Tommy retired to the inn and waited for Albert’s return.  At last that worthy made his appearance.

“Well?” cried Tommy eagerly.

“It’s all right.  While they was a-running of you out the window opened, and something was chucked out.”  He handed a scrap of paper to Tommy.  “It was wrapped round a letterweight.”

On the paper were scrawled three words:  “To-morrow—­same time.”

“Good egg!” cried Tommy.  “We’re getting going.”

“I wrote a message on a piece of paper, wrapped it round a stone, and chucked it through the window,” continued Albert breathlessly.

Tommy groaned.

“Your zeal will be the undoing of us, Albert.  What did you say?”

“Said we was a-staying at the inn.  If she could get away, to come there and croak like a frog.”

“She’ll know that’s you,” said Tommy with a sigh of relief.  “Your imagination runs away with you, you know, Albert.  Why, you wouldn’t recognize a frog croaking if you heard it.”

Albert looked rather crest-fallen.

“Cheer up,” said Tommy.  “No harm done.  That butler’s an old friend of mine—­I bet he knew who I was, though he didn’t let on.  It’s not their game to show suspicion.  That’s why we’ve found it fairly plain sailing.  They don’t want to discourage me altogether.  On the other hand, they don’t want to make it too easy.  I’m a pawn in their game, Albert, that’s what I am.  You see, if the spider lets the fly walk out too easily, the fly might suspect it was a put-up job.  Hence the usefulness of that promising youth, Mr. T. Beresford, who’s blundered in just at the right moment for them.  But later, Mr. T. Beresford had better look out!”

Tommy retired for the night in a state of some elation.  He had elaborated a careful plan for the following evening.  He felt sure that the inhabitants of Astley Priors would not interfere with him up to a certain point.  It was after that that Tommy proposed to give them a surprise.

About twelve o’clock, however, his calm was rudely shaken.  He was told that some one was demanding him in the bar.  The applicant proved to be a rude-looking carter well coated with mud.

“Well, my good fellow, what is it?” asked Tommy.

“Might this be for you, sir?” The carter held out a very dirty folded note, on the outside of which was written:  “Take this to the gentleman at the inn near Astley Priors.  He will give you ten shillings.”

The handwriting was Tuppence’s.  Tommy appreciated her quick-wittedness in realizing that he might be staying at the inn under an assumed name.  He snatched at it.

“That’s all right.”

The man withheld it.

“What about my ten shillings?”

Tommy hastily produced a ten-shilling note, and the man relinquished his find.  Tommy unfastened it.

“Dear Tommy,