"People usually go to bed at night, don't they?" said Sprouse patiently. "It is expected, I believe."
"But, my dear man, we are to undertake--"
"There is no reason why we shouldn't go to bed like sensible beings, Mr. Barnes, and get up again when we feel like it, is there? I have some cause for believing that one of those chaps in there is from Green Fancy. Go to bed at ten o'clock, my friend, and put out your light. I don't insist on your taking off your clothes, however. I will rap on your door at eleven o'clock. By the way, don't forget to stick your revolver in your pocket."
A few minutes before eleven there came a gentle tapping on Barnes's door. He sprang to his feet and opened it, presenting himself before Sprouse fully dressed and, as the secret agent said later on, "fit to kill."
They went quietly down a back stairway and let themselves out into the stable-yard. A light, cold drizzle greeted them as they left the lee of the building.
"A fine night for treason, stratagems and spoils," said Sprouse, speaking barely above a whisper. "Follow me and don't ask questions. You will have to talk if you do, and talking is barred for the present."
He stopped at the corner of the inn and listened for a moment. Then he darted across the road and turned to the left in the ditch that bordered it. The night was as black as pitch. Barnes, trusting to the little man's eyes, and hanging close upon his coat-tails, followed blindly but gallantly in the tracks of the leader. It seemed to him that they stumbled along parallel to the road for miles before Sprouse came to a halt.
"Climb over the fence here, and stick close to me. Are you getting your cats'-eyes?"
"Yes, I can see pretty well now. But, great scot, why should we walk half way to the North Pole, Sprouse, before--"
"We haven't come more than half a mile. The Curtis land ends here. We stay close to this fence till we reach the woods. I was in here to-day taking observations."
"You were?"
"Yes. Didn't that actress friend of yours mention meeting me?"
"No."
"I told her distinctly that I had eleven children, nineteen--"
"By Jove, was that you?" gasped Barnes, falling in beside him.
"If it were light enough you could see a sign on my back which says in large type, 'Silence,'" said the other, and after that not a word passed between them for half an hour or more. Then it was Sprouse who spoke. "This is the short cut to Green Fancy," he whispered, laying his hand on Barnes's arm. "We save four or five miles, coming this way. Do you know where we are?"