rd looked at his watch. It was one o'clock in the morning.

"You are in a hurry?" she asked.

"I ought to send a message." He turned to Joan. "You know this house, of
course. Is there a telephone in a quiet room, where I shall not be
interrupted or be drowned out, voice and ears by the music?"

"Yes, Mrs. Willoughby's sitting-room upstairs. Shall I ask her if you
may use it?"

"If you please."

Joan left Martin standing in one of the corridors and rejoined him after
a few minutes. "Come," she said, and led the way upstairs to the room.
Martin called up the trunk line and gave a number.

"I shall have to wait a few minutes," he said.

"You want me to go," answered Joan, and she moved towards the door
reluctantly.

"No. But you will be missing your dances."

Joan shook her head. She did not turn back to him, but stood facing the
door as she replied; so that he could not see her face.

"I had kept all the dances after supper free. If I am not in the way I
would rather wait with you."

"Of course."

He was careful to use the most commonplace tone with the thought that it
would steady her. The trouble which this telephone message would finally
dispel was clearly not all which distressed her. She needed
companionship; her voice broke, as though her heart were breaking too.
He saw her raise a wisp of handkerchief to her eyes; and then the
telephone bell rang at his side. He was calling at a venture upon the
number which Commodore Graham had rung up in the office above the old
waterway of the Thames.

"Is that Scotland Yard?" he asked, and he gave the address at which
Mario Escobar was to be found. "But he may be gone to-morrow," he added,
and hearing a short "That's all right," he rang off.

"Now, if you will get your cloak, we might go back into the garden."

They found their corner of the terrace unoccupied and sat for a while in
silence. Hillyard recognised that neither questions nor any conversation
at all were required from him, but simply the sympathy of his
companionship. He smoked a cigarette while Joan sat by his side.

She stretched out her hand towards the Bishop's Ring, small as a button
upon the great shoulder of the Down.

"Do you remember the afternoon when I drove you back from Goodwood?"

"Yes."

"You said to me, 'If the great trial is coming, I want to fall back into
the rank and file.' And I cried out, 'Oh, I understand that!'"

"I remember."

"What a fool I was!" said Joan. "I did