nd
for some time, looking for Collins. Then I went up to the house to help
them extinguish the fire. I didn't get back till four o'clock."

"What about Collins?" young Anselman asked. "I was playing him at golf."

"Better send up and see," Granet proposed. "I waited till I couldn't
stick it any longer."

They sent a servant up. The reply came back quickly--Mr. Collins' bed
had not been slept in. Granet frowned a little.

"I suppose he'll think I let him down," he said. "I waited at least an
hour for him."

"Was any one hurt by the bombs?" Geoffrey Anselman inquired.

"No one seemed to be much the worse," Granet replied. "I didn't think
of anything of that sort in connection with Collins, though. Perhaps he
might have got hurt."

"We'll all go over and have a look for him this afternoon if he hasn't
turned up," Anselman suggested. "What about playing me a round of golf
this morning?"

"Suit me all right," Granet agreed. "I'd meant to lay up because of my
arm, but it's better this morning. We'll start early and get back for
the papers."

They motored down to the club-house and played their round. It was a
wonderful spring morning, with a soft west wind blowing from the land.
Little patches of sea lavender gave purple colour to the marshland.
The creeks, winding their way from the sea to the village, shone like
quicksilver beneath the vivid sunshine. It was a morning of utter and
complete peace. Granet notwithstanding a little trouble with his arm,
played carefully and well. When at last they reached the eighteenth
green, he holed a wonderful curly putt for the hole and the match.

"A great game," his cousin declared, as they left the green. "Who the
devil are these fellows?"

There were two soldiers standing at the gate, and a military motor-car
drawn up by the side of the road. An orderly stepped forward and
addressed Granet.

"Captain Granet?" he asked, saluting.

Granet nodded and stretched out his hand for the note. The fingers which
drew it from the envelope were perfectly steady, he even lifted his
head for a moment to look at a lark just overhead. Yet the few hastily
scrawled lines were like a message of fate:--

The officer in command at Market Burnham Hall would be obliged if
Captain Granet would favour him with an immediate interview, with
reference to the events of last night.

"Do you mean that you want me to go at once, before luncheon?" he asked
the orderly.

The man pointed to the car.