e
giggler. Lying there, screened even in broad daylight by the bulk of
the rock and some hazels growing vigorously in that restricted area
owing to the absence of foliage overhead, he listened to the voices of
the night, never dumb in a large wood. Birds fluttered uneasily on the
upper branches of the trees--indeed, Furneaux was lucky in that the
occasional gleam of the torch had not sent a pheasant hurtling off
with frantic clamor ere ever the rendezvous was reached--and some
winged creature, probably an owl, swept over the rock in stealthy
flight. The rabbits were all out in the open, nibbling grass and crops
at leisure, but there were other tiny forms rustling among the shrubs
and scampering across the soft carpet of fallen leaves.

Twitterings, and subdued squeaks, and sudden rushes of pattering feet,
the murmuring of myriad fronds in the placid breeze, the whispering
of the neighboring elms, even the steady chant of the distant
cascade--all swelled into a soft and continuous chorus, hardly heard
by the country policemen, accustomed as they were to the sounds of a
woodland at night, but of surprising volume and variety to the man
whose forests lay in the paved wilderness of London.

Suddenly a twig cracked sharply and a match was struck. It was of the
safety type and made little noise, but it was too much for the nerves
of a bird, which flew away noisily. Furneaux pursed his lips and
wanted to whistle. He realized now what an escape he had earlier. But
the intruder seemed to care less about attracting attention than
making rapid progress. He came on swiftly, striking other matches when
required, until he stood on the bare ground near the rock. Not daring
to lift a head, none of the three watchers could see the newcomer, and
in that respect their hiding-place was almost too well chosen. Whoever
it was, he needed no more matches to guide his footsteps. They heard
him advancing a few paces; then he halted again. After a marked
interval, punctuated by a soft, whirring noise hard to interpret,
there were irregular scrapings and the creaking of a branch.

Furneaux arose. Keeping a hand on the rock until he was clear of the
shrubs, he crept forward on thievish feet. His assistants, moving more
clumsily to their allotted station, were audible enough to him, but to
a man unconscious of their presence, and actively climbing a tree,
they were remote and still as Uranus and Saturn.

The scraping of feet and heavy breathing,