He waited there for half an hour and smoked four cigarettes. He waited there another half-hour, smoking a pipe instead of cigarettes. After an hour and a half he sent the mentally deficient Whittle, the only villager who ventured near the cave, back to the Anchor Inn for beer. While he was drinking the beer the officers appeared again. "Interesting place that cave," said Jimmy cheerfully. "Did you find anything inside?" "You'll excuse my reminding you, my lord," said the senior officer, "that what we found and what we didn't find is no affair of yours." "Of course not," said Jimmy. "Have a cigarette and some beer. You must want beer." The senior officer did want beer. So did the others, all four of them. Jimmy's manner was engaging, and Jimmy, after all, was a real earl. "Duty is duty, my lord," said the officer apologetically. "And duty when done," said Jimmy, "deserves beer." That was true, and duty when done permits of the relaxation of official dignity. The beer in Jimmy's jug was finished, and Whittle, grinning foolishly, fetched some more. That was drunk. Jimmy's cigarettes were finished. The senior officer thawed into a confidence. "I didn't never expect to find anything in the cave, my lord, not me. It stands to reason that gentlemen like yourself and Sir Evelyn Dent wouldn't be trying those sort of tricks. But duty is duty." "It is," said Jimmy, "always was, and I hope always will be." "And when I got my orders, my lord, I obeyed them. But, in a manner of speaking, I knew pretty well we were after a mare's nest. The fellow that sent the information from France--well, I never did trust foreigners much, and of course it's from foreigners that sort of information mostly comes." Chapter XXI James Hinton waited in Paramé for three weeks anxiously expecting news from Hailey Compton. When he got none he supposed, quite rightly, that nothing sensational had happened and that he was in no danger of arrest and imprisonment. He returned to the Anchor Inn and now carries on his business there as courteously and efficiently as before. But James Hinton is a changed man. He has suffered disillusion. He speaks, with mysterious nods, and often in whispers, of a great financial loss which once fell on him. He goes into no details, but hints that he, an innocent and confiding man, was swindled by people whom he thought he could trust. He very nearly, but not quite, gave me his confidence when I was in Hailey Compton a fortnight ago and had a chat with him over a glass of beer.