“Drat this daylight saving,” Cheyne grumbled. “If it wasn’t for that we could start a whole hour earlier. As it is there is no use going out there before nine.” He paused and then went on: “Queer thing that these two houses should be so much alike—this Earlswood and the one in Hopefield Avenue. Both at cross roads, both with lanes behind them, and both surrounded by gardens and hedges and shrubs.” “Very queer,” Joan admitted, “especially as there probably aren’t more than a hundred thousand houses of that type in London. But it’s all to the good. You’ll feel at home when you get in.” They sparred pleasantly for some time, then after a leisurely dinner they tubed to Baker Street and took the train to Wembley Park. It was darker than on the previous evening, for the sky was thickly overcast. There had been some rain during the day, but this had now ceased, though the wind had turned east and it had become cold and raw. Turning into Dalton Road, they reached the cross-lane at Earlswood, passed through the gap in the hedge and took up their old position among the shrubs. They had seen no one and they believed they were unobserved. From where they crouched they could see that Earlswood was again in darkness, and presently Cheyne slipped away to explore. He was soon back again with the welcome news that the rear of the house was also unlighted and that the Plan might be put into operation forthwith. In spite of Joan’s ridicule he had insisted on bringing his complete outfit, and he now stood up and patted himself over to make sure that everything was in place. The cap, the gloves, and the shoes he was wearing, the rope was coiled round his waist beneath his coat, and the other articles were stowed in his various pockets. He turned and signified that he was ready. Joan opened the proceedings by passing out through the gap in the hedge, walking openly across to the Earlswood hall door, and ringing. This was to make sure that the house really was untenanted. If any one came she would simply ask if Mrs. Bryce-Harris was at home and then apologize for having mistaken the address. But no one answered, and the demonstration of this was Cheyne’s cue. When he had waited for five minutes after Joan’s departure and no sound came from across the road, he in his turn slipped out through the gap in the hedge, and after a glance round, crossed Dalton Road, and passing down by the side of Earlswood, turned into the lane at the back. On this occasion he could dimly see the gate into the garden, which was painted white, and he passed through, leaving it open behind him, and reached the house.