y service, from Aldershot to Gibraltar, and Gibraltar to Malta,
and Malta to Cairo, and Cairo to Peshawar, was well content to settle
down in a comfortable berth amidst the familiar scenes of his childhood.
But anyone who loves the ancient country towns of England would have
agreed with Bunning that Hathelsborough market-place made an unusually
attractive picture on a spring evening. There were the old gabled
houses, quaintly roofed and timbered; there the lace-like masonry of
High Cross; there the slender proportions of Low Cross; there the mighty
bulk of the great church built over the very spot whereon the virgin
saint suffered martyrdom; there, towering above the gables on the north
side, the well-preserved masonry of the massive Norman Keep of
Hathelsborough Castle; there a score of places and signs with which
Bunning had kept up a close acquaintance in youth and borne in mind when
far away under other skies. And around the church tower, and at the base
of the tall keep, were the elms for which the town was famous; mighty
giants of the tree world, just now bursting into leaf, and above them
the rooks and jackdaws circling and calling above the hum and murmur of
the town.

To Bunning's right and left, going away from the eastern corner of the
market-place, lay two narrow streets, called respectively River Gate and
Meadow Gate--one led downwards to the little river on the southern edge
of the town; the other ran towards the wide-spread grass-lands that
stretched on its northern boundary. And as he stood looking about him,
he saw a man turn the corner of Meadow Gate--a man who came hurrying
along in his direction, walking sharply, his eyes bent on the flags
beneath his feet, his whole attitude that of one in deep reflection. At
sight of him Bunning put his pipe in his pocket, gave himself the
soldier's shake and, as the man drew near, stood smartly to attention.
The man looked up--Bunning's right hand went up to his cap in the old
familiar fashion; that was how, for many a long year of service, he had
saluted his superiors.

There was nothing very awe-compelling about the person whom the
caretaker thus greeted with so much punctilious ceremony. He was a
little, somewhat insignificant-looking man--at first sight. His clothes
were well-worn and carelessly put on; the collar of his under-coat
projected high above that of his overcoat; his necktie had slipped round
towards one ear; his linen was frayed; his felt hat, wor