spect that she would be hiding," said Philip,
concealing the effect of the other's words upon him.

Gregson was uneasy. He lighted a cigarette, puffed at it once or twice,
and tossed it through the open door. Suddenly he reached in his coat
pocket and pulled out an envelope.

"Deuce take it, if I know whether I have or not!" he cried. "But--look
here, Phil. I saw the mail come in to-day, and I walked up as bold as
you please and asked if there was anything for Lord Fitzhugh. I showed
the other letter, and said I was Fitzhugh's agent. It went. And I
got--this!"

Philip snatched at the letter which Gregson held out to him. His
fingers trembled as he unfolded the single sheet of paper which he drew
forth. Across it was written a single line:

Don't lose an hour. Strike now.

There was nothing more, except a large ink blot under the words. The
envelope was addressed in the same hand as the one he had previously
received. The men stared into each other's face.

"It's singular, that's all," pursued Gregson. "Those words are
important. The writer expects that they will reach Lord Fitzhugh
immediately, and as soon as he gets them you can look for war. Isn't
that their significance? I repeat that it is singular this girl should
come here so mysteriously, and disappear still more so, just at this
psychological moment; and it is still more puzzling when you take into
consideration the fact that two hours before the runner came in from
the south another person inquired for Lord Fitzhugh's mail!"

Philip started.

"And they told you this?"

"Yes. It was a man who asked--a stranger. He gave no name and left no
word. Now, if it should happen to be the man who was with the girl when
I saw her--and we can find him--we've as good as got this Lord
Fitzhugh. If we don't find him--and mighty soon--it's up to us to start
for your camps and put them into fighting shape. See the point?"

"But we've got the letter," said Philip. "Fitzhugh won't receive the
final word, and that will delay whatever plot he has ready to spring."

"My dear Phil," said Gregson, softly. "I always said that you were the
fighter and I the diplomat, yours the brawn and mine the brain. Don't
you see what this means? I'll gamble my right hand that these very
words have been sent to Lord Fitzhugh at two or three different points,
so that they would be sure of reaching him. I'm just as positive that
he has already received a copy of the letter which we have. Ma