ountry around Beccles, in
Suffolk, which we had decided upon as a most important strategical
point, and one morning I found myself at that old-fashioned hotel "The
Cups," at Colchester, taking a day's rest. The two officers had returned
to London, and I was again alone.

Out in the garage I found a rather smart, good-looking man in navy serge
chatting with Bennett and admiring my car. My chauffeur, with pardonable
pride, had been telling him of our long journey, and as I approached,
the stranger informed me of his own enthusiasm as a motorist.

"Curiously enough," he added, "I have been wishing to meet you, in order
to thank you for your kindness to my mother and sister the other night
at Salisbury. My name is Sandford--Charles Sandford--and if I'm not
mistaken we are members of the same club--White's."

"Are we?" I exclaimed. "Then I'm delighted to make your acquaintance."

We lounged together for half an hour, smoking and chatting, until
presently he said:

"I live out at Edwardstone, about ten miles from here. Why not come out
and dine with me to-night? My place isn't very extensive, but it's cosy
enough for a bachelor. I'd feel extremely honoured if you would. I'm all
alone. Do come."

Cosmopolitan that I am, yet I am not prone to accept the invitations of
strangers. Nevertheless this man was not altogether a stranger, for was
he not a member of my own club? Truth to tell, I had become bored by the
deadly dullness of country hotels, therefore I was glad enough to accept
his proffered hospitality and spend a pleasant evening.

"Very well," he said. "I'll send a wire to my housekeeper, and I'll
pilot you in your car to my place this evening. We'll start at seven,
and dine at eight--if that will suit you?"

And so it was arranged.

Bennett had the whole of the day to go through the car and do one or two
necessary repairs, while Sandford and myself idled about the town. My
companion struck me as an exceedingly pleasant fellow, who, having
travelled very extensively, now preferred a quiet existence in the
country, with a little hunting and a little shooting in due season, to
the dinners, theatres, and fevered haste of London life.

The evening proved a very dark one with threatening rain as we turned
out of the yard of "The Cups," Sandford and I seated behind. My friend
directed Bennett from time to time, and soon we found ourselves out on
the Sudbury road. We passed through a little place which I knew to be