_Do you know anything of Peter? We only got back from America two days ago, and when we rang up his club--he was living there while we were away--they said they hadn't seen him since March. Of course we're frightfully worried. He had the car with him, and we're trying to trace that. Oh, Valerie, father's just come in and said that the car's been found at Carlisle. In a garage there, and that two men left it to be seen to a month ago, but the police think he bought it from them and is afraid. Please wire if you----_ With a crash the small table by her side upset its complement of violets on to the parquet, there was a wild scrabble of paws, and Patch was at the front door, snuffing the sill and whining tremulously.... Valerie got upon her feet. "What is it, Patch?" she said. "He isn't here yet." For a second the terrier listened. The next moment he was almost beating himself against the woodwork. Letter in hand, Valerie crossed the hall and opened the door. The dog rushed out into the drive. For a moment he stood there, plainly straining his ears. An instant later he was flying down the avenue.... * * * * * The glow of the sunset faded. Evening gave way to dusk. Night stole into her throne-room.... One by one, men, spent with their labour, went to their rest. Pillowed upon the bosom of the country-side, villages fell asleep. And through them, while they slept, a little white dog went pelting breathlessly under the cold moonlight--now running, now dropping to a fast walk, now hesitating, now plunging on desperately, sometimes to the east, sometimes to the west, but in the main northward ... due north, sirs ... in the direction of the Cotswold Hills. THE END