Dusk was falling ere Lyveden saw him again--a tall, thin figure striding up the track from the depths of Gramarye. As he passed the cottage, the ex-officer hailed him, offering to house his paraphernalia for the night. After a moment's hesitation, the other accepted.... With the interior of the cabin he was plainly delighted, pointing his host a score of engaging features which only an antiquary would have recognized. Anthony gave him some tea, and the two sat smoking for the inside of an hour. At length the artist rose. "I must get back to Girdle," he said. "About two miles, isn't it?" "About that. I won't say 'Good-bye.' If Gramarye suits you, perhaps I shall see you again." "Thanks to your _laisser passer_, you may. I want to get on to Woodstock, really; but your woods are worth a day or two. Good night." He swung off into the darkness, and a minute later Anthony heard his steps upon the metalling of the London road. It was upon the following afternoon that Lyveden swore under his breath. At the time in question he was standing in a large efficient-looking shop which smelt strongly of cordage and was situate in Drury Lane. The manager was nervously apologetic. "They've bin on order a week now, sir, but I can't honestly say as I expects them under three. You know what labour is now. In the ole days it was a matter o' 'phonin', an' hanythin' you liked 'd be 'ere by special messenger in 'alf an hour. But now...." He threw up his hands helplessly. "Where else can I try?" said Lyveden. The man mentioned two or three stores--each of them in the City. "But I don' think you'll get 'em, sir. You might get an hodd one, but 'alf a dozen o' 'Lightnin'' mattocks at the moment is worth their weight." With a sigh Anthony bowed to the inevitable. "There's my address," he said, handing the man a slip of paper. "Send me a card the moment they come in." "I'll set six aside for you, sir." "All right." He paid for the goods he had purchased, had them placed in a taxi, and drove to Paddington. He was so ridiculously glad to see the station again that the ordinarily provoking discovery that he had lost the return half of his ticket but twitched the hem of his temper. With a rueful smile he determined to deduct the price of his carelessness from his next week's wages. The fact that he had broken no bread since breakfast never occurred to him. His one idea was to get back to Gramarye. Not that the dreaded visit had proved exacting. Indeed, as was to be expected, London had roared as gently as any sucking dove. It was with no true sense of relief that he watched the bustling platforms recede. Them and their fellows, the streets, he bore no grudge. Hideously crowded as they were, he felt almost kindly disposed towards them. He could afford to be magnanimous. He was on his way back. An hour or so, and he would stand once more under the grateful shadow of his sanctuary....