Captain Verney had done his very best, delaying his own return, to find out for Mums just how he died and where he had been buried, but it seemed that no one knew or cared; and Uncle Staff had had no better luck when he went out with a War-Office permit to investigate a few weeks later. Mums and the children had just the one consolation of knowing that Father died for England just as surely as though he had been shot going over the top, to help them bear the thought of the long weeks of suffering and ill-usage which had come first. If only escaping from prison were as easy as it seemed in books and plays, Joey thought, tossing restlessly, she and Gavin would have been out in Germany with a file and a bottle of chloroform, and have set Father free before the Huns had time to kill him. But in real life you could do nothing except wait and wait and say your prayers, and take care of Mums. Joey sat up in bed, and stared out at the dark window-pane so close to her. It was a mild, damp night--she threw off her quilt--perhaps she was too hot and that was the reason that she could not sleep. And while she was sitting up, she saw something flash in the darkness, and knew in a second what it was. A series of short blue flashes, coming from the dark. "How funny!" was her first thought, and then she suddenly called to mind John's signalling instructions; that was the "call-up" in Morse. Somebody, it seemed, was going to practise his signalling now, at nearly twelve at night. Joey crept out of bed, and crouched on the window-sill so as to miss nothing. There was disappointingly little to see; the people, whoever they were, were not nearly such keen signallers as John was. Something came from the side of the house--from her window Joey couldn't locate it exactly--three long flashes and two short ones. Then, a minute later, from the distance--one of the letters she had used with John--short, long, long, long, and then a short-long. And that was all. Joey sat crouched on the window-sill for quite a long time, but nothing more happened. Then, just as she was thinking of getting back to bed, someone came round the corner of the house far below. It was the Professor. She saw him unmistakably in the light of an electric torch, which he must have pressed for an instant, perhaps to show him the path. He slept, as Joey knew, in a room on the ground floor of the lodge; he had chosen it because he so often worked late at the Lab and did not want to disturb the lodge-keeper and his wife. She wondered whether it was he who had been signalling; somehow you would not expect an ill-tempered chemistry professor to want to practise signalling, especially about twelve o'clock at night.