Alf stood up, trembling, and was on the point of leaving his retreat; but as Isobel reached the hall Allen took a couple of steps forward and after a quick glance round to make sure that they were unobserved, he caught Isobel in his arms and began to kiss her passionately. Alf had some hazy idea of rescuing beauty in distress; but he caught sight of Isobel's transfigured face and hastily fell back again into his alcove. Beauty had no desire to be rescued. Alf, with his house of cards in fragments about him, saw Isobel slip free of Allen's enthusiastic embrace. "You mustn't, darling," she said softly--yet not so softly that Alf could not hear. "Somebody will be coming. Let's go into the garden." She picked up a wrap from a chair and led the way out. They passed within a yard or two of Alf's hiding-place, and he noticed the gleam of the engagement ring on her finger. What a fool he had been! If the blow had fallen on the previous day, Alf would have borne it with stoicism, perhaps with a certain relief. He would have debited the Button with one more dismal if not unexpected failure, and there the matter would have ended. But that he should have his hopes dashed to the ground to-night, just when the prize seemed most worth winning and almost in his grasp, was a cruel blow. He sat for some minutes completely dazed and helpless, but at last he was recalled to earth by the sound of his own name. Two of his new friends of the afternoon had met in the hall. "Where's Wentworth?" asked the first. "He isn't anywhere about, is he? I say, have you seen Philips? He was in the village this afternoon and he says that some sportsman or other has got the wind up and reported that Wentworth & Co. are German spies. Scotland Yard is sending some men down. Isn't it priceless?" The other man laughed. "Good Lord! Wentworth, of all people! I say, hadn't we better find the little man and tell him? He's somewhere about, I expect. Let's try the smoking-room." They went off. Alf sat petrified with horror. Scotland Yard! The very name sent cold shivers up and down his innocent spine. He must get away quickly and tell Bill. But what excuse could he give for his unceremonious departure? But now Fate, having dealt poor Alf two stunning blows, relented and gave him the excuse he needed. Sir Edward and Barnby came into the hall, both looking very agitated. "Mr. Wentworth was 'ere not long since, sir," said the butler. "I'll go and...." "'Ere I am, Sir Edward," said Alf, coming out of his retirement. "Did you want me?"