But the back of this house was in darkness, and pushing open a gate, he passed from the lane to the garden and silently approached the building. A path led straight from gate to door, a side door evidently, as the walled-in yard was on his left hand. Another path to the right led round the house to the hall door in the front.
Cheyne walked slowly round, examining doors and windows. All of these were fastened and he did not see how without breaking the glass he could force an entrance. But he found a window at the back, the sash of which was loose and easy fitting, and decided that in case of need he would operate on this.
Having learned everything he could, he retraced his steps to his companion and they held a whispered consultation. Cheyne was for taking the opportunity of the house being empty to make an attempt then and there to get in. But Miss Merrill would not hear of it. Such a venture, she said, would require very careful thought as well as apparatus which they had not got. “Besides,” she added, “you’ve done enough for one night. Remember you’re not completely well yet.”
“Oh, blow my health; I’m perfectly all right,” he whispered back, but he had to admit her other arguments were sound and the two, cautiously emerging from their hiding-place, walked back to Wembley and took the next train to town.
She was silent during the journey, but as they reached Baker Street she turned to him and said: “Look here, I believe I’ve got an idea. Bring a long-burning electric torch with you tomorrow afternoon and whatever tools you want to open the window, and perhaps we’ll try our luck.” She would not explain her plan nor would she allow him to accompany her to the studio, so with rather a bad grace he said good night and returned to his hotel.
The next day he spent in making an assortment of purchases. These were in all a powerful electric torch, guaranteed to burn brightly for a couple of hours, a short, slightly bent lever of steel with a chisel point at one end, a cap, a pair of thin gloves, a glazier’s diamond, some twenty feet of thin rope and a five-inch piece of bright steel tubing with a tiny handle at one side. These, when came, he took with him to Horne Terrace and spread in triumph on Miss Merrill’s table.
“Good gracious!” cried the young lady as she stared wonderingly at the collection. “Whatever are these? Another expedition to Mount Everest?”
“Torch: takes the place of the old dark lantern,” Cheyne answered proudly, pointing to the article in question. “Jemmy for persuading intractable doors, boxes and drawers; cap that will not drop or blow off; gloves to keep one’s fingerprints off the furniture; diamond for making holes in panes of glass; penknife for shooting back snibs of windows; rope for escaping from upstairs windows, and this”—he picked up the bit of tube and levelled it at her—“what price this for bluffing out of a tight place? If the light’s not too good it’s a pretty fair imitation. Also”—he pointed to his feet—“rubber-soled shoes for silence.”
She gave a delightful little ripple of laughter, then became serious.
“Have you no anklets?” she asked anxiously. “Don’t say you have forgotten your anklets!”
“Anklets?” he repeated. “What d’you mean? I don’t follow.”
“To guard against the bites of sharks, of course,” she declared. “Don’t you remember the White Knight had them for his horse?”
Cheyne was so serious and eager that he felt somewhat dashed, but he joined in the laugh, and when they had had tea they settled down to talk over their arrangements. Then it seemed that she really had a plan, and when Cheyne heard it he became immediately enthusiastic. Like all good plans it was simple, and soon they had the details cut and dry.
“Let’s try tonight,” Cheyne cried in excitement.
“Yes, I think we should. If these people have some scheme on hand every day’s delay is in their favor and against you.”
“Against us, Joan, not against me,” he cried, then realizing what he had said, he looked at her anxiously. “I may call you Joan, mayn’t I?” he pleaded. “You see, we’re partners now.”
She didn’t mind, it appeared, what he called her. Any old name would do. And she didn’t mind calling him Maxwell either. She hadn’t noticed that Maxwell was so frightfully long and clumsy, but she supposed Max was shorter. So that was that. They returned to the Plan. Though they continued discussing it for nearly an hour neither was able to improve on it, except that they decided that the first thing to be done if they got hold of the tracing was to copy their adversaries and photograph it.
“Drat this daylight saving,” Cheyne grumbled. “If it wasn’t for that we could start a whole hour earlier. As it is there is no use going out there before .” He paused and then went on: “Queer thing that these two houses should be so much alike—this Earlswood and the one in Hopefield Avenue. Both at cross roads, both with lanes behind them, and both surrounded by gardens and hedges and shrubs.”
“Very queer,” Joan admitted, “especially as there probably aren’t more than a hundred thousand houses of that type in London. But it’s all to the good. You’ll feel at home when you get in.”
They sparred pleasantly for some time, then after a leisurely dinner they tubed to Baker Street and took the train to Wembley Park. It was darker than on the previous evening, for the sky was thickly overcast. There had been some rain during the day, but this had now ceased, though the wind had turned east and it had become cold and raw.
Turning into Dalton Road, they reached the cross-lane
