They passed through the outskirts of Sprotsfield; Mike—­to use his more familiar name—­had made a thorough exploration of the place, and his directions enabled his chauffeur to avoid the central and populous parts of the town.  Then they came out on to the open heath, passed Old Place, and presently—­about half a mile from Tower Cottage—­found Sergeant Hooper waiting for them by the roadside.  It was then hard on midnight—­a dark cloudy night, very apt for their purpose.  With a nod, but without a word, the Sergeant got into the car, and in cautious whispers directed its course to the shelter of the clump of trees; they reached it after a few hundred yards of smooth road and some thirty of bumping over the heath.  It afforded a perfect screen from the road, and on the other side there was only untrodden heath, no path or track being visible near it.

Neddy got out of the car, but he did not forget his faithful flask.  He offered it to the Sergeant in token of approval.  “Good place, Sergeant,” he said; “does credit to you, as a beginner.  Here, mate, hold on, though.  It’s evident you ain’t accustomed to liquor glasses!”

“When I sits up so late, I gets a kind of a sinking,” the Sergeant explained apologetically.

Mike flashed a torch on him for a minute; there was a very uncomfortable look in his little squinty eyes.  “Sergeant,” he said suavely but gravely, “my friend here relies on you.  He’s not a safe man to disappoint.”  He shifted the light suddenly on to Neddy, whose proportions seemed to loom out prodigious from the surrounding darkness.  “Are you, Neddy?”

“No, I’m a sensitive chap, I am,” said Neddy, smiling.  “Don’t you go and hurt my pride in you by any sign of weakness, Sergeant.”

The Sergeant shivered a little.  “I’m game.  I’ll stick it,” he protested valorously.

“You’d better!” Neddy advised.

“All quiet at the Cottage as you came by?” asked Mike.

“Quiet as the grave, for what I see,” the Sergeant answered.

“All right.  Mike, where are them sandwiches?  I feel like a bite.  One for the Sergeant too!  But no more flask—­no, you don’t Sergeant!  When’ll we start, Mike!”

“In about half-an-hour.”

“Just nice time for a snack—­oysters and stout for you, my darling?” said jovial Neddy.  Then—­with a change of voice—­“Just as well that didn’t pass us!”

For the sound of a car came from the road they had just left.  It was going in the direction of the Cottage and of Inkston.  Captain Alec was taking his betrothed home after a joyful evening of congratulation and welcome.

CHAPTER XII

THE SECRET OF THE TOWER

The scene presented by the interior of the Tower, when Beaumaroy softly opened the door and signed to Doctor Mary to step forward and look, was indeed a strange one, a ridiculous yet pathetic mockery of grandeur.