"Orl right, Guv'nor. Thank yer, sir, for this--this rippin' fine
evenin'. And fer lettin' me pertend I was for the moment, like, a real
pal to yer. I shan't never ferget that. Good-night, sir, and pleasant
dreams."

"Good-night, Dollops. Close the door softly behind you. There's an old
lady in the room beyond, and I fancy she's just gone off to bed. I'll
sit here a few minutes longer, and then nip in between the sheets
myself."

But the few minutes lengthened into an hour before Cleek, about to rise
from his chair by the open window to knock out the ashes of his pipe
upon the sill, happened to glance up and out of it. Then he stopped of a
sudden, sucked in his breath, and stood stock-still, staring out in
front of him as though he had gone suddenly mad.

For the darkness of that dark night had been cut suddenly by a ray of
red light swung to and fro several times from the particular bit of
darkness which Cleek knew was Aygon Castle; extinguished; re-lit; sent
swinging across the darkness again like an arc of crimson light; and
when this was done for a third time, Cleek knew that it was a signal--a
signal from Maud Duggan to him--a signal, too, which meant distress.
Something had happened out there in that grim darkness beyond the rim of
hill and valley in that great, gaunt edifice of mediaeval stone,
something so serious that she had signalled for him to come, as she said
she would.

He drew out his spot--light, and sent it zigzagging in the direction of
the red light, just to let her know she had been seen and understood.
Then, swinging round swiftly, he caught up his dark overcoat, slipped
his arms into it, drew a cap low down over his head, and was off into
the shadows and pelting away down the narrow tortuous lane as fast as
his swift feet could carry him.

CHAPTER VIII

WHEN THE BLOW FELL

It was not an easy road Cleek traversed, for in the darkness and in the
utter absence of lamps of any sort the lane became a thing of stones and
pitfalls for the unwary traveller, and there were many times when he was
down upon his hands and knees in the soft, sweet-smelling,
heather-thatched hillside, having lost footing with the road altogether,
and only his pocket-lamp kept him from absolute downfall and disaster.
But the great gates were reached at last, and he saw that they had been
set ajar, so that he could slip in undisturbed, if he wished--a little
forethought on Maud Duggan's part for which he silent