ong the edge of the drive without daring to look behind.

We came out by the opposite gate to that by which we had stolen in.
Sharp to the right ran the private lane behind the stables and sharp
to the right dashed Raffles, instead of straight along the open road.
It was not the course I should have chosen, but I followed Raffles
without a murmur, only too thankful that he had assumed the lead at
last. Already the stables were lit up like a chandelier; there was a
staccato rattle of horse-shoes in the stable yard, and the great gates
were opening as we skimmed past in the nick of time. In another minute
we were skulking in the shadow of the kitchen-garden wall while the
high-road rang with the dying tattoo of galloping hoofs.

"That's for the police," said Raffles, waiting for me. "But the fun's
only beginning in the stables. Hear the uproar, and see the lights! In
another minute they'll be turning out the hunters for the last run of
the season!"

"We mustn't give them one, Raffles!"

"Of course we mustn't; but that means stopping where we are."

"We can't do that!"

"If they're wise they'll send a man to every railway station within
ten miles and draw every cover inside the radius. I can only think of
one that's not likely to occur to them."

"What's that?"

"The other side of this wall. How big is the garden, Bunny?"

"Six or seven acres."

"Well, you must take me to another of your old haunts, where we can
lie low till morning."

"And then?"

"Sufficient for the night, Bunny! The first thing is to find a burrow.
What are those trees at the end of this lane?"

"St. Leonard's Forest."

"Magnificent! They'll scour every inch of that before they come back
to their own garden. Come, Bunny, give me a leg up, and I'll pull you
after me in two ticks!"

There was indeed nothing better to be done; and, much as I loathed and
dreaded entering the place again, I had already thought of a second
sanctuary of old days, which might as well be put to the base uses of
this disgraceful night. In a far corner of the garden, over a hundred
yards from the house, a little ornamental lake had been dug within my
own memory; its shores were shelving lawn and steep banks of
rhododendrons; and among the rhododendrons nestled a tiny boat-house
which had been my childish joy. It was half a dock for the dingy in
which one plowed these miniature waters and half a bathing-box for
those who preferred their morning tub among the gol