Of a certainty it was the redoubtable Captain Naylor.
Through the darkness he loomed enormous, as tall as big Neddy himself and
no whit less broad. A powerful reinforcement for the garrison!
And what would the Sergeant do, if he were still at his post by the
door--with or without that missing, that all-important, sack?
Another tall figure came into Mike's view--from where he could not
distinctly see; it hardly seemed to be from the door of the cottage, for
no light showed, and there was no sound of an opening door. But it
appeared from somewhere near there; it was on the path, and it moved
along to the gate in a leisurely unhurried approach. A man with his hands
in his pockets--that was what it looked like. This must be the garrison;
this must be the Sergeant's friend, master, protector, and _b?te noire_,
his "Boomery."
But the Sergeant himself? Where was he? He could hardly be at his post;
or Beaumaroy and he must have seen one another, must have taken some heed
of one another; something must have passed between them, either friendly
or hostile. Mike turned round and whispered hastily, close into Neddy's
ear.
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