"There's a lovely pie in the larder, dear," said Mrs. Barraclough. "Just the sort you like best. Jane! My motor cloak and bonnet." She took Anthony's hand and they hurried kitchenward together. Flora and Jane looked at one another, their eyes adance with excitement. "Oh, isn't this gorgeous," said Jane. "Simply topping," echoed Flora. "You lucky beast to be going up with him." "I like that, when you've got a shooting programme." "Oh, well, I suppose the honours are divided. Good luck." "Same to you." They parted with a wave of the hand, Jane following her mistress and Flora into the garden at a run. But she had scarcely reached the path when two men came round the corner of the house and bore down upon her. Harrison Smith was too good a strategist to announce his arrival by driving up to the front door. He had left the Ford at the end of the lane and entered the grounds by way of the kitchen garden. At the sight of Flora he bowed very politely, greeting her with a charming smile and an allusion to the clemency of the evening. It is possible these social amenities might have carried some weight but for the appearance of Freddie Dirk, whose heavy jowl, grimed with dust and perspiration, was not consistent with the idea of an afternoon caller. Flora fell back a pace into the room, wondering fearfully what course she should pursue. "Don't be frightened, my girl, don't be frightened," Harrison Smith agreeably beseeched. "Who are you? I don't know you," said Flora. "We're friends of your master's, of course." "That's it," said Dirk, huskily. "Pals of 'is, see!" The tone was hardly convincing. "My master is away, and has been away for some weeks." "Yes, yes, yes, to be sure. But he's come back." "No," said Flora. "Look 'ere, girl,"--Dirk's fat, short-fingered paw fell on her shoulders--"we ain't soft--do you get me? We knows what we're torkin' abaht. Mister Barraclough is 'ere and the sooner----" "Tut, tut, tut," Harrison Smith interrupted. "Don't talk like that, Dirk--you're scaring the girl. Now listen to me. Your Master has enemies, we're his friends. It is of the utmost importance we should see him at once." He moved away and opened the door of Mrs. Barraclough's bedroom. "As a matter of fact his life depends upon it." "Yus--'is life," Dirk echoed. "I tell you my master is not here." "Isn't 'e--isn't 'e." Dirk's two hands fastened on Flora's wrist and twisted the flesh in contrary directions, a domestic form of torture known to the initiated as the Burning Bracelet. "Let go, you brute--let go," she cried, and with her free hand caught him a full swinging slap across the face. What particular line Dirk's resentment would have taken is unknown, for Harrison Smith came quickly between them with a muttered order and at the same time the door opened and Jane ran in. It speaks well for her courage that she did not cry out or betray alarm.