"How?"
"By bringin' whoever's in the house out at the back door while you slips in at the front."
"Do you mean that you will knock at the back—"
"Cheese it, mister! It's your turn to listen now. I've got in my pocket here a couple o' useful little articles which I never travels without when engaged on a job o' this sort—as I was pretty sure it was goin' to be. Them little articles is noisy, but ye can't have everything, even in Heaven, and as things has turned out now, they're just it." Mr. Flitch, at last in his element, paused to chuckle hoarsely.
"Oh, hurry up. You're talking of explosives."
"Go up one! Well, now, mister, suppose I sneaks up round to the back premises and fixes the pretty things all serene and comfortable to one of the outhouses, then lights the fuses and retires. In a little while—bang! bang! What price that for fetchin' yer friend out at the back door just to see if something hasn't maybe dropped off the clothes-line?"
"I believe you've hit it," said Bullard after consideration. "How long do the fuses burn?"
"Two minutes to a sec. The moment I've seen 'em go off proper I'll come back and wait for ye here, unless there's a chase, when I'll bolt for the car. Meanwhile you'll ha' crept up to near the house, ready to do yer bit as soon's ye hear yer friend movin'. It's chancey of course, but that's the sort o' trade it is. Better take this"—Flitch brought something from his breast-pocket—"in case the key's turned in that front door."
"Thanks; I've got one. Now say it all again so that we have no misunderstandings."
A few minutes later Bullard was crouching at the side of the steps beyond reach of the rosy light, his nerves taut, his whole being waiting for the signal. Smartly it came, and the stillness of the winter night was shattered…. Again!