Then the Colonel’s bell, the push of which lay to his hand on the bed, announced peremptorily that he was awake, and Lois ran upstairs to him while Auntie Mitt hastened to prepare his glass of warm milk and cognac, which at the moment did duty with him for afternoon tea. “He is a very sick man,” said Alma, when Auntie Mitt had left the room. “Pneumonia is a serious matter at any age, but at seventy-eight it is almost hopeless. The great thing is to keep him quiet and----” “And that is no easy job,” said Mrs Dare, with a reminiscent smile. “We tried to keep the papers from him by telling him the news and suppressing anything we thought might upset him. But he was too sharp for us and insisted on seeing for himself, and now he sees the paper every day and makes Lois read the bits he wants.” “I can imagine the state he would be in. His heart is wrapped up in England’s fortunes. I wish it could all end and give us back our boys.” “Ay, indeed!” said Mrs Dare. “It can’t end till Germany’s beaten flat,” said Vic, with emphasis. “It’s no good half-ending it and simply laying up trouble for the future.” “Of course,” nodded Alma. “We are all agreed as to that. Now I must run and look after my sick men.” XXV John Dare was sitting all alone by the fire one evening in the parlour of The Red House. The boys were at Mrs MacLean’s that night, and Honor and Vic were assisting in an entertainment to the Belgian Refugees at a neighbouring hostel. Desirous as they all were of being of service to the exiles, circumstances had not permitted of their taking any of them into their homes. And so they all subscribed towards one of the many hostels and assisted in such other ways as their many engagements allowed time for. And Mr Dare took no exception to it all. It was an unavoidable part of the general upsetting, and to tell the truth he was so depressed and uncompanionable these days, that he felt himself better company for himself than for any of the younger folk. Honor had got for him from the library the two big volumes of Scott’s Last Journey to the Pole, and with these and a pipe he was doing his best to forget for a time business troubles and German delinquencies. With a tap at the door, the maid announced, “A gentleman to see you, sir.” “Who is it, Bertha?” he asked, with a touch of annoyance at the disturbance of his peace. “I don’t know, sir. He said you would not know his name, but it’s important.” “Oh well, show him in here,” and he closed his book and stood up to meet the intruder. “You won’t know me, Mr Dare,” said the newcomer, when the door closed on Bertha. “I am Inspector Gretton from Scotland Yard. I’ve come to consult you on a certain matter and I want all the information you can give me.” “At your service, Inspector. Won’t you sit down? Have a cigar,”--and he got out a box from the cupboard under the bookcase. “Now what’s it all about?”