a fire of sarcastic
comment directed at the colonel.

"Why!" he cried sharply in his low, strident voice, "what's that bay
there? Too weak for the work--no good. You want better stuff than that.
An axle yonder not packed properly! . . . And look at that black
pony--came out of a governess-cart, I should think! . . . Hey, you man
there, you don't want to hang on that pack! Men get lazy and want the
pony to help them along. And you----" he cried, as a pony, heavily laden
with part of a gun, came down an almost perpendicular incline. "Let that
animal find his way down alone. Do you hear?"

Then, after much manoeuvring, he caused them to take up another position,
unlimber their guns, and fire.

When this had been accomplished he called the officers together and, his
monocle in his eye, severely criticised their performance, declaring that
they had exposed themselves so fully to the enemy that ere they had had
time to fire they would have been shelled out of their position.

The spare ammunition was exposed all over the place, some of the reserves
were not under cover, and the battery commander so exposed himself that
he'd have been a dead man before the first shot. "You must do better than
this--much better. That's all."

Then the four walked across to the Panmure Hotel at Monifieth.

Walter Fetherston held his breath. His lips were pressed tightly
together, his brows contracted. He was again to meet Enid Orlebar.

He shot a covert glance at the general walking at his side. In his eyes
showed an unusual expression, half of suspicion, half of curiosity.

Next instant, however, it had vanished, and he laughed loudly at a story
Tredennick was telling.

CHAPTER II

THE COMING OF A STRANGER

ENID was standing on the steps of the hotel when the men arrived.

For a second Walter glanced into her splendid eyes, and then bowed over
her hand in his foreign way, a murmured expression of pleasure escaping
his lips.

About twenty-two, tall and slim, she presented a complete and typical
picture of the outdoor girl, dressed as she was in a grey jumper trimmed
with purple, a short golfing skirt, her tweed hat to match trimmed with
the feathers of a cock pheasant.

Essentially a sportswoman, she could handle gun or rod, ride to hounds,
or drive a motor-car with equal skill, and as stepdaughter of Sir Hugh
she had had experience on the Indian frontier and in Egypt.

Her father had been British Minister at the Hague