Although he detested having to use the telephone--he would much rather have taken the trouble to go into Barborough to broach the matter, only time was of importance--Peter rang up the vet. The reply was to the effect that Mr. Entwistle was away from home and was not expected back until to-morrow. "That's done it," muttered Barcroft, "I'll go alone." It was normally a two hours' railway journey to Bigthorpe, a fairly large town in the East Riding of Yorkshire, but owing to various unforeseen delays the clocks were striking four when Peter reached his destination. Having obtained direction from a porter as to the nearest way to Thorpe Beck Viaduct Peter walked out of the station, and to his surprise ran into the missing Andrew Norton. "Hullo!" exclaimed the spy, somewhat guardedly, for he had to feel his ground. "I hardly expected to see you here." "Nor did I," replied Peter extending his hand, which the other grasped with well-assumed cordiality. "You've heard?" "I've heard nothing." "I wired to my housekeeper yesterday," explained the _soi-disant_ Norton. "Had a sort of nervous breakdown--complete loss of memory." "The Zep. raid, I suppose?" asked Peter sympathetically. "Yes, yes, precisely--the Zep. raid, confound it!" said the German hurriedly. "I remember the bombs dropping, and I ran, goodness knows where. Must have wandered about all night. Have some recollection of finding myself at a strange railway station. Eventually I arrived at Bigthorpe, not even remembering my name and address until I found my registration card in my pocket. Deuced useful things those cards. However, since I was at Bigthorpe, I thought I would stay there a couple of days or so to restore my shattered nerves. Just back by the 4.38." "Can you postpone your return for another day?" asked Peter. "I'm returning to-morrow. But perhaps I oughtn't to detain you, although everything's all right at The Croft." "Is it?" asked the spy. "Thanks awfully. No. I'm afraid I can't stop here any longer." "In that case I'll see you anon," said Peter. "Oh, while I think of it: where were you staying here? I know nothing about the place and must get a room at a comfortable hotel." Von Eitelwurmer considered for a moment. He was not altogether sure that Barcroft was not "pulling his leg." Early that morning the "Trone" had arrived at a British port, and on landing the spy had successfully maintained the role of McDonald the repatriated prisoner from Eylau. He was now returning to Barborough, with a view to making careful inquiries as to whether it would be quite safe to return to his house at Tarleigh. "Where was I staying?" repeated the spy. "At the 'Antelope.' Wouldn't advise you, though. Not at all comfortable--catering rotten, rooms wretchedly cold and draughty. Well, _au revoir_, Barcroft. May look you up to-morrow night." "Do," replied Peter cordially. "You know the time."