Venturing, at last, to disturb the delicate sequence of her thoughts: "Madame," he said, "have you heard any rumours concerning enemy airships--or, undersea boats?" The tranquil gaze returned, rested on him: "No, but something has been happening in the Aulnes Étang." "What?" "I don’t know. But every day the wild ducks rise from it in fright--clouds of them--and the curlew and lapwings fill the sky with their clamour." "A poacher?" "I know of none remaining here in Finistère." "Have you seen anything in the sky? An eagle?" "Only the wild fowl whirling above the _étang_." "You have heard nothing--from the clouds?" "Only the _vanneaux_ complaining and the wild curlew answering." "Where is L’Ombre?" he asked, vaguely troubled. She rose; he followed her across the bridge and along the mossy border of the moat. Presently she stood still and pointed down in silence. For a while he saw nothing in the moat; then, suspended midway between surface and bottom, motionless in the transparent water, a shadow, hanging there, colourless, translucent--a phantom vaguely detached from the limpid element through which it loomed. L’Ombre lay very still in the silvery-grey depths where the glass of the stream reflected the façade of that ancient house. Around the angle of the moat crept a ripple; a rat appeared, swimming, and, seeing them, dived. L’Ombre never stirred. An involuntary shudder passed over Neeland, and he looked up abruptly with the instinct of a creature suddenly trapped--but not yet quite realizing it. In the grey forest walling that silent place, in the monotonous sky overhead, there seemed something indefinitely menacing; a menace, too, in the intense stillness; and, in the twisted, uplifted limbs of every giant tree, a subtle and suspended threat. He said tritely and with an effort: "For everything there are natural causes. These may always be discovered with ingenuity and persistence.... Shall we examine your clocks, Madame?" "Yes.... Will your General be annoyed because I have asked that an officer be sent here? Tell me truthfully, are _you_ annoyed?" "No, indeed," he insisted, striving to smile away the inexplicable sense of depression which was creeping over him. He looked down again at the grey wraith in the water, then, as they turned and walked slowly back across the bridge together, he said, suddenly: "_Something_ is wrong somewhere in Finistère. That is evident to me. There have been too many rumours from too many sources. By sea and land they come--rumours of things half seen, half heard--glimpses of enemy aircraft, sea-craft. Yet their presence would appear to be an impossibility in the light of the military intelligence which we possess. "But we have investigated every rumour; although I, personally, know of no report which has been confirmed. Nevertheless, these rumours persist; they come thicker and faster day by day. But this--" He hesitated, then smiled--"this seems rather different----"