formal garden with grey stone parapets which now gleamed like
dusky marble. Great wafts of scent rose from it, for the lilacs were
scarcely over and the may was in full blossom. Out from the shade
of it came suddenly a voice like a nightingale.

It was singing the old song 'Cherry Ripe', a common enough
thing which I had chiefly known from barrel-organs. But heard in
the scented moonlight it seemed to hold all the lingering magic of
an elder England and of this hallowed countryside. I stepped inside
the garden bounds and saw the head of the girl Mary.

She was conscious of my presence, for she turned towards me.

'I was coming to look for you,' she said, 'now that the house is
quiet. I have something to say to you, General Hannay.'

She knew my name and must be somehow in the business. The
thought entranced me.
'Thank God I can speak to you freely,' I cried. 'Who and what
are you - living in that house in that kind of company?'

'My good aunts!' She laughed softly. 'They talk a great deal
about their souls, but they really mean their nerves. Why, they are
what you call my camouflage, and a very good one too.'

'And that cadaverous young prig?'

'Poor Launcelot! Yes - camouflage too - perhaps something a
little more. You must not judge him too harshly.'