Left in charge of his treacherous friend, Barcroft found the patient had fallen asleep. Since nothing more was to be done Barcroft Senior took up a book, at the same time sighing for a pipe, a luxury that out of praiseworthy consideration for the injured man he had temporarily abandoned. "By Jove!" said Peter to himself about an hour later. "That fire's getting low." As silently as possible he heaped more coal upon the smouldering embers. Tending fires was not in his line. Often at home he would allow the study fire to die out simply through neglect to make use of the poker. Somewhat anxiously he watched the gradually dimming glow. He was half-minded to ring for Mrs. Crumpet, until reflecting that the housekeeper at The Croft was evidently a person who made more noise in proportion to the work done than was desirable in the circumstances, he decided to tackle the recalcitrant fire himself. Vainly he looked for a pair of bellows. Foiled in that direction he suddenly remembered having seen a smouldering fire roused into activity by means of a newspaper held over the grate. "This might do," he soliloquised, picking up a couple of sheets of printed paper, since no newspaper could be found. "A catalogue of sorts: wonder if Norton wants it particularly?" Slowly, very slowly, the dying fire began to revive, until under the forced draught a respectable flame rewarded Peter's efforts. Patiently holding the printed sheets across the grate until his arm ached, he whiled away the time by reading the technical description of Someone's patent combined washtub-and-dryer. Suddenly his interest was aroused. "Bless my soul!" he ejaculated. "That's funny. It wasn't there half a minute ago." Under the heat of the now glowing fire letters hitherto invisible took semblance upon the warm paper. To his utter surprise the name "Barcroft" appeared in view. Hardly able to credit his senses Peter read the damning evidence of the supposed Andrew Norton's treachery. It was written in German, for, owing to Entwistle having on a previous visit taken possession of the cypher (a circumstance that had caused the spy hours of uneasiness until he had been lulled into a sense of false security), he had been obliged to resort to ordinary writing pending the arrival of another code-book. "Your request for immediate action noted," read Peter. "Expect Barcroft's removal to-day. Notifying impending accident to substantiate claim. Also hope to secure his manuscript to-night. Will destroy it if unable to retain without exciting suspicion." There were also statistical particulars of the output of one of the Barborough munition factories, including the number of new gigantic shells, but Peter had not time to read that far. A reverberating report filled the room. A bullet, whizzing close to the head of the startled man, shattered into a thousand pieces a mirror on the wall.