"
Furley nodded.
"You'll be all right," he replied. "As a matter of fact, he isn't
coming."
"Not coming?" Julian repeated. "Jove, I should have thought you'd
have had intelligence officers by the dozen down here!"
"For some reason or other," Furley confided, "the affair has been
handed over to the military authorities. I have had a man down to
see me this morning, and he has taken full particulars. I don't
know that they'll even worry you at all--until later on, at any
rate."
"Jove, that seems queer!"
"Last night's happening was queer, for that matter," Furley
continued. "Their only chance, I suppose, of getting to the
bottom of it is to lie doggo as far as possible. It isn't like a
police affair, you see. They don't want witnesses and a court of
justice. One man's word and a rifle barrel does the trick."
Julian sighed.
"I suppose," he observed, "that if I do my duty as a loyal
subject, I shall drop the curtain on last night. Seems a pity to
have had an adventure like that and not be able to open one's
mouth about it."
Furley grunted.
"You don't want to join the noble army of gas bags," he said.
"Much better make up your mind that it was a dream."
"There are times," Julian confided, "when I am not quite sure that
it wasn't."
CHAPTER III
Julian entered the drawing-room at Maltenby Hall a few minutes
before dinner time that evening. His mother, who was alone and,
for a wonder, resting, held out her hand for him to kiss and
welcomed him with a charming smile.
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