At that moment the other young man entered.
"This is Logan, Tubby!" exclaimed the first. "He's turned up, after all."
"Good man!" exclaimed Tubby. "But how the dickens did you get in?"
"Through the window," explained Mr. Yard truthfully.
"That's the style," laughed the other. "Jack, why weren't you here to receive your guests? I suppose you came over in Sam's cart?"
Mr. Yard, who was trying desperately hard to get his bearings, contented himself with a nod.
"Well, I'm most awfly obliged to you for turning up," said Jack. "Old Morton had heard you were at Rundlestone, and suggested my sending you a wire first thing this morning, when Collins cried off. I never thought you'd be able to come."
"It was just chance," admitted Mr. Yard frankly. "I got away unexpected."
"We're jolly glad to see you, anyhow," broke in Tubby. "The Battery are sending over a beastly hot team, and we should have been absolutely snookered without a back."
Mr. Yard suppressed a start. In more innocent days, before the stern career of burglary had claimed him for its own, he had figured as a fullback of some local renown for a famous Yorkshire club. And now apparently it was in the same capacity that he was being so hospitably received by these two unsuspicious young men. Who the missing Logan might be he could only guess. Evidently some well-known player who was staying in the district, and had been invited over to assist Okestock at the eleventh hour. "If he turns up," thought Mr. Yard, "things'll be a bit hot."