“I—­I’m sorry,” stammered Captain Alec.

Beaumaroy’s eyes met Mary’s in the candle’s light with a swift glance of surprise and inquiry.

CHAPTER XVI

DEAD MAJESTY

Mary did not appear to answer Beaumaroy’s glance; she continued to look at, and to address herself to, Captain Alec.  “I am tired, and I should love a ride home.  But I’ve still a little to do, and—­I know it’s awfully late, but would you mind waiting just a little while?  I’m afraid I might be as much as half-an-hour.”

“Right you are, Doctor Mary—­as long as you like.  I’ll walk up and down, and smoke a cigar; I want one badly.”  Mary made an extremely faint motion of her hand towards the house.  “Oh, thanks, but really I—­well, I shall feel more comfortable here, I think.”

Mary smiled; it was always safe to rely on Captain Alec’s fine feelings; under the circumstances he would—­she had felt pretty sure—­prefer to smoke his cigar outside the house.  “I’ll be as quick as I can.  Come, Mr. Beaumaroy!”

Beaumaroy followed her up the path and into the house.  The Sergeant was still on the floor of the passage; he rolled apprehensive resentful eyes at them; Mary took no heed of him, but preceded Beaumaroy into the parlor and shut the door.

“I don’t know what your game is,” remarked Beaumaroy in a low voice, “but you couldn’t have played mine better.  I don’t want him inside the house; but I’m mighty glad to have him extremely visible outside it.”

“It was very quiet inside there”—­she pointed to the door of the Tower—­“just before I came out.  Before that, I’d heard odd sounds.  Was there somebody there—­and the Sergeant in league with him?”

“Exactly,” smiled Beaumaroy.  “It is all quiet.  I think I’ll have a look.”

The candle on the table had burnt out.  He took another from the sideboard and lit it from the one which Mary still held.

“Like the poker?” she asked, with a flicker of a smile on her face.

“No you come and help, if I cry out!” He could not repress a chuckle; Doctor Mary was interesting him extremely.

Lighted by his candle, he went into the Tower.  She heard him moving about there, as she stood thoughtfully by the extinct fire, still with her candle in her hand.

Beaumaroy returned.  “He’s gone—­or they’ve gone.”  He exhibited to her gaze two objects—­a checked pocket-handkerchief and a tobacco pouch.  “Number one found on the edge of the grave—­Number two on the floor of the dais, just behind the canopy.  If the same man had drawn them both out of the same pocket at the same time—­wanting to blow the same nose, Doctor Mary—­they’d have fallen at the same place, wouldn’t they?”

“Wonderful, Holmes!” said Mary.  “And now, shall we attend to Mr. Saffron?”