Retracing his steps he sat down in the summer-house and, forcing himself to go slowly, counted a thousand. Then he walked round the corner of the house again. The light was still burning. Returning to the summer house he vowed to himself that he would not take another look until some moments after the next chiming of the Town clock, as it seemed to him hardly likely that his father would continue his vigil beyond eleven.
Consumed with impatience, he waited. At last the melodious chimes rang out but, to his amazement and dismay, the bell did not toll eleven; it was only a Quarter-to. All the same he went round the house, but only to meet with another disappointment.
Back in the summer-house once more it suddenly came to him that he had had no dinner and was very hungry. There was plenty of fruit in the garden and, although not very sustaining, it was better than nothing; moreover going in search of it would occupy a little time during the enforced waiting. Tip-toeing up the path he went through the arch to the kitchen garden and made for the west wall, which was covered with fan-trained plum trees. Most of the gages were not yet ripe but he knew every tree in the garden and went straight to a purple plum that was just ready for picking. Having eaten several, he went into the netted cage and attacked the raspberry canes. But they did not taste half as good without sugar and cream, so he abandoned them and, leaving the cage, walked up to the south wall on which grew the peaches and nectarines. Finding that the only early trees had been denuded of their fruit for his father's home-coming dinner of the day before, he fell back on the apricots and ate of them until he was satisfied.
It seemed as if he had been listening for the clock to strike for half an hour, but at last it chimed eleven. Controlling his impatience he made himself count another thousand, then he left the kitchen garden and walked cautiously round the corner of the house again. The light was still burning in the library.
He wondered desperately if he dared enter the house while his father was still up. As his own room was at the back of the house he thought that he would be able to get into it unheard, but, to collect his things he would have to kindle a light, and the door of his room opened on to the half-landing of the staircase. Should his father decide to go up to bed while the light was on he would see it under the door and the fat would then be in the fire with a vengeance. Roger decided that he dared not risk it.
Yet, if he failed to get his money-box in time to be at Northover's quay by midnight, his whole plan would be ruined. He had promised Dan five pounds and, if he could not show the colour of his money Dan might refuse to take him. A prey to the most appalling indecision he hovered there, taking his weight first on one foot then on the other. Suddenly the light went out.
His relief was soon swamped in a new wave of impatience. He must give his father time to lock up and get to bed and, fearing that he might be seen from one of the windows he quickly tiptoed back to the shelter of the summer-house. With his hands clasped he sat there counting the seconds as the interminable minutes dragged away. At last the clock chimed a quarter past. He could bear to wait no longer and, getting up, stole round to the courtyard at the back of the house.
Old Ben's pantry consisted of a single storey passage room connecting the old wing of the house with the new building. By getting on to its roof Roger could easily reach the window of his bedroom. His heart hammering wildly again now, he climbed on to a rain butt and hauled himself up on to the low roof. His window was open a foot. It creaked a little as he raised it further and he paused there listening intently for a moment; but no sound came and he slipped inside.
The room was in pitch darkness but his groping fingers soon found his tinder box and he lit a candle. He had already made a mental list of the things he wanted to take and with quick soft steps he set about collecting them, the solitary candle casting a giant shadow of him on the walls and ceiling.
First he broke open his money-box. He had not added anything to its contents for the past few years, but it had in it most of the cash presents he had received during his childhood. A swift count showed that he had fifteen guineas in gold and a fist full of silver crowns, which was considerably more than he had thought. Next, he stripped off his outer clothes and hurriedly changed into his best blue broadcloth suit, pulling on top of it his winter overcoat. Taking a roomy leather satchel from a chest he crammed into it a change of linen, the pair of silver-mounted pistols that his mother had given him on his fifteenth birthdayr a pair of court shoes with silver buckles and a number of other items that he thought might come in useful. Thrusting his money in one pocket and the fat packet of Georgina's jewels into another he left the letter he had written to his mother propped up on the dressing-chest, gave a last hurried look round, blew out the candle and climbed out of the window.
Having regained the garden he hastened along the grass verge of the terrace to its eastern end, withdrew the bolts of a small postern door in the high wall and let himself out. Turning into the avenue of limes that formed the drive up to the main gate of the house he broke into a run, fearful now that he had been so long in collecting his things that it would be midnight before he could reach the quay. But before he was half way along it the Town clock chimed again, eleven strokes and the three quarters, so with a gasp of relief he dropped back into a walk. Beyond the avenue there lay only a short lane ending in a steep street of old houses that ran down to the water.
At the quayside he found the Sally Ann. Only the silhouette of her mast and rigging now showed against the night sky, but having often seen her in full daylight, he knew her well as a long, rakish, swift-moving craft.
No attempt was being made to conceal her departure, as she normally made one of the fishing fleet, solitary boats of which often sailed from Lymington at the tarn of the tide late at night or in the small hours of the morning.
A gruff voice hailed Roger as he reached the lugger's side and a lantern was raised from behind a pile of tarpaulins. By its light Roger saw that the man who had challenged him was Nick Bartlett, a fellow of ill repute, who picked up a dubious living on the waterfront.
As Roger asked for Dan, Nick said in a grumbling tone: "So it be 'e, be it? Dan said 'e was a-coming wi' us, though what he be after wi' the likes of e' aboard Satan knows."
After this ill reception Roger was glad to see Dan's bearded head emerge from the hatchway and hear him calclass="underline" "Stow that, Nick Bartlett! What I does be my affair. 'Tis none of 'e's business an' the young gentleman is paying his footing handsome. Come aboard, Master Roger an' don't pay no heed to yon fellow's cussedness."
Scrambling over the lugger's low bulwark Roger joined Dan aft and was taken by him down to the cabin. Three other men were there, whiling away the time until the tide should fall, by gambling for halfpence with a greasy pack of cards. Roger knew two of them by sight: Fred Mullins, a brawny, open-faced man, who, in his youth, had been impressed into the Navy and had later deserted; and Simon Fry, a grizzled, weather-beaten fisherman who had had the ill luck to lose his boat some winters before. The third was a dark, wiry fellow with a sly, cunning look. The others addressed him as Ned, and it later transpired that he came from Boscombe way, where he had quarrelled with and left another gang.
While Roger sat watching them from a corner of the smelly ill-lit cabin, the minutes seemed to drag again. He had a frightening vision of his father paying a last visit to his room before going to sleep, to see if he had come home by the window, and, on seeing the disorder there, coming hot-foot in pursuit of him. But he quickly reassured himself with the thought that even if his father did now discover the empty money-box and the scattered clothes he could not possibly guess where their owner had got to.