Mr. Milsom deliberately put on this coat, and the hat which Mr. Brook had worn with it. There was a thick woollen scarf of the coachman's lying on the floor near the chair, and this Black Milsom also put on, twisting it several times round his neck, so as to completely muffle the lower part of his face.
He was of about the same height as Matthew, and the thick coat gave him bulk.
Thus attired he might, in an uncertain light, have been very easily mistaken for the man whose clothes he wore.
Mr. Milsom gave one last scrutinizing look at the sleeping coachman, and then extinguished the candle.
The fire he had allowed to die out while he sat smoking: the room was, therefore, now in perfect darkness.
He paused by the door to look about him. All was alike still and lonely. The village street could have been no more silent and empty if the two rows of houses had been so many vaults in a cemetery.
Black Milsom walked rapidly up the village street, and entered the gardens of the castle by a little iron gate, of which Matthew Brook, the reprobate and offender, had a key. This key Black Milsom had often heard of, and knew that it was always carried by Brook in a small breast-pocket of his overcoat.
From the garden he made his way quickly, silently, to the quadrangle on which Stephen Plumpton's bed-chamber opened.
Here all was dark and silent.
Milsom went straight to the little half-glass door which served both as door and window for the small sleeping-chamber of Stephen Plumpton.