"Had any adventures?"

"Not the ghost of one. I don't mind admitting that I've had a
good many wettings and a few scares on that stretch of marshland,
but I've never seen or heard anything yet to send in a report
about. It just happens, though, that to-night there's a special
vigilance whip out."

"What does that mean?" Julian enquired curiously.

"Something supposed to be up," was the dubious reply. "We've a
very imaginative chief, I might tell you."

"But what sort of thing could happen?" Julian persisted. "What
are you out to prevent, anyway?"

Furley relit his pipe, thrust a flask into his pocket, and picked
up a thick stick from a corner of the room.

"Can't tell," he replied laconically. "There's an idea, of
course, that communications are carried on with the enemy from
somewhere down this coast. Sorry to leave you, old fellow," he
added. "Don't sit up. I never fasten the door here. Remember to
look after your fire upstairs, and the whisky is on the sideboard
here."

"I shall be all right, thanks," Julian assured his host. "No use
my offering to come with you, I suppose?"

"Not allowed," was the brief response.