Heaven be praised! the little garden was empty. A moment later he
had heaved himself on to the sill and was crawling along the terrace.
At the end of the terrace, in a dark corner by the wall, grew a
stunted fig-tree, its roots set among the flagstones, its boughs
overhanging the tide; and by the roots, between the bole of the trees
and the wall, one of the flagstones had a notch in its edge, a notch
in old days cunningly concealed, the trick of it known only to the
Major.
He drew out a small marlingspike which he carried in a sheath at his
hip, and, bending over the flagstone, felt for the notch; found it,
inserted the point, and began to prise, glancing, as he worked, over
his shoulder at the windows of the house. A lamp shone in one.
. . . So much the better. If the room had an inmate, the lamp would
make it harder for him or her to see what went on in the dim garden.
Ten years. . . . Could his hoard have lain all that time undisturbed?
He had hidden it in the old days of the invasion-scare, as many a
citizen had made secret deposit against emergencies. Banks were
novelties in those days. Who knew what might happen to a bank, if
Boney landed?
But ten years . . . a long time . . . and yet to all appearances the
stone had not been tampered with. He levered it up and thrust it
aside.
No! There the bags lay amid the earth! Two bags, and a hundred
guineas in each! He clutched and felt their full round sides.
Pages:
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286