the new music-hall."

"And ordered drinks in the bar! Who suggested this?"

"I can't remember," Dick replied with an angry flush. "Of course, I see
where you're leading, but I was quite sober when I left the hall."

The Adjutant's expression puzzled him. He had felt that the man was not
unfriendly, and now he looked disappointed.

"I'm not sure your statement makes things better," the Colonel observed
with some dryness. "Did you go straight to Storeton from the hall?"

"No, sir. I spent an hour at a friend's house."

"Whose house was it?"

Dick pondered for a few moments, and then looked up resolutely.

"I must decline to answer, sir. I've lost the plans and must take the
consequences; but I don't see why my private friends, who have nothing to
do with it, should be involved in the trouble."

The Adjutant leaned forward across the table and said something quietly
to the Colonel, and neither of them spoke for the next minute or two.
Dick was sensible of physical as well as mental strain as he stood
stiffly in the middle of the tent. His knees felt weak, little quivers
ran through his limbs, and a ray of hot sunshine struck through the
hooked-back flap into his face, but he dared not relax his rigid pose.

The two officers looked puzzled but grave.

"Go back to your tent and stay there until I send for you," the Colonel
said at last.

Dick saluted and went out, and when he sat down on his camp-bed he
moodily lighted a cigarette and tried to think. His military career was
ended and he was ruined; but this was not what occupied him most. He was
wondering whether Clare Kenwardine had taken the plans. If so, it was his
duty to accuse her; but, actuated by some mysterious impulse, he had
refused.

The longer he thought about it, the clearer her guilt became. He was a
stranger and yet she had suggested a stroll through the garden and had
slipped and clutched him as they went down the steps. Her hand had rested
on the pocket in which the envelope was. She was the daughter of a man
who kept a private gaming house; it was not surprising that she was an
adventuress and had deceived him by her clever acting. For all that, he
could not condemn her; there was a shadow of doubt; and even if she were
guilty, she had yielded to some strong pressure from her father. His
feelings, however, were puzzling. He had spent less than an hour in her
society and she had ruined him, but he knew that he would remember her as
long as h