“We are ready,” said Connor. “Then let it be to-morrow night. I will withdraw the guard of commissionaires at the safe. I can easily justify myself afterwards.” An idea struck Connor. “Why not send another lot of men to relieve them? I can fix up some of the boys so that they’ll look like commissionaires.” Spedding’s eyes narrowed. “Yes,” he said slowly, “it could be arranged--an excellent idea.” He paced the room with long, swinging strides, his forehead puckered. “There are two reliefs,” he said, “one in the morning and one in the evening. I could send a note to the sergeant of the morning relief telling him that I had arranged for a new set of night men--I have changed them twice already, one cannot be too careful--and I could give you the necessary authority to take over charge.” “Better still,” said Connor, “instruct him to withdraw, leaving the place empty, then our arrival will attract no notice. Lombard Street must be used to the commissionaires going on guard.” “That is an idea,” said Spedding, and sat down to write the letter. * * * * * The night of the great project turned out miserably wet. “So much the better,” muttered Connor, viewing the world from his Kensington fastness. The room dedicated to the use of the master of the house was plainly furnished, and on the bare deal table Connor had set his whisky down whilst he peered through the rain-blurred windows at the streaming streets. “England for work and Egypt for pleasure,” he muttered; “and if I get my share of the money, and it will be a bigger share than my friend Spedding imagines, it’s little this cursed country will see of Mr. Patrick Connor.” He drained off his whisky at a gulp, rubbed the steam from the windows, and looked down into the deserted street. Two men were walking toward the house. One, well covered by a heavy mackintosh cloak, moved with a long stride; the other, wrapped in a new overcoat, shuffled by his side, quickening his steps to keep up with his more energetic companion. “Spedding,” said Connor, “and old George. What is he bringing him here for?” He hurried downstairs to let them in. “Well?” asked Spedding, throwing his reeking coat off. “All’s ready,” answered Connor. “Why have you brought the old man?” “Oh, for company,” the lawyer answered carelessly. If the truth be told, Spedding still hoped that the old man would remember. That day old George had been exceedingly garrulous, almost lucidly so at times. Mr. Spedding still held on to the faint hope that the old man’s revelations would obviate the necessity for employing the “Borough Lot,” and what was more important, for sharing the contents of the safe with them. As to this latter part of the program, Mr. Spedding had plans which would have astonished Connor had he but known.