"I don't know how we mean to use them, sir, and I don't want to hide anything." "That's a wise resolve," the Colonel answered meaningly; and Dick colored. After all, there was something he meant to hide. "You took the plans with you when you left the camp, three or four hours before you were due at Storeton," said the Adjutant. "Where did you go?" "To my cousin's rooms in the town." "Mr. Lance Brandon's," said the Adjutant thoughtfully. "Did you stay there?" "No; we dined at The George." "A well-conducted house," the Adjutant remarked. "You took some wine at dinner?" "Two glasses of light claret." "Then where did you go next?" "To the new music-hall." "And ordered drinks in the bar! Who suggested this?" "I can't remember," Dick replied with an angry flush. "Of course, I see where you're leading, but I was quite sober when I left the hall." The Adjutant's expression puzzled him. He had felt that the man was not unfriendly, and now he looked disappointed. "I'm not sure your statement makes things better," the Colonel observed with some dryness. "Did you go straight to Storeton from the hall?" "No, sir. I spent an hour at a friend's house." "Whose house was it?" Dick pondered for a few moments, and then looked up resolutely. "I must decline to answer, sir. I've lost the plans and must take the consequences; but I don't see why my private friends, who have nothing to do with it, should be involved in the trouble." The Adjutant leaned forward across the table and said something quietly to the Colonel, and neither of them spoke for the next minute or two. Dick was sensible of physical as well as mental strain as he stood stiffly in the middle of the tent. His knees felt weak, little quivers ran through his limbs, and a ray of hot sunshine struck through the hooked-back flap into his face, but he dared not relax his rigid pose. The two officers looked puzzled but grave. "Go back to your tent and stay there until I send for you," the Colonel said at last. Dick saluted and went out, and when he sat down on his camp-bed he moodily lighted a cigarette and tried to think. His military career was ended and he was ruined; but this was not what occupied him most. He was wondering whether Clare Kenwardine had taken the plans. If so, it was his duty to accuse her; but, actuated by some mysterious impulse, he had refused.