"By Jove, yes! I hadn't thought of that," was the reply. "All the same, I don't think he would touch my desk. It's just likely that in a preoccupied moment (although as a rule he isn't given that way) he may have gone home and left the lights switched on and the door open. Hulloa, this looks queer! I wonder if Norton got into a funk over the Zep.?" Barcroft pointed to a pipe lying on the mantelpiece. It was freshly filled and the tobacco was slightly charred, indicating that the owner had been interrupted in the act of lighting up. "His pipe," he continued. "And he seems a fairly methodical fellow, not likely to leave anything behind. Hope he's all right. If it wasn't for the fact that I've had a long tramp and it's close on one thirty I'd run across to his place." "What sort of a man is he?" enquired Entwistle. "Decent--quite. Nothing of the bore about him, or I would have choked him off very quickly," replied Barcroft grimly. "Quite informal, and different from the ordinary type of caller when a fellow comes into a fresh district. You know the sort--stiff-necked blighters of both sexes who pay formal calls for the sole purpose of finding out who you are, what you are and what you've got. In my case, I suppose, they expect to find a sort of untamed curiosity: that's how they regard literary men, I believe. But my time is too precious to waste in that way, so I let them know it pretty quickly. Ah, there are the trains running again," he added as a dull rumble was borne to their ears. "Zep. show's over for to-night. Keen on bed?" "Not very," replied Entwistle. "Are you?" "I'm going to wait up for Billy," said the fond parent. "Wonder what the young bounder is doing now?" As he spoke came the sounds of quick, firm footsteps up the cobbled path. Before Peter could get across the room the door was thrown open and Flight-Sub-lieutenant Barcroft, his face blackened with smoke and dust and his great-coat bearing signs of rough usage, burst into the room. "Cheer-o, pater!" he exclaimed. "Sorry I'm late. Some night, eh, what?" CHAPTER VI KIDNAPPED IT will now be necessary to set back the hands of the clock to the hour of ten on the evening of the Zeppelin's visit to Barborough. At that hour Mr. Andrew Norton was knocking on the door of Ladybird Fold, and vainly endeavouring to restrain the boisterous attentions of Ponto and Nan. "Good evening, Mrs. Carter," he said as the door was opened revealing the domestic stopgap with her head covered by a shawl--the recognised head-dress of the working-class women of industrial Lancashire. "Any one at home?" "Only mysen, master," was the reply. "An' in another minute you would be findin' me gone. Mr. Barcroft he's out, but he'll not be long, I'm thinkin'. An' young Mr. Barcroft--'im as is in the Navy--is expected home to-night. But come in, you're kindly welcome."