entured to
remark just before we entered the town.

"I didn't, Bennett."

"But you sent word to me soon after we arrived, telling me to return at
noon to-day. So I went back to 'The Cups,' and spent all this morning on
the engines."

"Who gave you that message?" I asked quickly.

"Mr. Sandford's man, Henry."

I sat in silence. What could it mean? What mystery was there?

As an abstemious man I felt quite convinced that I had not taken too
much wine. A single liqueur-glass of brandy certainly could never have
produced such an effect upon me. And strangely enough that girl's face,
so shadowy, so sweet, and yet so distorted by horror, was ever before
me.

Three weeks after the curious incident, having concluded my survey, I
found myself back in Guilford Street, my journey at last ended.
Pleasant, indeed, it was to sit again at one's own fireside after those
wet, never-ending muddy roads upon which I had lived for so long, and
very soon I settled down to arrange the mass of material I had collected
and write my book.

A few days after my return, in order to redeem my promise and to learn
more of Charles Sandford, I called at the address of the queer old
hump-backed widow in Earl's Court Road.

To my surprise, I found the house in question empty, with every evidence
of its having been to let for a year or more. There was no mistake in
the number; it was printed upon her card. This discovery caused me
increasing wonder.

What did it all mean?

Through many weeks I sat in my rooms in Bloomsbury constantly at work
upon my book. The technicalities were many and the difficulties not a
few. One of the latter--and perhaps the chief one--was to so disguise
the real vulnerable points of our country which I had discovered on my
tour with military experts as to mislead the Germans, who might seek to
make use of the information I conveyed. The book, to be of value, had, I
recognised, to be correct in detail, yet at the same time it must
suppress all facts that might be of use to a foreign Power.

The incident near Colchester had nearly passed from my mind, when one
night in February, 1909, I chanced to be having supper with Ray Raymond
and Vera at the "Carlton," when at the table on the opposite side of the
big room sat a smart, dark-haired young man with a pretty girl in
turquoise-blue.

As I looked across, our eyes met. In an instant I recollected that I had
seen that countenance somewhere before. Yes. It was actuall