That night, when the rest of the house had gone to bed, the new footman rose and stole quietly through the silent house. He was evidently an expert at this sort of thing, for the floors did not creak as he passed over them, and he turned the handles of several doors without making the ghost of a sound. By-and-by he found himself in the open air. The night was a dark one, which favoured his purpose. A great watch-dog, of the name of Chance, rose up and growled as the man approached. Jacob called his name very softly under his breath and the creature wagged his tail.
“Quiet, Chance, stay where you are,” said Jacob.
The dog looked wistfully after him, but obeyed.
Jacob Short quickly discovered the little postern door. He slipped Hester’s well-oiled key into it, turned the lock, and soon found himself in the Queen Anne garden.
The night was a cold one, but Jacob did not seem to mind that fact in the least. He stayed in the garden for two or three hours, and during that time he explored every inch of it. Dark as the night was, there was a perfect map of that garden sketched out in Jacob Short’s brain before the first streak of daylight dawned. He was back in his bed by that time, having made some discoveries which excited him considerably.
“I could never have done it with that minx of a girl tacked on to my heels,” he said to himself; “but she shall show me the inside of the house whenever she likes—and now to sleep, and to keep my astonishing suspicions to myself until they become certainties.”
In the morning the man put the key of the postern gate into Hester’s hands.
“I found it buried under some rubbish on the floor,” he said. “I’ll be very much obliged if you will take me to see the wing to-night.”