"Good night, Mrs Slee," said the vicar; then, "I'll see to the front door myself." Then the fastening of shutters was heard, followed by the closing of the back door, and its fastening, Mrs Slee's steps sounding plainly on the gravel path, as she went to her cottage. Lastly, the maid was heard upon the stairs, and her door closed. At the same time John Maine followed the vicar into the hall, the latter talking to him loudly for a few minutes, and then the front door was noisily opened and shut. "The girl will think you have gone now," said the vicar; "so come into the study, and pull off those heavy boots." The vicar set the example, placing his afterwards at the foot of the stairs in the hall, and hiding; those of John Maine in an out-of-the-way cupboard. "Now then, we'll have these two in case of accident," he said, detaching a couple of Australian waddies from the wall; "but I don't think we shall want them. I'll prepare for the rascals in the study, for that's where they will break in, and we must not be long before my light goes up to my room. They know all my habits by this time, I'll be bound." There was a neat, bright little copper kettle on the hob in the study, and on returning, the vicar unlocked his cabinet, placed a cut lemon on the table, and a sugar-glass, a knife with which he cut some slices of lemon, placing one in a tumbler, pouring in a little water, and macerating the slice after it had been well stirred. Then by the side he placed a half-smoked cigar and an ashpan, sprinkled some of the ash upon the cloth, and finished all off with the presence of a quaint little silver-tipped bottle labelled "Gin." "They'll give me the credit of having been enjoying myself to-night, Maine," said the vicar, smiling, as he held the bottle up to the light, took out the silver-mounted cork, and from one side of the cabinet, amongst a row of medicine phials, he took a small blue flask, removed the stopper, measured a certain quantity in a graduated glass, and poured the clear pleasant-smelling fluid into the gin. "I see now, sir," said Maine, who had been puzzled at the vicar's movements, as he re-corked the spirit-bottle, and placed back the glass and tiny flask--movements which seemed indicative of arrangements for passing a comfortable night. "To be sure," said the vicar. "Let them only sit down to a glass apiece of that--as they certainly will, for the rogues can't pass drink--and all we shall have to do will be to bundle them neck and crop down into the cellar to sleep it off, ready for the attendance of the police in the morning. There will be four in the gang--three to come here, and a fourth to wait somewhere handy with a horse and cart. It will only be a glass apiece." "What makes you think that they will break in here, sir?" asked John Maine. "Because there are no iron bars to the window, and no one sleeps overhead. Now, then, all's ready, so we'll go upstairs."