“I spent last week-end at Shonts,” he said. “Lord Moggeridge, also there, week-ending. Got it into his head that I was pulling his leg.” “Naturally, my boy, if he goes philandering. At his time of life. What else can he expect?” “It wasn’t philandering.” “Fine distinctions. Fine distinctions. Go on—anyhow.” “He got it into his head that I was playing practical jokes upon him. Confused me with Eric. It led to a rather first-class row. I had to get out of the house. Nothing else to do. He brought all sorts of accusations—” Captain Douglas stopped short. His uncle was no longer attending to him. They had drifted to the window of the study and the general was staring with an excitement and intelligence that grew visibly at the spectacle of Bealby and the trailer outside. For Bealby had been left in the trailer, and he was sitting as good as gold waiting for the next step in his vindication from the dark charge of burglary. He was very travel-worn and the trailer was time-worn as well as travel-worn, and both contrasted with the efficient neatness and newness of the motor bicycle in front. The contrast had attracted the attention of a tall policeman who was standing in a state of elucidatory meditation regarding Bealby. Bealby was not regarding the policeman. He had the utmost confidence in Captain Douglas, he felt sure that he would presently be purged of all the horror of that dead old man and of the brief unpremeditated plunge into crime, but still for the present at any rate he did not feel equal to staring a policeman out of countenance.... From the window the policeman very largely obscured Bealby.... Whenever hearts are simple there lurks romance. Age cannot wither nor custom stale her infinite diversity. Suddenly out of your low kindly diplomacies, your sane man-of-the-world intentions, leaps the imagination like a rocket, flying from such safe securities bang into the sky. So it happened to the old general. He became deaf to everything but the appearances before him. The world was jewelled with dazzling and delightful possibilities. His face was lit by a glow of genuine romantic excitement. He grasped his nephew’s arm. He pointed. His grizzled cheeks flushed. “That isn’t,” he asked with something verging upon admiration in his voice and manner, “a Certain Lady in disguise?” § 3 It became clear to Captain Douglas that if ever he was to get to Lord Moggeridge that day he must take his uncle firmly in hand. Without even attempting not to appear to shout he cried, “That is a little Boy. That is my Witness. It is Most Important that I should get him to Lord Moggeridge to tell his Story.” “What story?” cried the old commander, pulling at his moustache and still eyeing Bealby suspiciously....