"It's all very well for you literary fellows to talk," protested Entwistle. "You can never complain of overwork." "There you are mistaken," said Barcroft. "I admit I slack off a little now, but at one time I dare not. It may seem easy for a fellow to knock off a couple of thousand words a day, but try it for a year and see how it feels. Remember, it isn't the actual work of putting pen to paper. One has to think, and think jolly hard. Do you remember some years ago a man tried to cover a thousand miles in a thousand consecutive hours? One mile an hour day and night. Doesn't seem much, but imagine what it means." "You seem to have done pretty well out of it," remarked Entwistle. "It took some doing," confessed Peter. "I can recall a certain Christmas Eve when, with two other congenial spirits, I sat in a fireless attic in Town. We were literally on our beam ends--too jolly proud to sample the fatted calf that awaited us in our respective parents' homes. I think we had sevenpence halfpenny between us." "Sounds cheerful." "Precisely. However, being fresh-air fiends even in those days, we had left the window open----" "And some philanthrophic soul threw in a big parcel of provender?" "Into the attic window of a six-storeyed house? Hardly. No; a pigeon flew in. It never flew out again, for in less than twenty minutes it was roasting in front of the landlady's kitchen fire. That same evening one of my companions in distress received an unexpected guinea for a pot-boiler, and there was no longer famine in the land." The two men had now climbed the hill and were outside the front door of The Croft. The house was considerably smaller than Ladybird Fold, although built on the same principle. At one time it had been a farm house, but most of the outbuildings had been removed. Standing on higher ground it commanded even a more extensive outlook than that enjoyed by the Barcrofts; in fact, almost the whole of Barborough could be discerned. Within, the place was plainly furnished. The ground floor consisted of stone flags on which were spread large mats. The fireplace was large and at one time boasted of a chimney corner and settle. In the grate a fire had been laid in anticipation of Mr. Norton's return. "I'm just going upstairs to shut those windows," said Peter. "I suppose Norton's D.T. forgot to close them. Do you want to have a look round the upper rooms?" "Not with this ankle. It feels a bit painful," replied Entwistle. "If you don't mind I'll wait here." Directly he heard the sound of Barcroft's footsteps through the raftered ceiling Entwistle stole softly to the desk that stood in the corner of the room. Slipping on a pair of thin gloves and producing a bundle of keys from his trouser's pocket he set deliberately to work to open the locked drawers, for in contrast to Peter Barcroft's easy-going methods Andrew Norton had locked everything up, notwithstanding his supposedly temporary visit to Ladybird Fold on the night of the raid.