Tom Blacke got up, opened the door to see no one was eaves-dropping, peeped into the cupboard, and into a red-curtained snuggery off the bar, commanded by a small window in the room he now occupied; and having satisfied himself that both were empty, proceeded to unfold his plans. “We’ll leave the trap behind us this turn, Mr. Fibbes. We can carry all _we_ shall want; there’s my light valise and the blue bag will hold everything; we shan’t take anything that’s very hot, nor yet very heavy. You mind to put on the green spectacles, just for the journey, and I’ll be the man with the prospectuses, the same as before, for the station-master’s a smart chap, and maybe he’ll know me again.” “I mustn’t forget the jemmy,” grunted Mr. Fibbes. “The jemmy!” replied Tom, in a tone of injured feeling; “what’s the use of the jemmy? This ain’t a rough job, Mr. Fibbes; you seem to take no pride in your profession! No, no; you just put the centre-bit in your coat-pocket for a precaution, and leave the rest to me. The back-scullery’s our place; it’s got a regular sash window, and opens with a common hasp; there’s a shutter, too, but I see a cobweb across it when I was there, and I think maybe they sometimes forget to fasten it. So you and me we alights at the station as though to walk into Bubbleton, then we come quietly up to the house, takes a bit of brown paper and treacle, and so breaks a pane in that scullery window without a chink of noise, then in goes a hand to unhasp it, and you and me, Mr. Fibbes, we walks in without a hinvitation. Now, look you here,” and Tom produced his chart of the interior, “we goes quietly into the butler’s room--he’s safe to be at Bubbleton, because it’s a theatre night--we takes a piece out of the cupboard with a centre-bit--none of your noisy jemmies--and we stows away the plate in the blue bag; then we creeps along the passage, and so up the back-stairs there” (pointing to the plan with his finger) “into the drawing-room; and here, Mr. Fibbes, I shall want your assistance, in case of haccidents. Ye see one of the ladies she sleeps above the drawing-room, and ladies is mostly light sleepers. Now, from what I’ve heard tell of this one--the governess she was--she’s as likely as not to come down if she hears any disturbance. She might know _me_, for she’s seen me along of my missus in Grosvenor Square. If she should walk in--. Take another drain, Mr. Fibbes--what’s that noise?” broke off Tom, abruptly, his white face beaded with perspiration, and his lip working in guilty trepidation. “Noise? there’s no noise,” replied his confederate, looking doggedly up to him, though a strange light shone too in his bloodshot eyes; “if she _should_ walk in, what then?” “Why, run the long knife into her,” hissed out the less daring villain; “it makes no noise, and she’ll tell no tales.”