“_Come on_, oh, come on, you chaps! They’re all setting about me ... all of them.” The chaps answered with a shout of allegiance and sprang upon his assailants. There were four of them, and the first ran into Terence’s straight left and recoiled with his hands to his face. The next seized Rouse in his arms and, loudly shouting, endeavoured to secure a ju-jitsu hold upon his neck. Rouse braced himself, wrenched away an arm and hit downwards with all his strength at the other’s chin. The move was eminently successful, but it was too late. The last members of the party had come up, and one had sprung on to his back and was bearing him down. The other had almost got him by the ankles when Terence came down on top of him with the full weight of his body, and he met the gravel with his face. Then, loud above the scuffling and the angry cries of those upon the ground, there sounded a deep-pitched angry bay. It was the sound of Henry in distress. “Oh! Oh! I can’t _see_! I can’t see a _thing_! Who shall I hit? Where are they? What shall I do? _I can’t_ see.” “Well, have a look at the ground then,” shouted an angry young man, and with a violent push from the rear sent him headlong on to his face, where he lay stiffly still and only bellowed the louder. “Who shall I hit, Terence, who shall I hit?” The end came as abruptly as the start. They were suddenly all upon their feet and staring at each other. “What on earth are you playing at?” demanded somebody. “What’s it all about anyway?” “It’s about _them_,” cried Coles, walking forward like a somnambulist. “They’re spies.” He lifted a hand and pointed at them stiffly. Rouse made a gesture of appeal. “If you fellows aren’t as bad as he is, take him in. He doesn’t look at all nice.” He saw them looking at one another almost sheepishly, some even dazedly, then one of them heaved a sigh and reached out a courteous and helping hand towards Coles. The others gathered round. There was a slow and stately forward move.... Up the steps they went with their sorry leader, and out of sight into the house. Thus Rouse and Terence were left alone, each with a friendly hand upon Henry’s shoulder, as out of the darkness there came a small and shadowy form, and the weary voice of Bobbie Carr was wafted towards them upon the breeze. “Can I do anything to help?” he was saying. “What is it? Can I do anything to help?” Rouse beckoned to him. “Yes,” said he, “you can. You can take Brighteyes to bed. He can’t see very plainly where he’s going.” Bobbie came up to Henry and looked at him. “What’s the matter, Hope?” “It’s my glasses,” said Henry. “All I’ve got left is the frames.” He sighed lugubriously. “It doesn’t matter,” said he. “I’ve got a hold on Coles anyway, and it may be very useful.” It was his farewell. Without another word he suffered himself to be led away into the house.