Somers, white, and very still, spoke no word, but waited. Then the police-sergeant, in rather stumbling fashion, began to read an order from the military authorities that Richard Lovat Somers, and Harriet Emma Marianna Johanna Somers, of Trevetham Cottage, etc., should leave the county of Cornwall within the space of three days. And further, within the space of twenty-four hours of their arrival in any place they must report themselves at the police station of the said place, giving their address. And they were forbidden to enter any part of the area of Cornwall, etc., etc., etc. Somers listened in silence. “But why?” cried Harriet. “Why. What have we done?” “I can’t say what you have done,” said the young officer in a cold tone, “but it must be something sufficiently serious. They don’t send out these orders for nothing.” “But what it is then? What is it? _I_ don’t know what we’ve done. Have we no right to know what you accuse us of?” “No, you have no right to know anything further than what is said in the order.” And he folded up the said official foolscap, and handed it officially to Somers. Richard silently took it and read it again. “But it’s monstrous! What have they against us? We live here simply--we do nothing at all that they can charge us with. What have we done?” cried Harriet. “I don’t know what you’ve done. But we can take no risks in these times--and evidently there is a risk in leaving you here.” “But I should like to know _what_?” cried Harriet. “That I cannot tell you.” “But do you _know_?” woman-like, she persisted. “No, I don’t even know,” he replied coldly. Harriet broke into a few tears of fright, fear, and chagrin. “Have we no rights at all?” she cried, furious. “Be quiet,” said Richard to her. “Yes. It is your duty to serve your country, if it is your country, by every means in your power. If you choose to put yourself under suspicion----” “Suspicion of what?” “I tell you, I do not know, and could not tell you even if I did know.” The foul, loutish detectives meanwhile were fumbling around, taking the books off the shelves and looking inside the clock. Somers watched them with a cold eye. “Is this yours?” said one of the louts, producing a book with queer diagrams. “Yes, it’s a botany notebook,” said Somers coldly. The man secured it. “He can learn the structure of moulds and parasites,” said Richard bitterly to Harriet. “The house is all open, the men can search everything?” asked the officer coldly. “You know it is,” said Somers. “You tried yesterday while we were out.” Then he asked: “Who is responsible for this? Whom can I write to?” “You can write to Major Witham, Headquarters Southern Division, Salisbury, if it will do any good,” was the answer. There was a pause. Somers wrote it down: not in his address book because that was gone.