He stole to the window and looked around.  He assumed that the Sergeant was at his post, but all the same he wanted to have a look at the road himself.  So he had, and the result was satisfactory.  It was hardly to be expected that he should scrutinize the ground immediately under the window; at any rate he did not think of that.  It was, as Beaumaroy had conjectured, from another direction, from the parlor, that he anticipated a possible attack.  There all was quiet.  He came back and reported to Neddy that the moment was favorable.  “I’ll switch off the torch, though, just in case.  You can feel your way; keep to the edge of the steps; don’t knock up against—­”

“I’ll take damned good care not to!” muttered Neddy, with a little shiver.

He made his way to the window, through the darkness, having slung his sack over his shoulder and holding it with his right hand, while with the left he guided himself up the dais and along its outside edge, giving as wide a berth as possible to the great chair and its encircling canopy.  With a sigh of relief he found the window, moved the sack from his shoulder, and set it on the ledge for a moment.  But it was awkward to get down from the window, holding that heavy sack.  He lowered it towards the ground, so that it might land gently, and, just as he let it go, he turned his head back and whispered to Mike, “All serene.  Get a move on!”

“Half a minute!” answered Mike, as he in his turn set out to grope his way to the window.

But he was not so cautious as his friend had been.  In his progress he kicked the tall footstool sharply with one of his feet.  Neddy leant back from the window, asking quickly, and again very nervously, “What the devil’s that?”

Beaumaroy could not resist the opportunity thus offered to him.  He was crouching on the ground, not exactly under the window, but just to the right of it.  Neddy’s face was turned away; he threw himself on to the bag, rose to his feet, raised it cautiously, and holding it in front of him with both his hands—­its weight was fully as much as he could manage—­was round the curve of the Tower and out of sight with it in an instant.

At the back of the house there was a space of ground where Mrs. Wiles grew a few vegetables for the household’s use.  It was a clearing made from the heath, but it was not enclosed.  Beaumaroy was able to reach the back entrance, by which this patch of ground could be entered from the kitchen.  Just by the kitchen door stood that useful thing, a butt for rainwater.  It stood some three, or three-and-a-half, feet high; and it was full to the brim almost.  With a fresh effort Beaumaroy raised the sack to the level of his breast.  Then he lowered it into the water, not dropping it, for fear of a splash, but immersing both his arms above the elbow.  Only when he felt the weight off them, as the sack touched bottom, did he release his hold.  Then with cautious steps he continued his progress round the house and, coming to the other side, crouched close by the wall again and waited.  Where he was now, he could see the fence that separated the front garden from the road, and he was not more than ten or twelve feet from the front door on his left.  As he huddled down there, he could not repress a smile of amusement, even of self-congratulation.  However, he turned to the practical job of squeezing the water out of his sleeves.