the tree-bordered high-road. The lads' intention was to walk down the road until they came to the lane, to hang about the entrance there until they discovered the approach of Smail, and then to take cover in the angle between the hedge and the road, behind the visitor.
They had hardly left the farm gate when Eves's quick eyes detected a small figure lurking in the shadow on the farther side of the road.
"Noakes has posted a scout," he whispered. "They're going to make the attempt. But this is awkward, Bob. We shall have to dispose of the scout; I fancy it's long-haired Josiah."
"I bar that," said Templeton, decisively. "I'm not going to hold up the youngster, or anything of that sort."
"All right; there's no need. Leave it to me."
They walked on, giving no sign of having seen the boy, who slipped behind a tree-trunk as they neared him.