"Don't tell me you couldn't see that bloke's reflection?" I frowned at him in hopeless bewilderment. "What bloke?" I mouthed. He shrugged his shoulders and shook his head with raised eyebrows, and at that moment the train began to slow and shudder as the brakes were applied. "Get back," he whispered, and I resumed my seat opposite him as the third occupant of the carriage began to stir her limbs like one awaking from sleep. For the life of me I don't know why, but I had the feeling that it would be wrong to see her face as she opened her eyes. I somehow felt it would be like listening if she had talked in her sleep. Milsom was collecting his impedimenta. "Change here," he said, yawning, and hauled the reluctant spaniel from under the seat. "This train goes on to London. Heigh-ho! Who wouldn't sell his little farm and go to sea?" I was turning to get my rod down from the rack when I saw the girl give a little start and shoot a swift interrogatory glance at Milsom over her shoulder. It was the first symptom of interest she had shown in either of us. But after Milsom and I had disembarked on to the platform, and the train began slowly to resume its journey Londonwards, I saw her knit her handsome brows and stare rather curiously at Milsom from the window of the moving train. We stood beside our luggage in silence, watching the train pass from sight round a distant curve in the line. Then I turned to Milsom. "Now," I said, "what did all those billets doux you wrote me mean?" He looked at me quizzically. "Sure you saw no one there?" "What d'you mean--reflected in the window?" He nodded, with a smile hovering about the corners of his mouth. "No, of course I didn't. There were only three of us in the carriage, and from where we were sitting--all facing the engine--that window couldn't catch the reflection of any of us. I've forgotten most of the optics I ever learned, but I remember enough to be sure of that." Milsom fingered his moustache. "I might have realised----" he said musingly. He gave an imperceptible shrug of the shoulders and laughed softly. I got rather irritated. "Come on, Soldier," I said. "For heaven's sake explain, and don't keep on with this Maskelyne and Devant business." But he shook his head, still laughing. "No," he said, "it's too good to waste here. Come and have dinner up at the Mess to-night and we'll exchange theories. And now," he continued, hauling in the slack of the spaniel's chain, "let's buy a pack of cards and play picquet. Our train's due already." The carriage was too full for me to broach the subject again, and Milsom took thirty shillings out of me instead. At our destination we parted: he to go to the Marine Depôt, where he was Adjutant; I in a musty four wheeler to the dockyard where the ship was lying. 2