There were no wayfarers at this late hour; nobody saw how this big figure in the frock-coat employed himself. He filled his glossy hat with flints from the heap, carried it to the foot of the fence, and emptied it there, returning for another hatful. After an hour’s patient work a pile of stones stood some three feet high against the fence. Mopping his damp brow, dusting the inside of his hat, and replacing it on his head, Schwab mounted the pile, clambered over the fence, and dropped down somewhat heavily on the other side. Not till that moment had he given a thought to the means of getting back; and looking up at the fence, the top of which was quite beyond his reach, he uttered a low guttural exclamation of dismay. But the die was cast! Consumed by his curiosity to learn more about this mysterious workshop, in the way of business, he had come thus far, and as there was apparently no going back he decided to make his way forward. He found himself in an extensive meadow, bordered by trees. No habitation was in sight. The moon threw a little light on the scene, and, after walking for some minutes over the grass, he perceived a long low oblong building which, as he drew nearer, he saw was built of wood, with no windows in the walls, but having fanlights in the sloping roof. There was but one door. “Ich hoffe dass die Thur nicht verriegelt ist!” he muttered as, glancing apprehensively round, he approached to try the handle. He was not conscious of anything improper in this nocturnal enterprise: was it not all in the way of business? He came to the door, and grasped the handle.... When he recovered consciousness he found himself on his back on the grass. In his right hand there was a feeling as if it had been burnt to the bone. With many sighs and groans he rose, sought for his hat, and, turning his back on the workshop, limped sadly towards the fence. His whole body tingled with the electric shock. Bitterly he lamented his unhappy zeal for business. What an abominable device for protecting the premises! And there was that terrible fence to be climbed, or he would have to remain all night in the field, assuredly to be discovered in the morning and suspected of felonious intent. He remembered that Timothy Ball had spoken of his master as a magistrate, and saw himself already, frock-coat, silk hat and all, in a felon’s cell.