“By Jove, it is late!” cried the Captain, looking at his watch.  “It’s past one!”

Cynthia was amazed to hear that.

“He must be very ill, that old gentleman,” Jeanne opined.  “And poor Doctor Arkroyd will be very tired.  She will find the walk across the heath very fatiguing.”

“Walk, Jeanne?  Didn’t she take the car?” cried Cynthia, surprised.

No, the Doctor had not taken the car; she had started to walk with Mr. Beaumaroy; the parlormaid had certainly told Jeanne that.

“I tell you what,” said the Captain.  “I’ll just tool along to Tower Cottage.  I’ll look out for Doctor Mary on the road, and give her a lift back if I meet her.  If I don’t, I can stop at the cottage and get Beaumaroy to tell her that I’m there, and can wait to bring her home as soon as she’s ready.  You’d better go to bed, Cynthia.”

Jeanne tactfully disappeared, and the lovers said good-night.  After Alec’s departure, Jeanne received the anticipated confidence.

That departure almost synchronized with two events at Tower Cottage.  The first was Beaumaroy’s exit from the front door, leaving Mary in charge of his prisoner who, consequently, was unable to keep any watch on the road or to warn his principals of approaching danger.  The second was big Neddy’s declaration that, in his opinion, the sack now held about as much as he could carry.  He raised it from the floor in his two hands.  “Must weight a ’undred pound or more!” he reckoned.  That meant a lot of money, a fat lot of money.  His terrors had begun to wear off, since nothing of a supernatural or even creepy order had actually happened.  He had, at last, even agreed to the candles being put out.  Still he would be glad to be off.  “Enough’s as good as a feast, as the sayin’ goes, Mike,” he chuckled.

Mike had fitted a new battery into his torch.  It shone brightly on Neddy and on the sack, whose mouth Neddy was now tying up, “I might fill my pockets too,” he suggested, eyeing the very respectable amount of sovereigns which still remained in Captain Duggle’s tomb.

“Don’t do it, old lad,” Neddy advised.  “If we ’ave to get out, or anything of that kind, you don’t want to jingle as if you was a glass chandelier, do you?”

Mike admitted the cogency of the objection, and they agreed to be off.  Mike started for the window.  “I’ll just pick up the Sergeant,” he said, “and signal you ‘All clear.’  Then you follow out.”

“No, Mike,” said Neddy slowly, but very decisively.  “If you don’t mind, it’s going to be me as gets out of that window first.  I ain’t a man of your eddication, and—­well, blast me if I’m going to be left in this place alone with—­that there!” He motioned with his head, back over his shoulder, towards where silent Mr. Saffron sat.

“You’re a blooming ass, Neddy, but have it your own way.  Only let me see the coast’s clear first.”