The moon slipped out again.... and Antony laughed to himself in the bushes. There was another window beyond Cayley’s, and there was no light in it. The declaration of war was postponed. Antony lay there, watching Cayley into bed. After all it was only polite to return Cayley’s own solicitude earlier in the night. Politeness demanded that one should not disport oneself on the pond until one’s friends were comfortably tucked up. Meanwhile Bill was getting tired of waiting. His chief fear was that he might spoil everything by forgetting the number “six.” It was the sixth post. Six. He broke off a twig and divided it into six pieces. These he arranged on the ground in front of him. Six. He looked at the pond, counted up to the sixth post, and murmured “six” to himself again. Then he looked down at his twigs. One—two—three—four—five—six—seven. _Seven!_ Was it seven? Or was that seventh bit of a twig an accidental bit which had been on the ground anyhow? Surely it was six! Had he said “six” to Antony? If so, Antony would remember, and it was all right. Six. He threw away the seventh twig and collected the other six together. Perhaps they would be safer in his pocket. Six. The height of a tall man—well, his own height. Six feet. Yes, that was the way to remember it. Feeling a little safer on the point, he began to wonder about the bag, and what Antony would say to it, and the possible depth of the water and of the mud at the bottom; and was still so wondering, and saying, “Good Lord, what a life!” to himself, when Antony reappeared. Bill got up and came down the slope to meet him. “Six,” he said firmly. “Sixth post from the end.” “Good,” smiled Antony. “Mine was the eighteenth—a little way past it.” “What did you go off for?” “To see Cayley into bed.” “Is it all right?” “Yes. Better hang your coat over the sixth post, and then we shall see it more easily. I’ll put mine on the eighteenth. Are you going to undress here or in the boat?” “Some here, and some in the boat. You’re quite sure that you wouldn’t like to do the diving yourself?” “Quite, thanks.” They had walked round to the other side of the pond. Coming to the sixth post of the fence, Bill took off his coat and put it in position, and then finished his undressing, while Antony went off to mark the eighteenth post. When they were ready, they got into the boat, Antony taking the oars. “Now, Bill, tell me as soon as I’m in a line with your two marks.” He rowed slowly towards the middle of the pond. “You’re about there now,” said Bill at last. Antony stopped rowing and looked about him. “Yes, that’s pretty well right.” He turned the boat’s nose round until it was pointing to the pine-tree under which Bill had lain. “You see my tree and the other coat?” “Yes,” said Bill. “Right. Now then, I’m going to row gently along this line until we’re dead in between the two. Get it as exact as you can—for your own sake.”