"And they went off in different directions, you say?"
"Yes, the tall one towards Sprotsfield, the short one back towards Inkston."
"Oh, the short stumpy one it was who turned back to Inkston?" Beaumaroy had seated himself on a low three-legged stool, opposite to the big chair where Alec sat, and was smoking his pipe, his hands clasped round his knees. "It doesn't seem to me to come to much, though I'm much obliged to you all the same. The short one's probably a local, the other a stranger, and the local was probably seeing his friend part of the way home, and incidentally showing him one of the sights of the neighbourhood. There are stories about this old den, you know—ancient traditions. It's said to be haunted, and what not."
"Funnily enough, we had the story to-night at dinner, at our house."
"Had you now?" Beaumaroy looked up quickly. "What, all about——?"
"Captain Duggle, and the Devil, and the grave, and all that."
"Who told you the story?"
"Old Mr. Penrose. Do you know him? Lives in High Street, near the Irechesters."
"I think I know him by sight. So he entertained you with that old yarn, did he? And that same old yarn probably accounts for the nocturnal examination which you saw going on. It was a little excitement for you, to reward you for your politeness to Miss Walford!"
Alec flushed, but answered frankly: "I needed no reward for that." His feelings got the better of him; he was very full of feelings that night, and wanted to be sympathized with. "Beaumaroy, do you know that girl's story?" Beaumaroy shook his head—and listened to it. Captain Alec ended on his old note: "To think of the scoundrel using the King's uniform like that!"