“I won't give any trouble,” said Mr. Travers, who began to think it was time for the boatswain to appear on the scene. “Why don't you call for help? I'll go like a lamb.”
“I don't want your advice,” was the reply. “I know what to do. Now, don't you try and break out. I'm going to fire one barrel out of the window, but I've got the other one for you if you move.”
“My dear girl,” protested the horrified Mr. Travers, “you'll alarm the neighbourhood.”
“Just what I want to do,” said the voice. “Keep still, mind.”
Mr. Travers hesitated. The game was up, and it was clear that in any case the stratagem of the ingenious Mr. Benn would have to be disclosed.
“Stop!” he said, earnestly. “Don't do anything rash. I'm not a burglar; I'm doing this for a friend of yours—Mr. Benn.”
“What?” said an amazed voice.
“True as I stand here,” asseverated Mr. Travers. “Here, here's my instructions. I'll put 'em under the door, and if you go to the back window you'll see him in the garden waiting.”
He rustled the paper under the door, and it was at once snatched from his fingers. He regained an upright position and stood listening to the startled and indignant exclamations of his gaoler as she read the boatswain's permit:
“This is to give notice that I, George Benn, being of sound mind and body, have told Ned Travers to pretend to be a burglar at Mrs. Waters's. He ain't a burglar, and I shall be outside all the time. It's all above-board and ship-shape.
“(Signed) George Benn”
“Sound mind—above-board—ship-shape,” repeated a dazed voice. “Where is he?”