“Once more,” he heard Dangle remark, and having pulled out the shutter, the whilom skipper of the _Enid_ pressed the bulb and another photograph was taken. “That’s four altogether,” Dangle went on in satisfied tones. “I guess we’re well provided for against accidents. What about that bit of supper, old lady?” “Aren’t we waiting for you?” Susan demanded as she slowly pulled herself up out of the chair. “Gosh!” she went on, lazily stretching herself and yawning, “but it’s good to be done with Devonshire! I was fed up, I can tell you! Susan this and Susan that! ‘Susan, we’ll have tea now,’ ‘Susan, you might bring a tray and take up the mistress’s breakfast,’ ‘Susan, you might light the fire in the study; Mr. Cheyne wants to work.’ Yah! I guess I’ve about done my share.” The men exchanged glances, but only Dangle spoke. “I guess you have, old girl,” he conceded. “But finish out this job and you’ll live like a lady for the rest of your life.” “It’ll be a poor look out for you if I don’t,” she grumbled, and Sime having opened the door, she passed out, followed by the others. Cheyne, watching breathlessly, saw a light spring up in a ground floor window, fortunately not below him, but at the far end of the house. His heart beat quickly. Was it possible that his great chance had come already and that the gang had delivered themselves into his hands? A little coolness, a little daring, a little nerve, and he believed he could carry off a _coup_ that would entirely reverse the situation. The document on the wall must surely be that which these criminals had stolen from him. Could he not regain it while they were downstairs at their supper? He decided with fierce delight that he would try. It was an adventure after his own heart. Carefully he grasped the lower sash and pressed gently upwards. To his delight it moved. With infinite care he pushed it higher and higher until at last he was able to work his way into the room. Evidently he had not been heard, as the muffled sounds of conversation continued to rise unbrokenly from the supper room. He tiptoed lightly across the room and gazed in surprise at the document fixed to the wall. It was certainly not the copy of a birth or marriage certificate nor anything connected with a claim to a barony! It was a sheet of tracing linen some fifteen inches high by twelve wide, covered with little circles spaced irregularly and without any apparent plan, like the keys of a typewriter gone mad. Some of these circles contained numbers and others letters, also arranged without apparent plan. The only thing he could read about the whole document was a phrase, written in a circle from the center like the figures on a clock dial: “England expects every man to do his duty.”