ht up against the fence began very carefully to search around for
a peep-hole. At last I found a tiny gap between two of the boards. It
was the merest chink, but by gluing my eye to it I was just able to
see through.

I was looking into a square gravel-covered yard, in the centre of
which a man in blue overalls was cleaning the mud off a small
motor car. He was evidently the owner, for he was a prosperous,
genial-looking person of the retired Major type, and he was lightening
his somewhat damp task by puffing away steadily at a pipe. I watched
him with a kind of bitter jealousy. I had no idea who he was, but
for the moment I hated him fiercely. Why should he be able to potter
around in that comfortable self-satisfied fashion, while I, Neil
Lyndon, starved, soaked, and hunted like a wild beast, was crouching
desperately outside his palings?

It was a natural enough emotion, but I was in too critical a position
to waste time in asking myself questions. I realized that if burglary
had to be done, here was the right spot. By going farther I should
only be running myself into unnecessary risk, and probably without
finding a house any more suitable to my purpose.

I squinted sideways through the hole, trying to master the geography
of the place. On the left was a high bank of laurels, and just at the
corner I could see the curve of the drive, turning away up the hill.
On the other side of the yard was a small garage, built against the
wall, while directly facing me was the back of the house.

I was just digesting these details, when a sudden sigh from the
gentleman in the yard attracted my attention. He had apparently had
enough of cleaning the car, for laying down the cloth he had been
using, he stepped back and began to contemplate his handiwork.

It was not much to boast about, but it seemed to be good enough for
him. At all events he came forward again, and taking off the brake,
proceeded very slowly to push the car back towards the garage. At
the entrance he stopped for a moment, and going inside brought out a
bicycle which he leaned against the wall. Then he laboriously shoved
the car into its appointed place, put back the bicycle, and standing
in the doorway started to take off his overalls.

I need hardly say I watched him with absorbed interest. The sight of
the bicycle had sent a little thrill of excitement tingling down my
back, for it opened up possibilities in the way of escape that five
minutes before had