p and drew down the blind. With a
lifelong knowledge of the requirements of the Force, she drew a jug of
beer and placed it by his side while she set the table.

"Ah! I wanted that," said the sergeant. "I've been running."

Miss Pilbeam raised her eyebrows.

"After some sailor-looking chap that capsized me when I wasn't prepared
for it," said her father, putting down his glass. "It was a neat bit o'
work, and I shall tell him so when I catch him. Look here!"

He stood up and exhibited the damage.

"I've rubbed off what I could," he said, resuming his seat, "and I s'pose
the rest'll brush off when it's dry. To-morrow morning I shall go down
to the harbor and try and spot my lord."

He drew his chair to the table and helped himself, and, filling his mouth
with cold meat and pickles, enlarged on his plans for the capture of his
assailant; plans to which the undecided Miss Pilbeam turned a somewhat
abstracted ear.

By the time her father had finished his supper she was trying, but in
vain, to devise means for the prisoner's escape. The sergeant had opened
the door of the room for the sake of fresh air, and it was impossible for
anybody to come downstairs without being seen. The story of a sickly
geranium in the back-yard left him unmoved.

"I wouldn't get up for all the geraniums in the world," he declared.
"I'm just going to have one more pipe and then I'm off to bed. Running
don't agree with me."

He went, despite his daughter's utmost efforts to prevent him, and she
sat in silent consternation, listening to his heavy tread overhead. She
heard the bed creak in noisy protest as he climbed in, and ten minutes
later the lusty snoring of a healthy man of full habit resounded through
the house.

She went to bed herself at last, and, after lying awake for nearly a
couple of hours, closed her eyes in order to think better. She awoke
with the sun pouring in at the window and the sounds of vigorous brushing
in the yard beneath.

"I've nearly got it off," said the sergeant, looking up. "It's
destroying evidence in a sense, I suppose; but I can't go about with my
uniform plastered with mud. I've had enough chaff about it as it is."

Miss Pilbeam stole to the door of the next room and peeped stealthily in.
Not a sound came from the cupboard, and a horrible idea that the prisoner
might have been suffocated set her trembling with apprehension.

"H'sh!" she whispered.

An eager but stifled "H'st!" came from