He was dead tired when he reached the cottage where he had left his gig. The cottager awoke at his knock, put the horse in, and drove him at once to Middleton, where he slept heavily for three or four hours before Mr. Goodman arrived in the morning.
"Well, Mr. Hardy, I hope you spotted the rascals as we arranged."
"I saw the run," replied Jack, with an inward chuckle at the riding-officer's "we," "and a precious cold night it was. They've hidden the stuff somewhere in old Congleton's summer-house."
"Have they indeed? I'll seize it at once."
"No, no, Mr. Goodman, don't be in a hurry. You might send a few of your men to Luscombe, telling them nothing, of course. If they're seen about there for a day or two it will prevent the smugglers from removing their stuff until it is too late. And if you don't mind, send a messenger to Waddon for me, and tell Babbage to remain where he is till further orders."
"I will, Mr. Hardy. By George! I hope Admiral Horniman will be pleased with the way we are carrying out his plans."
Jack smiled as the riding-officer took his leave,—Mr. Goodman knew only half the plan; Admiral Horniman none of it.
The most important part of Jack's task was still before him. He had determined to be in the turret room of Congleton's Folly on Wednesday evening; how was he to get there? The removable steps were no doubt being used by the signaler; but it was not likely that they were still hidden in the same place. De Fronsac, of course, would believe Jack to be safe in a French prison; but the last hiding-place having been so easily discovered, he would certainly choose a new one. Yet, if the tower was to be entered, steps of some kind must be had.
Jack spent a quiet Sunday, and early on Monday morning drove a few miles inland to another village, where he entered the smithy and asked the smith if he could make him quickly a dozen iron loops with a tail to them.
"Well, maybe I might," said the smith, "if you showed me the pattern."