She made no reply but fumbled for her slippers and dressing-gown and put them on. Why there should be all this need of secrecy she never asked herself; but she walked quietly and trapped her finger in trying to steady the big bolt as she drew it back—it was rusty and not easy to move. “Shove this under the bed,” he said in a low voice as he pushed a small cigar box into her hands; “I’ll follow you in a minute when I’ve locked up.” Without a word she obeyed, and not until he joined her and lit the candle, having first drawn down the blind, did she open her lips. “I didn’t expect you to-night,” she said. “I’ve walked from Keepton,” he replied. “I’m dead beat. It isn’t that the box is over heavy, though there’s five hundred pounds in gold there. Baldwin mustn’t know a word about it—nobody must. It’s yours. Your Uncle——” He stopped, and Nancy saw that his face was grey and his breath coming in deep heaves. “Wait a minute,” she said. “The whisky-bottle’s in the sideboard. I’ll get you a drop.” She took the tumbler, and stole downstairs again, whilst Inman bent his head between his knees. In a minute or two she was back with the drink, and she locked the door behind her. “That’s right,” said Inman when he had gulped the dose. “It’s a long walk, and I hurried more than I need have done; but I like a woman who keeps her head, and you’ll need to keep yours with that suspicious old devil nosing round. I don’t mind him knowing I’ve got back—the old fool’ll think I’ve rushed home to please him, but he mustn’t smoke the swag or the game’s up; he’s a scent for brass like a terrier for rats.” Nancy was listening quite unmoved. Her foot and her finger were causing her pain; but she paid them no heed for her eyes were on her husband and she was trying to surmise what deep game he was playing. “You’d better tell me all about it,” she said with a coldness he either did not notice or chose to ignore. “So I will,” he replied, “but first, is there anywhere that we can lock up that box—any place Keturah doesn’t get her fingers in?” She shook her head; then bethought herself. “What about that old portmanteau of yours. It’s on the top o’ the closet. Doesn’t it lock?” “The very thing!” he exclaimed; and he climbed up and brought it down. Then, having fitted a key to it from a bunch he took from his pocket, he put the box inside and returned it to its place. “That’s better!” he said in a tone of relief. “It’s safe there till we get it away, bit by bit.” Still Nancy said nothing, but the look of inquiry in her eyes was not unmixed with suspicion, and Inman laughed. “Your face is a picture, Nancy. Afraid I’ve turned highwayman, I suppose? You needn’t worry; there’s nobody after me, not even Uncle John. Get into bed, child; you’re shivering!”