The scheme concerted, the three officers separated, heading apart to their several starting-points. At five minutes before midnight, to the tick of their synchronized watches, each began to glide through the tall grass. But it was late September. The grass was dry. Old briar-veins dragged at brittle stalks. Shimmering whispers of withered leaves echoed to the smallest touch; and when the men were still some two hundred yards from the cabin the sharp ears of a dog caught the rumor of all these tiny sounds,--and the dog barked. Every man stopped short--moved not a finger again till five minutes had passed. Then once more each began to creep--reached the fifty-yard point--stood up, with a long breath, and dashed for his door. At one and the same moment, practically, the three stood in the cabin, viewing a scene of domestic peace. A short, square, swarthy woman, black of eye, high of cheek bone, stood by a stove calmly stirring a pot. On the table besides her, on the floor around her, clustered many jars of peaches--jars freshly filled, steaming hot, awaiting their tops. In a corner three little children, huddled together on a low bench, stared at the strangers with sleepy eyes. Three chairs; a cupboard with dishes; bunches of corn hanging from the rafters by their husks; festoons of onions; tassels of dried herbs--all this made visible by the dull light of a small kerosene lamp whose dirty chimney was streaked with smoke. All this and nothing more. Two of the men, jumping for the stairs, searched the upper half-story thoroughly, but without profit. "Mrs. Drake," said Hallisey, as they returned, "we are officers of the State Police, come to arrest your husband. Where is he?" In silence, in utter calm the woman still stirred her pot, not missing the rhythm of a stroke. "The dog warned them. He's just got away," said each officer to himself. "She's _too_ calm." She scooped up a spoonful of the fruit, peered at it critically, splashed it back into the bubbling pot. From her manner it appeared the most natural thing in the world to be canning peaches at midnight on the top of South Mountain in the presence of officers of the State Police. "My husband's gone to Baltimore," she vouchsafed at her easy leisure. "Let's have a look in the cellar," said Merryfield, and dropped down the cellar stairs with Hallisey at his heels. Together they ransacked the little cave to a conclusion. During the process, Merryfield conceived an idea. "Hallisey," he murmured, "what would you think of my staying down here, while you and Smith go off talking as though we were all together? She might say something to the children, when she believes we're gone, and I could hear every word through that thin floor." "We'll do it!" Hallisey answered, beneath his voice. Then, shouting:-- "Come on, Smith! Let's get away from this; no use wasting time here!"