Scarcely had I done this when two men emerged mysteriously from the shadow, and one of them, addressing Houston, said:
“You’re pretty punctual, Teddy! Sam isn’t here yet. He’s walking from Haslemere.”
“No! he’s here all right!” exclaimed a voice clearly in the darkness, as a third man came forward.
“May is in the car,” Houston explained. “Is everything ready?”
“Yes; when you get along here fifty yards more you can see the house. The old fellow sleeps in the first-floor room on the corner. The light has just been switched off, so he’s gone to bed all right.”
Meanwhile the American girl had stepped from the car, and, greeting them all as “boys,” listened to what was said.
“Let’s hope the old boy will sleep comfortably, eh?” she laughed gayly. “If he doesn’t it will be the worse for him! His wife is in Paris, or she might prove a bit of trouble to us.”
“I know the ground exactly,” remarked one of the three men. “I wasn’t in service here as footman for six weeks for nothing,” he added with a laugh.
“Well, come on,” said Houston, who seemed to be the leader of the adventures. “Let’s get to work,” and, picking up a bag which one of the men had put down, he pressed into my hand a short, circular electric torch, saying: