'We've a lot of soldiers down here,' Mr. Silburn explained. 'They are always commandeering the line for military purposes.' 'You seem to get plenty of messages,' Lavendale remarked, as a servant for the third or fourth time brought a slip of folded paper to his master. Silburn smiled. 'I have a private line,' he announced. 'Sorry I can't ask you to use it, but I have promised the military here that no one else save myself shall communicate by means of it. Are you a bridger, Lavendale?' Lavendale excused himself, but gained nothing, for Suzanne was almost forced into the game by her host. He wandered about the hall, glancing up at the pictures. Then he went back to the telephone room. 'Line's still engaged, sir,' was the laconic reply to his inquiry. Lavendale strolled back. He wandered uneasily about the hall for a time and then approached the great front door. 'Think I'll have a look at the night,' he remarked, with his hand upon the bolt. The servant who was standing by, intervened. 'I beg your pardon, sir,' he said, 'we are not allowed to open the front door after dusk. The military have complained so much about the lights.' 'Show me another way out from the back, then?' Lavendale persisted. 'No one is allowed to leave the house at all until morning,' the man told him. Lavendale turned slowly round towards the bridge-table. 'Silburn,' he asked, 'are we prisoners?' 'My dear fellow,' his host replied, dealing out a hand, 'it is not I who am to blame, but the English military authorities. Look how closely-curtained we are everywhere. You will find double blinds in every room in the house. Yet even that has not been enough to satisfy them. I have had to promise that no members of my household shall even open a door after dark. "Defence of the Realm Act" they call it, I think.' Lavendale turned a little discontentedly away. It was difficult to protest further, but he was not in the least satisfied that Silburn's explanation was a genuine one. He talked for a few moments to several of the other guests and then drew a low chair up close to Suzanne. It was evident to him, watching her closely, that she was playing under great tension. More than ever he was convinced that something was wrong. With an excuse about fetching some cigarettes of a particular brand, he made up to his room and searched in his dressing-case. Within a few minutes he found himself face to face with a very grim reality. The revolver which he carried always with him had been removed! ... Lavendale, with small hopes of any success, called once more at the telephone room before he rejoined the little party. The reply was almost brusque. 'Line blocked. No chance of getting through to London to-night.' 'Can I ring up Norwich?' Lavendale asked, with a sudden inspiration. 'Line to Norwich engaged,' was the reply. 'Is there anywhere I can speak to?' Lavendale persisted. 'Is there any number upon the exchange I can be connected with?'