Mrs. Chalk received the information in stony silence, and, declining tea, made her way to the station and mounted guard over her boxes until the train was due.  With the exception of saying “Indeed!” on three or four occasions she kept silent all the way to Binchester, and, arrived there, departed for home in a cab, in spite of a most pressing invitation from Mrs. Stobell to stay with her until her own house was habitable.

Mr. Tredgold parted from them both with relief.  The voyage had been a source of wonder to him from its first inception, and the day’s proceedings had only served to increase the mystery.  He made a light supper and, the house being too quiet for his taste, went for a meditative stroll.  The shops were closed and the small thoroughfares almost deserted.  He wondered whether it was too late to call and talk over the affair with Captain Bowers, and, still wondering, found himself in Dialstone Lane.

Two or three of the houses were in darkness, but there was a cheerful light behind the drawn blind of the captain’s sitting-room.  He hesitated a moment and then rapped lightly on the door, and no answer being forthcoming rapped again.  The door opened and revealed the amiable features of Mr. Tasker.

“Captain Bowers has gone to London, sir,” he said.

Mr. Tredgold drew his right foot back three inches, and at the same time tried to peer into the room.

“We’re expecting him back every moment,” said Mr. Tasker, encouragingly.

Mr. Tredgold moved his foot forward again and pondered.  “It’s very late, but I wanted to see him rather particularly,” he murmured, as he stepped into the room.

“Miss Drewitt’s in the garden,” said Joseph.

Mr. Tredgold started and eyed him suspiciously.  Mr. Tasker’s face, however, preserving its usual appearance of stolid simplicity, his features relaxed and he became thoughtful again.

“Perhaps I might go into the garden,” he suggested.

“I should if I was you, sir,” said Joseph, preceding him and throwing open the back door.  “It’s fresher out there.”

Mr. Tredgold stepped into the garden and stood blinking in the sudden darkness.  There was no moon and the night was cloudy, a fact which accounted for his unusual politeness towards a cypress of somewhat stately bearing which stood at one corner of the small lawn.  He replaced his hat hastily, and an apologetic remark concerning the lateness of his visit was never finished.  A trifle confused, he walked down the garden, peering right and left as he went, but without finding the object of his search.  Twice he paced the garden from end to end, and he had just arrived at the conclusion that Mr. Tasker had made a mistake when a faint sound high above his head apprised him of the true state of affairs.

He stood listening in amazement, but the sound was not repeated.  Ordinary prudence and a sense of the fitness of things suggested that he should go home; inclination suggested that he should seat himself in the deck-chair at the foot of the crow’s-nest and await events.  He sat down to consider the matter.