bridge remained; the other was caught in the weeds, a few yards
down, and the single plank which formed its foundation was sawn
through, clean and straight. He gazed at it for a moment in
astonishment. Then he turned back towards the cottage, to receive
another shock. About forty yards up the lane, drawn in close to a
straggling hedge, was a small motor-car, revealed to him by a
careless swing of his torch. He turned sharply towards it,
keeping his torch as much concealed as possible. It was empty--a
small coupe of pearl-grey--a powerful two-seater, with deep,
cushioned seats and luxuriously fitted body. He flashed his torch
on to the maker's name and returned thoughtfully to his friend.

"Miles," he confessed, as he entered the sitting room, "there are
some things I will never make fun of again. Have you a personal
enemy here?"

"Not one," replied Furley. "The soldiers, who are all decent
fellows, the old farmer at the back, and your father and mother
are the only people with whom I have the slightest acquaintance in
these parts."

"The bridge has been deliberately sawn through," Julian announced
gravely.

Furley nodded. He seemed prepared for the news.

"There is something doing in this section, then," he muttered.
"Julian, will you take my job on?"

"Like a bird," was the prompt response. "Tell me exactly what to