e of national importance, as indeed
it was. But that did not excuse his prejudice against soldiers.

They passed through the outskirts of Sprotsfield; Mike--to use his more
familiar name--had made a thorough exploration of the place, and his
directions enabled his chauffeur to avoid the central and populous parts
of the town. Then they came out on to the open heath, passed Old Place,
and presently--about half a mile from Tower Cottage--found Sergeant
Hooper waiting for them by the roadside. It was then hard on midnight--a
dark cloudy night, very apt for their purpose. With a nod, but without a
word, the Sergeant got into the car, and in cautious whispers directed
its course to the shelter of the clump of trees; they reached it after a
few hundred yards of smooth road and some thirty of bumping over the
heath. It afforded a perfect screen from the road, and on the other side
there was only untrodden heath, no path or track being visible near it.

Neddy got out of the car, but he did not forget his faithful flask. He
offered it to the Sergeant in token of approval. "Good place, Sergeant,"
he said; "does credit to you, as a beginner. Here, mate, hold on, though.
It's evident you ain't accustomed to liquor glasses!"

"When I sits up so late, I gets a kind of a sinking," the Sergeant
explained apologetically.

Mike flashed a torch on him for a minute; there was a very uncomfortable
look in his little squinty eyes. "Sergeant," he said suavely but
gravely, "my friend here relies on you. He's not a safe man to
disappoint." He shifted the light suddenly on to Neddy, whose
proportions seemed to loom out prodigious from the surrounding darkness.
"Are you, Neddy?"

"No, I'm a sensitive chap, I am," said Neddy, smiling. "Don't you go and
hurt my pride in you by any sign of weakness, Sergeant."

The Sergeant shivered a little. "I'm game. I'll stick it," he protested
valorously.

"You'd better!" Neddy advised.

"All quiet at the Cottage as you came by?" asked Mike.

"Quiet as the grave, for what I see," the Sergeant answered.

"All right. Mike, where are them sandwiches? I feel like a bite. One for
the Sergeant too! But no more flask--no, you don't Sergeant! When'll we
start, Mike!"

"In about half-an-hour."

"Just nice time for a snack--oysters and stout for you, my darling?"
said jovial Neddy. Then--with a change of voice--"Just as well that
didn't pass us!"

For the sound of a car came from the road they had just le