ance.

"Two minutes!" he exclaimed softly. "Granet, it will be to-night. Are
you ready?"

"Absolutely!"

They stood by the open window in silence. Nothing had changed. It was
not yet time for the singing of the earliest birds. The tiny village
lay behind them, silent and asleep; in front, nothing but the marshes,
uninhabited, lonely and quiet, the golf club-house empty and deserted.
They stood and watched, their faces turned steadfastly in a certain
direction. Gradually their eyes, growing accustomed to the dim and
changing light, could pierce the black line above the grey where the sea
came stealing up the sandy places with low murmurs, throwing with every
wave longer arms into the land.

"Twelve o'clock!" Collins muttered.

Suddenly Granet's fingers dug into his shoulder. From out of that pall
of velvet darkness which hung below the clouds, came for a single moment
a vision of violet light. It rose apparently from nowhere, it passed
away into space. It was visible barely for five seconds, then it had
gone. Granet spoke with a little sob.

"My God!" he murmured. "They're coming!"

Collins was already on his feet. He had straightened himself
wonderfully, and there was a new alertness in his manner. He, too, wore
rubber shoes and his movements were absolutely noiseless. He carried
a little electric torch in his hand, which he flashed around the room
while he placed several small articles in his pocket. Then he pushed
open the door and listened. He turned back, held up his finger and
nodded. The two men passed down the stairs, through the sitting-room,
out on to the lawn by a door left unfastened, and round the house to the
shed. Together they pushed the car down the slight incline of the drive.
Granet mounted into the driving-seat and pressed the self-starter.
Collins took the place by his side.

"Remember," Granet whispered, "we heard something and I met you in the
hall. Sit tight."

They sped with all the silence and smoothness of their six-cylinder up
the tree-hung road, through the sleeping village and along the narrow
lane to Market Burnham. When they were within about a hundred yards of
the gate, Granet brought the car to a standstill.

"There are at least two sentries that way," he said, "and if Sir
Meyville told me the truth, they may have a special guard of Marines
out to-night. This is where we take to the marshes. Listen. Can you hear
anything?"

They both held their breath.

"Nothing yet," Co