He unlocked the door and pushed it back over the grass-grown gravel.
"Wait for me here, will you?" he said to Jack.
"I'm coming in. I'll show you where to change."
Twenty yards of an irregular twisted path, over which they stumbled two or three times, led them down to the little ruined doorway at the west end of the old church. Jack's father had restored the place admirably, so far as restoration was possible, and there stood now, strong as ever, the old tower, roofed and floored throughout, abutting on the four roofless walls, within which ran the double row of column bases.
Jack struck a light, kindled a bicycle lamp he had brought with him, and led the way.
"Come in here," he said.
Frank followed him into the room at the base of the tower and looked round.
"This looks all right," he said. "It was a Catholic church once, I suppose?
"Yes; the parson says this was the old sacristy. They've found things here, I think—cupboards in the wall, and so on."