"If any o' these is bad 'uns, I shall go and tell."
"But they're not, they're all good," whispered Sam. "Now be off."
"Shee-arn't! I'm goin' to stop and see what you do. But you can't get
in like that. The winders has all got noo fasteners. I could get in if
I liked."
"How?" said Sam, in spite of himself.
"Think I'm goin' to tell you for this," said Pete. "You give me
another, and I'll show you how to get in. I see you come in the wood
and smoke over yonder."
"And you've been watching me ever since?"
"Course I have. What do you want to get?"
Sam made no answer, for he was trying to arrange his thoughts, and make
out what was the best thing to do. Then all at once Pete broke out
with--
"You ain't half a chap. I could soon get in there if I wanted."
"Could you? How?"
"I've been in the mill lots o' times," said Pete evasively, "'fore they
took the stones out, and since old Dicky Brandon pulled the sails off."
"Tell me how you managed it," said Sam, after a glance round; for,
mingled with his uneasy feeling about being betrayed by the great lad
before him, he began to feel desperate, and as if he must succeed now he
had gone so far. He was convinced in his own mind that the most likely
place to find the documents he sought would be in his uncle's study, and
to him the first floor of the old mill was that study. Tom had told him
as much, and that the old walnut-wood bureau was the depository where
their uncle kept his papers.
"People in the country are such idiots," he said to himself; "they never
think of having strongrooms or iron safes. He has locked the papers up
there as sure as a gun."
It was with a certainty of this being the case that he had come down,
and now that there was nothing between him and the prize but a window
and this spying lad, the position was irritating to a degree.
Sam thrust his hand into his pocket, where it came in contact with
half-a-sovereign and some silver, and he began to think that of these he
could perhaps after all make a key. The only question was how to begin.
Pete had uttered a low sniggering laugh on hearing Sam's last question,
and now feeling that he must either act or give up; the latter repeated
his inquiry.
"I used to have some bantams," replied the young scoundrel. "Bantams
like wheat and barley."
"And you used to come and steal some for them?" said Sam sharply.
"Oh, did I? Who said anything about stealing? I didn't eat the barley;
the bantams did."
"But you stole it all the same," said Sam, who felt now that he had a
handle to take hold of.
"Oh, did I? So are you," snarled Pete. "You've come to steal
something, or you wouldn't be here in the dark."
"Never you mind about that," said Sam quickly. "Look here; you tell me
the way to get in, and I'll give you another shilling."
Pete thrust his dirty face close to Sam's.
"Give us hold then."
"No; you show me the way first."
"Shee-arn't! Give us the shillin' first."
"I don't believe you know a way."
"Oh, don't I! You give me the shillin', and you'll see."
Sam hesitated, but there was no time to lose. It seemed to be his only
policy to make friends with this young ruffian, and he finally took a
shilling out of his pocket, the action being grasped at once by the lad
in spite of the darkness.
"No games," said Sam. "If I give you the shilling, will you tell me
fairly?"
"Course I will."
"There; now tell me."
Pete took the shilling handed, made believe to spit upon it, and thrust
it into his pocket.
"Winders is fastened up tight now."
"What, those up higher too?"
"Yes; all on 'em."
"Then how am I to get in?"
Pete laughed softly, and Sam grew angry.
"I thought so," he whispered. "You don't know."
"Oh, don't I just?" said Pete, with his sniggering laugh. "I said I'd
tell yer, and I will."
"Quick then. How?"
"There's a kind o' door up atop as opens right over and lies on its
back. It's got a bolt to it, but you can shove yer hand under when yer
gets up inside them little palings and push it back. Then yer can open
the door and get in."
"How do you know?" said Sam sharply.
"How do I know? 'Cause I've done it."
"But up there? How did you get up?"
"Ladder," said the lad laconically.
"What, is there a ladder here?"
"No," said Pete.
"Bah!" ejaculated Sam. "What's the good of telling me that, then?"
Pete chuckled now with satisfaction, as if he enjoyed his companion's
trouble.
"I know where there's a ladder," he said.
"One we could get?"
"You couldn't. I could."
"Get it for me, then, there's a good fellow."
"Ha, ha! Oh, I say; arn't you getting jolly civil!"
"Hush!" whispered Sam excitedly. "Don't make that noise. Some one will
hear."
"Yah! There's no one to hear! The old man's gone out, and old Mother
Fidler's fast asleep, and snoring by this time."
"But there's he," whispered Sam.
"What, young Tom Blount? Yah! Not him: he won't come."
"Where's the ladder?" whispered Sam, in agony.
"Don't I tell yer, yer couldn't get it if yer did know!"
"Then will you get it for me?"
"Give's another shillin', and I will."
"Oh!" groaned Sam. "I've given you too much now."
"All right. I don't want the ladder. I arn't going to fetch that and
carry it ever so far for nothin'."
"But is it long enough?"
"Yes; just reaches up to them railings outside the top door. Yer can't
get in without."
"If I give you another shilling--the last, mind--will you fetch me a
ladder?"
"Course I will."
"All right then; make haste."
"Give us the shillin' first."
"Then you won't fetch the ladder."
"Oh yes, I will--honour bright."
Sam unwillingly produced another shilling.
"There, that's the last I'm going to give you," he whispered. "Now,
then, fetch the ladder quickly."