The sergeant saluted his retreating back, mounted his bicycle and rode slowly away. Before he had gone far, a curve in the drive hid the house from view. Here he dismounted and with a sigh of relief undid the collar of his tunic.

“Phew! That’s better!” he murmured. “Well, thank heaven for the garrulity of generals, anyhow. It was a very long shot,” he added to himself as he pedalled away once more, “but I’ve learned something, anyhow. Marriage—money—Kenya—but where the devil does it all fit in?”

Outside the gates he was overtaken and stopped by a police car. A superintendent got out.

“I don’t approve of my sergeants going about the roads dressed in that slovenly manner,” he said with mock sternness. Then, with a smile: “You’d better get in, Mallett. I’ve a man here who will take the bicycle back for you.”

“Thanks,” was the reply. “I’ve worn these clothes about as long as is good for them.”

In the car, the superintendent observed: “By the way, we’ve found the dog that’s been doing the damage.”

“Good,” said Mallett. “You might let Miss Jenkinson know. I shouldn’t like her to be worried unnecessarily.”

He could not but feel a hypocrite as he said it.

In the house, Susan was finishing a long postscript to her letter.