t have been
far away, by this time, in pursuit of the gig; and there was not much
chance of their getting useful help from any stray countryman who might
be passing along the road, except in the way of sending a message to
Barkingham. Anyhow we were sure of a half hour to escape in, at the very
least.

"Now then," said Young File, rejoining me; "let's be off by the back way
through the plantations. How came you to lay your lucky hands on Screw?"
he continued, when we had passed through the iron door, and had closed
it after us.

"Tell me first how the doctor managed to make a hole in the floor just
in the nick of time."

"What! did you see the trap sprung?"

"I saw everything."

"The devil you did! Had you any notion that signals were going on, all
the while you were on the watch? We have a regular set of them in case
of accidents. It's a rule that father, and me, and the doctor are
never to be in the workroom together--so as to keep one of us always at
liberty to act on the signals.--Where are you going to?"

"Only to get the gardener's ladder to help us over the wall. Go on."

"The first signal is a private bell--that means, _Listen at the pipe._
The next is a call down the pipe for 'Moses'--that means, _Danger! Lock
the door._ 'Stilton Cheese' means, _Put the Mare to;_ and 'Old Madeira'
_Stand by the trap._ The trap works in that locked-up room you never got
into; and when our hands are on the machinery, we are awkward enough
to have a little accident with the luncheon tray. 'Quite Ready' is the
signal to lower the trap, which we do in the regular theater-fashion. We
lowered the doctor smartly enough, as you saw, and got out by the back
staircase. Father went in the gig, and I let them out and locked the
gates after them. Now you know as much as I've got breath to tell you."

We scaled the wall easily by the help of the ladder. When we were down
on the other side, Young File suggested that the safest course for us
was to separate, and for each to take his own way. We shook hands and
parted. He went southward, toward London, and I went westward, toward
the sea-coast, with Doctor Dulcifer's precious writing-desk safe under
my arm.

* The "Bow Street runners" of those days were the
predecessors of the detective police of the present time.

CHAPTER XII.

FOR a couple of hours I walked on briskly, careless in what direction I
went, so long as I kept my back turned on Barkingham.

By the t