Cicely was tired when bedtime arrived, and ready to curl herself up and forget what might be happening outside. Lindsay, on the contrary, lay with wide-open eyes, watching the room grow darker and darker. When the wardrobe and the chest of drawers and the washstand had at last all merged together into one deep mass of shadow, she got up and peeped through the open window. What she saw there caused her to run hurriedly and shake her sleepy companion. "Cicely! Do wake up! There's a light moving in the garden." It took a second or two for Cicely to recover her senses, but when she realized the nature of the news, she hopped out of bed in frantic excitement. "Is it Mrs. Wilson and Scott?" she asked eagerly. "I expect so, but of course I can't tell. Be quick! We must go at once and see what they're doing." The two girls hastily scrambled into their clothes, and tiptoed downstairs to the side door. The servants had not yet locked up, so it was still standing ajar. "Suppose we were to meet Miss Russell or Miss Frazer!" shivered Cicely, with a nervous glance down the corridor. "Don't think about it. They're both safe in the drawing-room." In another minute they had closed the door gently behind them, and were running softly across the lawn. It was a cloudy night, with neither moon nor stars in the sky. The outlines of the trees and shrubs were just visible, but it was very dark indeed under their shade. "The light seemed to be going through the shrubbery towards the arbour," said Lindsay, feeling her way along the rose avenue. "There it is!" replied Cicely, as a faint gleam shone in the distance. "We must be very, very careful," said Lindsay, "not to disturb them on any account. We must stop somewhere near, and just look and listen." As quietly as ghosts they stole down the path, trying not to rustle so much as a leaf. They were close now to the lantern. They could see it quite clearly, set on the ground, and two figures bending over it. Skirting round under the bushes, they reached the shelter of an oak tree that grew on the side of a bank, and peeped cautiously round the trunk. Yes, it was certainly Scott and Mrs. Wilson who were in the shrubbery below. Every now and then a glint of light revealed their faces unmistakably. They were talking together in low tones, unfortunately too low for their conversation to be overheard. Scott held a spade in his hand, and was stooping to watch Mrs. Wilson, who, kneeling on the grass, was fumbling inside a large sack. "Can you see if she's counting money?" breathed Cicely into Lindsay's ear. "I believe they're going to bury it." "It looks like something bigger and heavier," whispered Lindsay, trying to crane her neck farther forward. "Is it silver plate?" "It might be anything in that huge sack." "Oh! Not a body!"