Captains All | Page 9

dollar to go on with."
He patted him on the shoulder again, and with a caution to keep out of
sight as much as possible till night walked slowly home. His step was
light, but he carried a face in which care and exultation were strangely
mingled.
By ten o'clock that night care was in the ascendant, and by eleven,
when he discerned the red glow of Mr. Travers's pipe set as a beacon
against a dark background of hedge, the boatswain was ready to curse
his inventive powers. Mr. Travers greeted him cheerily and, honestly
attributing the fact to good food and a couple of pints of beer he had
had since the boatswain left him, said that he was ready for anything.
Mr. Benn grunted and led the way in silence. There was no moon, but

the night was clear, and Mr. Travers, after one or two light-hearted
attempts at conversation, abandoned the effort and fell to whistling
softly instead.
Except for one lighted window the village slept in darkness, but the
boatswain, who had been walking with the stealth of a Red Indian on
the war-path, breathed more freely after they had left it behind. A
renewal of his antics a little farther on apprised Mr. Travers that they
were approaching their destination, and a minute or two later they came
to a small inn standing just off the road. "All shut up and Mrs. Waters
abed, bless her," whispered the boatswain, after walking care-fully
round the house. "How do you feel?"
"I'm all right," said Mr. Travers. "I feel as if I'd been burgling all my
life. How do you feel?"
"Narvous," said Mr. Benn, pausing under a small window at the rear of
the house. "This is the one."
Mr. Travers stepped back a few paces and gazed up at the house. All
was still. For a few moments he stood listening and then re-joined the
boatswain.
"Good-bye, mate," he said, hoisting himself on to the sill. "Death or
victory."
The boatswain whispered and thrust a couple of sovereigns into his
hand. "Take your time; there's no hurry," he muttered. "I want to pull
myself together. Frighten 'er enough, but not too much. When she
screams I'll come in."
Mr. Travers slipped inside and then thrust his head out of the window.
"Won't she think it funny you should be so handy?" he inquired.
"No; it's my faithful 'art," said the boat-swain, "keeping watch over her
every night, that's the ticket. She won't know no better."
Mr. Travers grinned, and removing his boots passed them out to the

other. "We don't want her to hear me till I'm upstairs," he whispered.
"Put 'em outside, handy for me to pick up."
The boatswain obeyed, and Mr. Travers--who was by no means a good
hand at darning socks--shivered as he trod lightly over a stone floor.
Then, following the instructions of Mr. Benn, he made his way to the
stairs and mounted noiselessly.
But for a slight stumble half-way up his progress was very creditable
for an amateur. He paused and listened and, all being silent, made his
way to the landing and stopped out-side a door. Despite himself his
heart was beating faster than usual.
He pushed the door open slowly and started as it creaked. Nothing
happening he pushed again, and standing just inside saw, by a small
ewer silhouetted against the casement, that he was in a bedroom. He
listened for the sound of breathing, but in vain.
"Quiet sleeper," he reflected; "or perhaps it is an empty room. Now, I
wonder whether--"
The sound of an opening door made him start violently, and he stood
still, scarcely breathing, with his ears on the alert. A light shone on the
landing, and peeping round the door he saw a woman coming along the
corridor--a younger and better-looking woman than he had expected to
see. In one hand she held aloft a candle, in the other she bore a
double-barrelled gun. Mr. Travers withdrew into the room and, as the
light came nearer, slipped into a big cupboard by the side of the
fireplace and, standing bolt upright, waited. The light came into the
room.
"Must have been my fancy," said a pleasant voice.
"Bless her," smiled Mr. Travers.
His trained ear recognized the sound of cocking triggers. The next
moment a heavy body bumped against the door of the cupboard and the
key turned in the lock.

"Got you!" said the voice, triumphantly. "Keep still; if you try and
break out I shall shoot you."
"All right," said Mr. Travers, hastily; "I won't move."
"Better not," said the voice. "Mind, I've got a gun pointing straight at
you."
"Point it downwards, there's a good girl," said Mr. Travers, earnestly;
"and take your finger off the trigger. If