Lucius waited patiently, though those hours in the dead of the night went by with leaden pace, and every limb of the watcher became a burden to him from very weariness. He seated himself upon an empty cask in an angle of the shed, leaned his back against the wall, and waited; never relaxing his watch upon those quiet barges and the low garden-wall beyond them, never ceasing to listen intently for the least sound from that direction. The storm abated, heaven’s floodgates were closed again; the lightning faded to fainter flashes and then ceased altogether; a distant rumble of thunder, like the sound of a door shutting after the exit of a disagreeable visitor, marked the end of the tempest. Peace descended once more upon earth, and coolness; a pleasant air crept along the narrow creek; even the odour of the damp earth was sweet after the heat and dryness of yesterday. Morning came, and the aching of Lucius Davoren’s bones increased, but there was no sign from the barges or the garden-wall. The watcher was thoroughly wearied. His eyes had been striving to pierce the darkness, his ears had been strained to listen for the lightest sound during four long hours. At five o’clock he departed, not wishing to be surprised by early labourers coming his way, or by the traffic of the wharf, which might begin he knew not how soon. He went away, vexed and disquieted; thinking that it was just possible the man might have escaped him after all in the darkness. ‘I shouldn’t have seen him in the first instance without the aid of that lightning-flash,’ he said to himself; ‘I may very easily have missed him afterwards. I’ll go home and get two or three hours’ sleep if I can, and then go straight to Cedar House and try to solve this mystery.’ CHAPTER V. LUCIUS AT FAULT. At nine o’clock Lucius stood before the tall iron gate waiting for admittance to Mr. Sivewright’s dwelling. In spite of his weariness, he had slept but little in the interval. The fever of his brain was not to be beguiled into slumber. He could only go over the same ground again and again, trying to convince himself that the mystery of that secret entrance to Cedar House was a very simple matter and would be made clear after a little trouble. He scrutinised Mrs. Wincher keenly, as she unlocked the gate and conducted him across the forecourt; but nothing in the aspect of Mr. Wincher’s good lady indicated agitation or emotion of any kind whatsoever. If this woman were involved in some nightly act of wrong-doing against her master, she was evidently hardened in iniquity. Her face, not altogether free from the traces of a blacklead brush, with which she may perchance have brushed aside an importunate fly, was placidity itself. ‘You’re more than usual early this morning, Dr. Davory,’ she said with her friendly air; ‘you did ought to give yourself a little more rest.’ ‘I couldn’t rest this morning, Mrs. Wincher,’ answered Lucius thoughtfully; ‘I was too anxious.’