However, although we stationed ourselves near by in an area, keeping a sharp lookout for passing policemen, and watched for more than an hour, no one either went in or came out. And Larry was getting as impatient as I was.
Presently he touched me on the shoulder. “Oi have a plan, sor,” he whispered. “Do but folley me close and mebbe we can tell more about what is goin’ on in there. Wait a minute, sor. I bought this fer you to-day. Do but take it now, and if ye need it, use it. ’Tis better to kill than be killed. And they’ll stop at nothin’, what Oi’ve seen av thim.” He slipped a revolver into my hand. “ ’Tis loaded and ready, sor,” he finished.
Larry came out of the area, glanced sharply up and down the street and then walked calmly away from Mrs. Fawcette’s house. There was a big apartment house about five doors down and on the same side of the street, with a tradesmen’s entrance running back along the side of it. Larry made a bee line for this entrance, with me at his heels, and turned into it. Fortunately there was no one in sight at the time and we made our way quietly to the rear of the place.
It was pitch dark back there and I brought up against Larry with a sudden bump. “Quiet now, sor,” he whispered. “Here’s the wall and here’s a barrel to stand on, for ’tis a high one. Up you go.” He grabbed my arm. “Wait! Throw me coat over ut first.”
I’ve climbed some walls in my day, but that one was the worst. It was at least ten feet high and covered with glass at the top. The barrel we had to stand on was a tin ash-can that rattled if you looked at it. And we both had to jump from it to reach the top of the wall. It separated the apartment yard from the one next door.
However, I threw Larry’s coat over the top to protect my hands from the glass, and we scrambled over somehow, dropping on to a border of soft earth on the other side. Larry managed to bring his coat down with him.
Then, in single file, and moving as quietly as we could, we crossed yard after yard, scaling the fences as we came to them. Fortunately they were a good deal easier than the first one.
For twenty minutes or so we kept up this scrambling and dropping, sneaking past lighted windows with our hearts in our mouths, and expecting every minute to have some one throw up one of the blank windows above us and yell for the police. Finally, when we were both puffing and blowing, and I, at least, was hopelessly lost, Larry caught my sleeve.
“ ’Tis the house, sor,” he whispered. “And here is where we’re going in.”
I stared up at the house. Every window was dark and I could hear no sound from inside. “But, great Scott, Larry,” I whispered, “where are all the servants?” For I knew that Mrs. Fawcette had three at least.