Jobling knew the signs. Unless he did something, and quickly, he was a marked man. But how _could_ he push himself into a house without a pretext? Failing the subtle methods of the detective of fiction, what reason could a large but timid policeman find for penetrating into a nest of probably dangerous criminals without giving them offense? The problem remained unsolved all day, and troubled him so much that at night he found himself attracted to the place by a sort of morbid fascination. Twice, greatly daring, he walked up and down the strip of road on which the Manor grounds fronted; and then, turning down an unfrequented lane, he reached a corner which was the only spot not actually in the grounds from which the Manor could be seen. He hardly knew why he had come there, as it was a dark, moonless night, and he could not expect to see as far as the house. But when he reached the corner and looked across the fields, the whole building was blazing with lights, standing out pitilessly against the decorous war-time gloom. P.C. Jobling heaved a sigh of relief and went home with his problem solved. He would call on Mr. Wentworth on the morrow and would point out to him politely, but firmly, that he must not show bright lights at night. Not even the most murdering of heathens, or the most heathen of murderers, he felt, could take exception to that. Next day, however, the prospect looked less bright. He was not quite so sure that his reception would be peaceable. He pictured himself penetrating into the fastnesses of the Manor and never again coming out--never, that is, alive. He decided that he would let his aunt know where he was going; then he could at least be sure that he would not die quite unavenged. Then, on second thoughts, he determined to say nothing about it. If he did, he would be tied down definitely to a venture of which he disliked the idea more and more. He put on his helmet and walked majestically through the village, to restore his self-respect. Unfortunately for his purpose, the first person he met was Master Bobby Myers, who since his exploit of climbing over the Manor wall had regarded himself as no small hero. "Yah!" said Bobby with derision. "'Oo's afraid of niggers?" Outwardly Jobling did not deign to notice this insult, but it struck deep all the same. He strode back through the village and burst into the little post-office. "Auntie," he said loudly, "I'm goin' up to the Manor to-day to 'ave a look round." "An' about time too," replied his aunt in acid tones. But there were several people present, and it was obvious that P.C. Jobling's resolution had caused the general opinion to veer round once again in his favor. "Good lad," said an aged gentleman. "Find out all you can. Thieves an' robbers they'll be, I reckon. Tell p'liceman what you 'eard, Mary." Mary, one of the maids at Dunwater Park, spoke up, pleased at occupying a position of public importance.