It should not be my fault if I did not go through with it.
The rain was pouring in sheets, and on such a night no one would be likely to walk abroad for pleasure.

Nor between the hostel and the barrier was it probable that any sentinel would patrol the empty street.
At any rate I met nothing, except a market-cart coming in, the occupants of which were too busy discussing the handling they had received at the barrier to look under the shadow of the wall for a vagrant boy.
At last I found a convenient place, where the road was dark as night, and where a sharp turn made it likely that the horses would be taken slowly past.

Here I crouched, dripping from head to foot, for a long ten minutes.
Then my heart beat as I heard the dull rumble of the wheels, and caught the lurid glare of the two lamps coming.

By the brief glance I got I saw that the guard (as I had hoped) had crouched in for shelter under the driver's hood, and that the sole occupant of the back _coupe_ was buried under his tarpaulin.
Now was my time.

I had carefully selected my point of attack.