"First thing is to get clear o' this blinkin' place," said Alf. "If we get nabbed in this 'ere village, I tell yer straight we'll be damn well murdered." Bill gave an uneasy laugh. "They'll never know us in these things," he said. He remembered that P.C. Jobling at any rate knew him by sight, and he felt nervous. "Look 'ere," he suggested, "why not use the Button--just once more--to get us 'ome?" Alf's jaw set. "Never no more," he answered. "You've seen the last of Eustace, you 'ave." Bill said no more, but inwardly he registered a passionate denial of Alf's statement. * * * * * * * Half an hour later two khaki-clad figures climbed cautiously over a remote part of the wall which surrounded the Denmore estate, and made their way with some apprehension along the road towards the village. When they passed the front gates of the Manor, they were relieved to find them no longer an object of excitement. The crowd had dispersed. But in the village street were gesticulating groups discussing not only the events of the day but also, it seemed, plans of campaign for the morrow. "We'll teach 'em--the murderin' villains." "Seems they think they're in Roosher, but _we'll_ show 'em." It was plain that the incident of Bobby Myers was not by any means considered closed. The two figures in the familiar khaki passed through the groups almost unnoticed; one man, pausing in a lurid description of what he could do to the villain, Wentworth, on the morrow, nodded a friendly good-night to Alf, but otherwise the topic of the night was too absorbing to leave time for dallying with casual Tommies. By the time they reached the railway-station even Bill felt thankful that he was not going to be at home to visitors at the Manor on the morrow. As for Alf, everything that he saw and heard crystallized his determination never on any account to have further recourse to the Button. Isobel was almost forgotten--she seemed as far away as a person seen in a dream. The dream had been vivid enough while it lasted, but already its edges were becoming blurred and its colors were fading. By good fortune they were in easy time to catch the last train to London; but only as they reached the ticket-office did it strike either warrior that Eustace, when clearing away the rest of his gifts, had taken also their store of wealth. "'Ave you any oof, Bill?" asked Alf anxiously. "I dunno." They sought in their pockets, each with a vision of a twenty-mile tramp to London before his eyes. Then they sighed with relief; each had still the money with which he had started out upon his leave. Alf pushed a note across the counter. "This is no good to me," said the female and youthful booking-clerk, in superior tones, hastily retrieving the tickets she was just handing out. "What's the matter?" "French money, isn't it?" "Lumme, so it is! I never thought o' that, Bill. 'Ave you any English?"