other at right angles, along the side of the shed.
Slowly, from the inside, Merriman began to bore. He made a sound like
the nibbling of a mouse, but worked at irregular speeds so as not
to suggest human agency to anyone who might be awake and listening.
Hilliard, with his hand on the outside of the barrel, stopped the work
when he felt the point of the auger coming through, and he himself
completed the hole from the outside with his bradawl. This gave an
aperture imperceptible on the rough exterior, but large within, and
enabled the watcher to see through a much wider angle than he could
otherwise have done. Hilliard then once more raised the lid, allowing
Merriman to lift the footstool within, where it was destined to act as a
seat for the observer.

All was now complete, and with a whispered exchange of good wishes,
Hilliard withdrew, having satisfied himself by a careful look round that
no traces had been left. Regaining the boat, he loosed the painter and
pulled gently away into the night.

Left to himself in the confined space and inky blackness of the cask,
Merriman proceeded to take stock of his position. He was anxious if
possible to sleep, not only to pass some of the time, which at the best
would inevitably be terribly long, but also that he might be the
more wakeful when his attention should be required. But his unusual
surroundings stimulated his imagination, and he could not rest.

He was surprised that the air was so good. Fortunately, the hole through
the lid which received the down spout was of large dimensions, so that
even though he might not have plenty of air, he would be in no danger of
asphyxiation.

The night was very still. Listening intently, he could not hear the
slightest sound. The silence and utter darkness indeed soon became
overpowering, and he took his watch from his pocket that he might have
the companionship of its ticking and see the glimmering hands and ring
of figures.

He gave himself up for the thousandth time to the consideration of
the main problem. What were the syndicate people doing? Was Mr. Coburn
liable to prosecution, to penal servitude? Was it possible that by some
twist of the legal mind, some misleading circumstantial evidence, Miss
Coburn--Madeleine--could be incriminated? Oh, if he but knew what was
wrong, that he might be able to help! If he could but get her out of it,
and for her sake Mr. Coburn! If they were once safe he could pass on his
knowledge to the p