nd who lived near the station. There were several
other people in the compartment; and sitting in the corner on the side
next to the sea was a man whom Lorraine was nearly sure she recognized
as the pertinacious stranger of the hockey field. She watched him now
keenly. He was gazing out of the window at the sand-hills and stretches
of marshy shore. Presently they passed the golf links, and, quick as
thought, he whisked a little kodak from his pocket and began to take
instantaneous photographs through the carriage window. Lorraine uttered
an exclamation and nudged the gentleman who sat next to her. Promptly he
interfered.

"Look here! Snapshots aren't allowed without a permit," he remonstrated.

The photographer slipped the kodak back into his pocket and smiled his
former plausible smile.

"I am an American," he began, "a journalist. I have been sent by my
newspaper to England, to write an article upon golf links. I wish to
include those of Porthkeverne, with illustrations."

"Have you a permit?" persisted his fellow-passenger. "You'll get
yourself into trouble if you haven't. The authorities are uncommonly
strict about it."

"It's a queer dodge to photograph the golf links from a railway
carriage," commented someone else.

"Not at all! I take hundreds of photos for my magazine in this way,"
explained the self-styled journalist.

"Well, you'll just not take any now," returned the other. "If you do, I
shall inform the guard."

Lorraine listened excitedly. She was quite loath to leave the
compartment at Ranock. She wondered to what destination the man was
travelling, and hoped that the other passengers would keep an eye on
him. She went that afternoon to see her uncle, Barton Forrester, who was
a special constable, and told him about both incidents. He looked
thoughtful.

"I'll report the matter to Wakelin," he commented. "One can't be too
careful in a place like this. Of course the fellow might have a permit,
but it had better be inquired into. Give me as accurate a description of
him as you can."

Lorraine shut her eyes, visualized, and gave her impressions of the
stranger. Uncle Barton rapidly jotted down a few notes. He communicated
the result to the chief constable, who issued an order that the next
time anyone answering to that description was sighted his photographic
permit was to be demanded and inspected. There is such a thing, however,
as shutting the stable door after the steed is stolen; and, in sp