afe as a thief in a mill," he whispered with a nod to his
companion. And at that moment a harsh laugh overhead broke the silence
startlingly, and set all the poultry in the yard gabbling.

"Thar he be!" said Tom, clutching the landlord's arm--"in the
winda--see!"

The window of the cedar-room, up two pair of stairs, was open; and in
the shadow a darker outline was visible of a man, with his elbows on
the window-stone, looking down upon them.

"Look at his eyes--like two live coals!" gasped Tom.

The landlord could not see all this so sharply, being confused, and
not so long-sighted as Tom.

"Time, sir," called Tony Turnbull, turning cold as he thought he saw a
pair of eyes shining down redly at him--"time for honest folk to be in
their beds, and asleep!"

"As sound as your sexton!" said the jeering voice from above.

"Come out of this," whispered the landlord fiercely to his hostler,
plucking him hard by the sleeve.

They got into the house, and shut the door.

"I wish we were shot of him," said the landlord, with something like a
groan, as he leaned against the wall of the passage. "I'll sit up,
anyhow--and, Tom, you'll sit wi' me. Cum into the gun-room. No one
shall steal the dead man out of my yard while I can draw a trigger."

The gun-room in the George is about twelve feet square. It projects
into the stable-yard and commands a full view of the old coach-house;
and, through a narrow side window, a flanking view of the back door of
the inn, through which the yard is reached.

Tony Turnbull took down the blunderbuss--which was the great ordnance
of the house--and loaded it with a stiff charge of pistol bullets.

He put on a great-coat which hung there, and was his covering when he
went out at night, to shoot wild ducks. Tom made himself comfortable
likewise. They then sat down at the window, which was open, looking
into the yard, the opposite side of which was white in the brilliant
moonlight.

The landlord laid the blunderbuss across his knees, and stared into
the yard. His comrade stared also. The door of the gun-room was
locked; so they felt tolerably secure.

An hour passed; nothing had occurred. Another. The clock struck one.
The shadows had shifted a little; but still the moon shone full on the
old coach-house, and the stable where the guest's horse stood.

Turnbull thought he heard a step on the back-stair. Tom was watching
the back-door through the side window, with eyes glazing with the
in