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"I've never been to Brancaster in my life but I've promised one or two fellows to go down to the Dormy House there, to-morrow or the next day, and have a week's golf. Geoff Anselman is going, for one." The girl was for a moment almost good-looking. Her eyes glowed, her tone was eloquently appealing. "You'll come by and see us, won't you?" she begged.
"In the left arm and the right leg," Lady Anselman assented. "I believe that he has seen some terrible fighting, and we are very proud of his D. S. O. The only trouble is that he is like all the others he will tell us nothing." "He shows excellent judgment," Lord Romsey observed. Lady Anselman glanced at her august guest a little querulously.
"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.
Major Thomson bowed, and a moment later they all made their way along the corridor, across the restaurant, searched for their names on the cards and took their places at the table which had been reserved for them. Lady Anselman glanced around with the scrutinising air of the professional hostess, to see that her guests were properly seated before she devoted herself to the Cabinet Minister.
There was scarcely a breath of wind, no moon nor any stars. Little clouds of grey mist hung about on the marshes, shutting out their view of the sea. The stillness was more than usually intense. "Can't hear a thing," young Anselman muttered at last. "It may have been fancy," Granet admitted. "A motor-cycle going along the Huntstanton Road," Major Harrison suggested.
Paul's steps, gardens in front of Savoy. Your last report received." "'Leave London June 4th," Thomson repeated, glancing at his calendar, "to-day! 'Have flares, Zeppelins, Ambrose!" The clerk nodded. "I thought of them at once, sir," he agreed. "That's a very plain and distinct warning in a remarkably complicated code, and it's addressed to Sir Alfred Anselman."
"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."
"Either of you fellows going to cut in at bridge?" young Anselman continued. Granet shook his head and walked to the window. "I can't stick cards in the daytime." Mr. Collins shut up his review. "I agree with you, sir," he said. "I endeavoured to persuade one of these gentlemen to play another nine holes unsuccessfully, I regret to state." Granet lit a cigarette.
All at once the bombs began to drop." "What are they like?" Geoffrey Anselman exclaimed. Granet poured out his coffee carefully. "I've seen 'em before plenty of them, too," he remarked, "but they did rain them down. Then all of a sudden there was a sort of glare I don't know what happened. It was just as though some one had lit one of those coloured lights.
Gordon Jones went on, "to be dining at Sir Alfred's house when the letter was presented. Sir Alfred, I must say, took it exceedingly well. At the same time, I have made it my business to see that this does not occur again." Thomson made no sign. His eyebrows, however, rose a little higher. "The country," his visitor continued, "will know some day what it owes to Sir Alfred Anselman.
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