inning of the war."

"And what are you?" he asked bluntly.

She laughed up in his face.

"A quite attractive young woman," she declared,--"at least I feel sure
you will think so when you know me better."

CHAPTER VII

It was about half-past ten on the following morning when Julian, obeying
a stentorian invitation to enter, walked into Miles Furley's sitting
room. Furley was stretched upon the couch, smoking a pipe and reading
the paper.

"Good man!" was his hearty greeting. "I hoped you'd look me up this
morning."

Julian dragged up the other dilapidated-looking easy-chair to the log
fire and commenced to fill his pipe from the open jar.

"How's the leg?" he enquired.

"Pretty nearly all right again," Furley answered cheerfully. "Seems to
me I was frightened before I was hurt. What about your head?"

"No inconvenience at all," Julian declared, stretching himself out. "I
suppose I must have a pretty tough skull."

"Any news?"

"News enough, of a sort, if you haven't heard it. They caught the man
who sandbagged me, and who I presume sawed your plank through, and shot
him last night."

"The devil they did!" Furley exclaimed, taking his pipe from his mouth.
"Shot him? Who the mischief was he, then?"

"It appears," Julian replied, "that he was a German hairdresser, who
escaped from an internment camp two years ago and has been at large ever
since, keeping in touch, somehow or other, with his friends on the other
side. He must have known the game was up as soon as he was caught. He
didn't even attempt any defence."

"Shot, eh?" Furley repeated, relighting his pipe. "Serves him damned
well right!"

"You think so, do you?" Julian remarked pensively.

"Who wouldn't? I hate espionage. So does every Englishman. That's why we
are such duffers at the game, I suppose."

Julian watched his friend with a slight frown.

"How in thunder did you get mixed up with this affair, Furley?" he asked
quietly.

Furley's bewilderment was too natural to be assumed. He removed his pipe
from his teeth and stared at his friend.

"What the devil are you driving at, Julian?" he demanded. "I can assure
you that I went out, the night before last, simply to make one of the
rounds which falls to my lot when I am in this part of the world and
nominated for duty. There are eleven of us between here and Sheringham,
special constables of a humble branch of the secret service, if you like
to put it so. We are a well-known ins