The day was Saturday, and it was decided that the attempt should be made the following night, because it was an understood thing at the Chase that on Sundays the house should be shut up and every one retire an hour earlier than on week-day nights. Supposing that all should go off successfully, Luigi would conceal the stolen securities in his own room till the morrow, taking the first opportunity that should offer to make his way with them to the _Crown and Cushion_, where his uncle would relieve him of them, and at once hurry off to London, there to negotiate the sale of them through that “safe channel” of which he had previously made mention to his nephew. The Captain did not let Luigi go without once more impressing on him that, if he only carried out to the letter the instructions laid down for him and did not lose his nerve, he ran absolutely no risk of detection. On the other hand, should the scheme, through some blunder on his part, prove abortive, he must be prepared to accept the consequences. In that case, the whole discreditable transaction with Mr. Henriques, and what gave rise to it, would inevitably be brought to Sir Gilbert’s notice, with a result which it was impossible to foresee, but which, in any case, must prove nothing short of disastrous. Never before had Luigi Rispani spent so miserable a Sunday, and yet it came to an end all too soon for him. At the usual hour everybody retired; indeed, Luigi had crept away some time before without bidding goodnight to anyone. With his ulster wrapped round him—for the autumn nights were chilly—and lighted by a solitary candle, he sat shivering and quaking in his bedroom, waiting for the stroke of midnight. It came, after what seemed an interminable time, a thin tinkle of sound from the old case-clock on the gallery staircase. With the last stroke he stood up, dropped the ulster off his shoulders, and slipped his feet out of his patent shoes. Then he unlocked his portmanteau and took therefrom the bunch of picklocks, the dark lantern, and a travelling flask filled with brandy, into the cup of which he poured a liberal measure of the spirit and drank it off without drawing breath. Then he set light to the wick of the lantern, shut the slide, and put it into one of the pockets of his velvet lounging jacket, and the picklocks into the other. That done, he blew out the candle, crossed to the door, opened it and stood listening intently for fully a couple of minutes. Then he stepped out into the pitch-dark corridor and drew the door to after him. Traversing the corridor with noiseless footsteps, he emerged on the gallery which overlooked the entrance hall. Here he paused to listen again, but darkness and silence had the mansion to themselves. It was the work of a minute to cross the gallery, pass swiftly down the broad old stairs and so into the right-hand corridor on the ground floor, the second door in which was that of Sir Gilbert’s study. By this time Luigi’s