At intervals Stephen, the footman, came in to see that he was safe; the creature noticed this, and made his plans accordingly. Immediately after Stephen had departed after one of these peeps, he scrambled up the rough woodwork and managed to get to the window, which was closed merely by a hasp, no one having the least idea that the man would attempt to escape. Jerry broke open the catch, and soon forced his ungainly body through the opening. Not paying sufficient attention to his footing, he fell, and alighted on a manure heap some distance below. "Spoiling my nice new suit," he grumbled, as he groped round to get out of the yard in which he now found himself. There was some little difficulty about this; but he at last discovered a gate, which led into a by-lane, and was soon out of Mr. Heron's grounds, running across country for all he was worth, chuckling at the way in which he had outwitted his host. For quite two hours he wandered on; for he had completely lost his bearings. The night was fine with a high wind; the moon was at the zenith, and across her silver face passed cloud after cloud. At intervals the whole landscape became light as day, and he could see plainly. But he was a comparative stranger, though he had several times been down looking for the bill by his master's order. Suddenly he emerged on to a common overgrown with gorse, and found himself on a spot where four roads met. Some distance away a white house looked spectral in the moonlight. "The Turnpike," he said aloud. "My gum! And there's the window I looked through; the light's in it now, too--just as it was when Jenner was killed. I wonder who's in there!" His curiosity got the better of his fear of Mr. Heron, and with a surprisingly light step--for the man was heavy--he crept through the jungle of bushes and sneaked along the wall of the house. "Just like old times," he said, chuckling. "I hope there ain't no more murders though." Someone was singing a wild song in a drunken voice; and when the clerk peered through the window--for there was no blind--he saw a man dancing in the middle of the room. A cheap oil lamp was on the table, and by its light the dancer executed his fandango, waving a bottle as he did so. The apartment was bare, and a horrible smell of petroleum was wafted to Jerry's nostrils. In his curiosity he forgot to keep himself concealed, and Job--for he was the dancer--saw him. He flung himself across the room, and before Jerry had realised his danger the gypsy had seized him; by the collar of his coat and was dragging him through the window. "Come in, come in, Satan!" yelled the drunken man. "We'll have another murder! Ho! "Let me go--let me go!" screeched Jerry; but he was like a rabbit caught in a snare, and shortly found himself in a heap on a petroleum-soaked floor, while Job closed the window, Hutt was terrified; but he could see no means of escape. "Have a drink," shouted Job, thrusting the bottle under Mr. Hutt's nose.