" Julian repeated. "Jove, I should have thought you'd have
had intelligence officers by the dozen down here!"

"For some reason or other," Furley confided, "the affair has been handed
over to the military authorities. I have had a man down to see me this
morning, and he has taken full particulars. I don't know that they'll
even worry you at all--until later on, at any rate."

"Jove, that seems queer!"

"Last night's happening was queer, for that matter," Furley continued.
"Their only chance, I suppose, of getting to the bottom of it is to lie
doggo as far as possible. It isn't like a police affair, you see. They
don't want witnesses and a court of justice. One man's word and a rifle
barrel does the trick."

Julian sighed.

"I suppose," he observed, "that if I do my duty as a loyal subject,
I shall drop the curtain on last night. Seems a pity to have had an
adventure like that and not be able to open one's mouth about it."

Furley grunted.

"You don't want to join the noble army of gas bags," he said. "Much
better make up your mind that it was a dream."

"There are times," Julian confided, "when I am not quite sure that it
wasn't."

CHAPTER III

Julian entered the drawing-room at Maltenby Hall a few minutes before
dinner time that evening. His mother, who was alone and, for a wonder,
resting, held out her hand for him to kiss and welcomed him with
a charming smile. Notwithstanding her grey hair, she was still a
remarkably young-looking woman, with a great reputation as a hostess.

"My dear Julian," she exclaimed, "you look like a ghost! Don't tell me
that you had to sit up all night to shoot those wretched duck?"

Julian drew a chair to his mother's side and seated himself with a
little air of relief.

"Never have I been more conscious of the inroads of age," he confided.
"I can remember when, ten or fifteen years ago, I used to steal out
of the house in the darkness and bicycle down to the marsh with a
twenty-bore gun, on the chance of an odd shot."

"And I suppose," his mother went on, "after spending half the night
wading about in the salt water, you spent the other half talking to that
terrible Mr. Furley."

"Quite right. We got cold and wet through in the evening; we sat
up talking till the small hours; we got cold and wet again this
morning--and here I am."

"A converted sportsman," his mother observed. "I wish you could convert
your friend, Mr. Furley. There's a perfectly terrible arti