The eminent Sir Ichabod Ingoldsby might arrive the next morning. Then he—Montgomery—must escape this very day or night, let the weather be what it might. Any risk rather than the certainty of detection and of all the horrors that must follow. And the weather was simply awful—“Ragnarok”—“the darkness of the gods.” The snow had fallen all the preceding night and all that day. Although there were four windows in the sick-room, and all the shutters were open, yet such was the obscurity that the lamps had been lighted. Gentleman Geff was not alone until evening, when Longman, having served an excellent supper to his charge and left the latter comfortably laid back on his pillow, in what the nurse supposed to be a safe and sound sleep, withdrew from the room to take his meal and refresh himself by a walk up and down the covered front piazza, and no one took the watcher’s place. This was Gentleman Geff’s golden opportunity, not to be lost. He got out of bed on tiptoes and went and bolted the door. Then he went to the closet to search for clothes to put on, if perchance he might find any. He found his own suit that had been taken off him on the night he was brought to the rectory and put to bed, and in the pocket of his coat his _portemonnaie_, well filled as it had been. They were all there, even to his boots, his socks, his ulster and his hat. He began to dress himself in great haste, but suddenly grew very tired, for though not nearly so weak as he pretended to be, he was not strong. He went to the buffet, where he knew Longman kept his wine and medicine, and found a bottle of good old port. He unstopped it, put the mouth to his lips and took a long draught, then a deep breath and another long draught, repeated the process, and—thought he would take the bottle along with him in his flight. He finished dressing himself without further fatigue, put the bottle of wine in the pocket of his ulster, and went to the window overlooking the back garden of the rectory. Escape from the room was safe and easy, as this was the parlor chamber on the ground floor of the house. The window opened, but with a sudden thought he turned back and put out the lights and locked as well as bolted the door. These precautions he thought were necessary to delay the discovery of his flight. Then he went back to the window and stepped through it, closing it behind him. Where now? To the Chuxton railway station and on to London, to lose himself in that great wilderness of human beings until he could take ship to some foreign country with which there was no extradition treaty. But what a night it was! Dark as pitch but for the spectral light of the snow. The snow was still falling heavily as ever, but the wind had risen in mighty strength and was driving not only the falling but the fallen snow into drifts. If he had but a lantern! But that was an impossible convenience to him.