The night was so dark that he nearly missed the turning that led to the
cottage. For the first few yards he had almost to feel his way; then,
with a greater yearning than ever for the society of Mr. Farrer, he
straightened his back and marched swiftly and noiselessly towards the
cottage.

It was a small, tumble-down place, set well back in an overgrown garden.
The sergeant-major came to a halt just before reaching the gate, and,
hidden by the hedge, unfastened his parcel and shook out his wife's best
nightgown.

He got it over his head with some difficulty, and, with his arms in the
sleeves, tried in vain to get his big hands through the small, lace-
trimmed wristbands. Despite his utmost efforts he could only get two or
three fingers through, and after a vain search for his cap, which had
fallen off in the struggle, he made his way to the gate and stood there
waiting. It was at this moment that the thought occurred to him that
Mr. Farrer might have failed to keep the appointment.

His knees trembled slightly and he listened anxiously for any sound from
the house. He rattled the gate and, standing with white arms
outstretched, waited. Nothing happened. He shook it again, and then,
pulling himself together, opened it and slipped into the garden. As he
did so a large bough which lay in the centre of the footpath
thoughtfully drew on one side to let him pass.

Mr. Ward stopped suddenly and, with his gaze fixed on the bough, watched
it glide over the grass until it was swallowed up in the darkness. His
own ideas of frightening Mr. Farrer were forgotten, and in a dry,