“I tell yer it’s right as the mail,” observed the tinker, in a tone of confidence. “The farmers have sold their wheat, and there’s a mighty good ‘swag’ in the house. Only yer see, Ned, old boy, yer must not be too rash. Be keerful――be very keerful.” “What do yer mean?” inquired the Badger. “Well, it’s just this, old man, the farmers――leastways so I heerd at the ‘Six Bells’――have had two blokes with ’em to-day, a poppin’ at the blessed birds, bad luck to them; and from what I could gather from Tim, the two blokes are a stoppin’ there to-night.” “What matters about that?” said Peace. “We don’t intend to wake the gentlemen.” “All right――so much the better,” answered the tinker. “I’m for doing things in a quiet sort of way, I am.” The Badger uttered an oath, and his ill-favoured countenance wore an expression of disgust. “Do you know where they keep the shiners?” he asked. “Oh, yes; I think that’ll be all right. I haven’t been in the house to mend the bell wires without a keeping my eyes open. Ah, ah!” “Stow that, yer fool!” exclaimed the Badger. “Wait till yer out of the wood afore yer laugh.” “All right, Ned, I’m as silent as the grave.” “When were you at ‘The Bells,’ then?” inquired Peace. “I had a game of skittles this afternoon.” “At what time?” “Between three and four o’clock; or it might be a little later. Can’t say to half an hour or so.” “And that’s how you came to know about these two sporting chaps?” “Right you are. Tim gave me the tip.” “You haven’t been fool enough to push your inquiries too far?” said Peace. “Tim, as you call him, might suspect.” “He suspect?” returned the tinker, indignantly. “Not he. I was as good as gold.” “It’s no use making a long palaver about the matter,” ejaculated Gregson. “Let’s to business.” The three burglars made direct for Oakfield House. In the space of a few minutes they were busily at work to effect an entrance, but they found this by no means so easy a task as they had imagined. The windows and doors of the habitation were carefully secured, and, although they knew it not at the time, there was one inmate of the establishment keenly alive to every movement. This was Jane Ryan, who was aroused from her lethargic reverie before the kitchen fire by a sound which was new to her ears. Jane started and rose from her seat. “I said something was about to happen,” she murmured, pressing her hand against her side. “I could have taken a Bible oath of it.” She paused for a few moments, apparently in doubt as to what course to take; presently she appeared to have decided upon her line of action. She glided from the room with long, stealthy, and noiseless steps, carrying her shoes in her hand. A sudden surprise awaited her two young masters. They were awoke from their sleep by a hand placed upon their shoulders. They stared around them sleepily, as yet not realising the real state of affairs. It was dark in their bedroom, for the moon was behind a cloud.