Edward peered under his bed and saw that there was indeed a coil of rope there. The whole thing seemed suddenly to grow more serious――too serious in fact――and in a state of not altogether pleasurable excitement he sat down to wait. As for Palmer, he appeared to have fallen asleep, and Edward’s incredulity was once more gaining the upper hand when he heard him say, “If you’re coming, put on your tennis-shoes. I’ll fix the rope.” Edward obeyed, for he was not going to drop out, even if it meant a hand to hand tussle with the sinister person of the earrings, whose visage now, unaccountably, sprang up before his imagination, scowling, malevolent, the glare of murder in his eyes. “If he has a knife,” he whispered, “I’ll not be able to do anything. I don’t mind being shot, but the very thought of a knife makes me sick;――I can’t help it.” “You won’t have to tackle him at all. You can stay in your hiding-place till I call you. If he has a knife I’ll very soon make him drop it. Put that cord in your pocket: it’s to tie his wrists with.” Edward stuffed away the cord, and Palmer, noiselessly pushing up the window as far as it would go, climbed out on to the sill. Edward watched him doubtfully. He wished he knew what was really passing in Dorset’s mind, but he had not the slightest idea. He would have felt very much more comfortable if he could have been sure that the whole thing was only bluff, but he was growing less and less certain of this every moment. “Shut the window after you,” Palmer said. He knelt on the sill, and, catching the rope, lowered himself very quietly to the ground. He stood there waiting while Edward, after closing the window as he had been told to do, followed him. “Round by the back,” Palmer whispered, and they stole along, keeping in the shadow of the house. They crossed the moonlit yard and passed the stables. “I’ll give you the tool-shed,” Palmer whispered. “You can’t possibly be seen if you’re inside it, and there’s a hole in the door you can look out through.” “But it’s locked,” Edward objected feebly. “I have the key,” Palmer replied, producing it as he spoke. The tool-shed was merely a rough lean-to built against the wall, beyond which lay the wood; and it was through the wood that Palmer expected the burglar to come. “Can’t we both be together?” Edward asked. “If you like, though I don’t think it’s so good.” This, nevertheless, was the plan they adopted, and Palmer closed the door, leaving it, as Edward noticed, unlatched. “We can sit on the roller and be perfectly comfortable. Better put this matting over it: it will make it softer and also warmer.”