A Rogue by Compulsion | Page 8

the corner of the paling, and I felt that I
had tempted Fate quite enough already. So, abandoning my peep-hole,
I turned round, and with infinite care crawled back across the grass into
the shelter of the trees.
Once there, however, I rolled over on the ground and metaphorically
hugged myself. The situation may not appear to have warranted such
excessive rapture, but when a man is practically hopeless even the
wildest of possible chances comes to him like music and sunshine.
Forgetting my hunger and my wet clothes in my excitement, I lay there
thinking out my plan of action. I could do nothing, of course, until it
was dark: in fact it would be really better to wait till the household had
gone to bed, for several of the back windows looked right out on the
garage. Then, provided I could climb the paling and get out the bicycle
without being spotted, I had only to push it up the drive to find myself
on the Devonport road.
With this comforting reflection I settled myself down to wait. It was at
least four hours from darkness, with another four to be added to that
before I dared make a move. Looking back now, I sometimes wonder
how I managed to stick it out. Long before dusk my legs and arms had
begun to ache again with a dull throbbing sort of pain that got steadily
worse, while the chill of my wet clothes seemed to eat into my bones.
Once or twice I got up and crawled a few yards backwards and
forwards, but the little additional warmth this performance gave me did
not last long. I dared not indulge in any more violent exercise for fear
that there might be warders about in the wood.
What really saved me, I think, was the rain stopping. It came to an end
quite suddenly, in the usual Dartmoor fashion, and within half an hour
most of the mist had cleared off too. I knew enough of the local
weather signs to be pretty certain that we were in for a fine night; and
sure enough, half an hour after the sun had set a large moon was
shining down from a practically cloudless sky.

From where I was lying I could, by raising my head, just see the two
top windows of the house. About ten, as near as I could judge,
somebody lit a candle in one of these rooms, and then coming to the
window drew down the blind. I waited patiently till I saw this dull
glimmer of light disappear, then, with a not unpleasant throb of
excitement, I crawled out from my hiding-place and recrossed the grass
to my former point of observation. Very gingerly I lifted myself up and
peered over the top of the paling. The yard was in shadow, and so far as
I could see the back door and all the various outbuildings were locked
up for the night.
Under ordinary circumstances I could have cleared that blessed paling
in about thirty seconds, but in my present state of exhaustion it proved
to be no easy matter. However, with a mighty effort I at last succeeded
in getting my right elbow on the top, and from that point I managed to
scramble up and hoist myself over. Then, keeping a watchful eye on the
windows, I advanced towards the garage.
I found the key first shot. It was resting on a little ledge under the roof,
and a thrill of joy went through me as my fingers closed over it. I
pushed it into the keyhole, and very carefully I turned the lock.
It was quite dark inside, but I could just see the outline of the overalls
hanging on the nail. I unhooked them, and placing the coat on the
ground I drew on the oily trousers over my convict breeches and
stockings. I could tell by the feel that they covered me up completely.
As I picked up the coat something rattled in one of the side pockets. I
put my hand in and pulled out a box of wax matches, which despite the
dampness of the garment still seemed dry enough to strike. For a
moment I hesitated, wondering whether I dared to light one. It was
dangerous, especially if there happened to be a window looking out
towards the house, but on the other hand I badly wanted a little
illumination to see what I was doing.
I decided to risk it, and closing the door, struck one against the wall. It
flared up, and shading it with my hand I cast a hasty glance round the
garage. The bicycle was leaning against a shelf just beyond me, and on

a nail above it I saw an old disreputable-looking