Anthony Hope

“ Tower Cottage stood back no more than twelve or fifteen feet from the road, and the torch was powerful.
For four or five minutes the stranger made his examination. Then he turned off his torch. “Looks easy,” he remarked, “but of course there’s the garrison.” Once more he turned on his light, to look at his watch. “Can’t stop now, or I shall miss the train, and I don’t want to have to get a bed at Sprotsfield. A strayed reveler on Christmas night might be too well remembered. Got an address?” ”

“ Then came the flash of the torch; the high spirits born of one experience sought an outlet in another. “By Jove, I’ll track ’em—like old times!” he murmured, with a low light laugh. And, just for fun, he did it, taking to the heath beside the road, twisting his long body in and out amongst gorse, heather, and bracken, very noiselessly, with wonderful dexterity. The light of the lamp was continuous now; the stranger was making his examination. By it Captain Alec guided his steps; and he arrived behind the tall gorse bush opposite Tower Cottage just in time to hear the Sergeant say “Mrs. ”

“ Boomery’s stony, except for his screw.” He looked hard at the gentlemanly stranger, and a slow smile came on his lips, “That’s your idea, is it, mister?”
“Gentleman’s old, looks frail, might go off suddenly. What then? Friends turn up, always do when you’re dead, you know. ”

“ Does it dawn on you at all, from our friend B——’s point of view, Sergeant? I may be wrong, but that’s my provisional conjecture. The question remains how he’s got the old gent into the game, doesn’t it? ”