e had failed. Would that chance come again?

Desmond doubted it. Every morning he awoke long before the dawn
and lay awake until daylight, his mind racked by these
apprehensions. He chafed bitterly at his inaction and he plied
Crook with questions as to whether he had any orders for him.
Each time Crook replied in the negative.

In the library Desmond found an Ordnance map of Essex. His
military training had given him a good schooling in the use of
maps, and he spent many hours studying the section of the country
about the Mill House, seeking to impress it upon his mind against
future emergencies.

He was surprised to find how remote the Mill House lay from other
habitations. Between it and Wentfield station, once Wentfield
village was passed, there were only a few lonely farms; but to
the south there was an absolutely uninhabited tract of fen
traversed by the road running past the front gate of the Mill
House. The Mill House was duly marked on the map; with a little
blue line showing the millrace which Desmond traced to its
junction with one of the broad dykes intersecting Morstead Fen.
The only inhabited house to the south of the Bellward villa
appeared to be a lonely public house situated on the far edge of
the fen, a couple of hundred yards away from the road. It was
called "The Dyke Inn."

One afternoon--it was the fifth day after Desmond's arrival at
Bellward's--Mr. Crook announced that this was to be his last
visit.

"I go abroad to-night, Mr. Bellward," he said (he always insisted
on addressing Desmond by his assumed name), "a little job o' work
in Switzerland; at Berne, to be precise. Urgent, you might call
it, and really, sir, you've made so much progress that I think I
can safely leave you. And I was to say that you will be able to
go out very soon now."

"Good!" exclaimed Desmond, rubbing his hands together. "And you
think I'll do, Crook, eh?"

Crook rubbed his nose meditatively.

"I'll be quite frank with you, Mr. Bellward," he said: "With a
superficial acquaintance, even with an intimate friend, if he's
as unobservant as most people are, you'll pass muster. But I
shouldn't like to guarantee anything if you were to meet, say,
Mrs. Bellward, if the gentleman has got a wife, or his mother.
Keep out of a strong light; don't show your profile more than you
can help, and remember that a woman is a heap more observant than
a man.

"That's my advice to you, sir. And now I'll take my leave! You
won'