The colonel, a fine,
military-looking figure of a man, shook hands with Lord Maltenby.
"My most profound apologies, sir," he said, as he accepted a
chair. "The Countess was kind enough to say that if I were not
able to get away in time for dinner, I might come up afterwards."
"You are sure that you have dined?"
"I had something at Mess, thank you."
"A glass of port, then?"
The Colonel helped himself from the decanter which was passed
towards him and exchanged greetings with several of the guests to
whom his host introduced him.
"No raids or invasions, I hope, Colonel?" the latter asked.
"Nothing quite so serious as that, I am glad to say. We have had
a little excitement of another sort, though. One of my men caught
a spy this morning."
Every one was interested. Even after three years of war, there
was still something fascinating about the word.
"Dear me!" Lord Maltenby exclaimed. "I should scarcely have
considered our out-of-the-way part of the world sufficiently
important to attract attentions of that sort."
"It was a matter of communication," the Colonel confided. "There
was an enemy submarine off here last night, and we have reason to
believe that a message was landed. We caught one fellow just at
dawn."
"What did you do with him?" the Bishop asked.
"We shot him an hour ago," was the cool reply.
"Are there any others at large?" Julian enquired, leaning forward.
"One other," the Colonel acknowledged, sipping his wine
appreciatively.
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