Mr. Sabin's exclamation suggested a curiosity which it was not Wolfenden's purpose to gratify. He remained silent. The game proceeded without remark for a quarter of an hour. Wolfenden was now three down, and with all the stimulus of a strong opponent he set himself to recover lost ground. The ninth hole he won with a fine, long putt, which Mr. Sabin applauded heartily. They drove from the next tee and walked together after their balls, which lay within a few yards of one another. "I am very much interested," Mr. Sabin remarked, "in what you have been telling me about your father. It confirms rather a curious story about Lord Deringham which I heard in London a few weeks ago. I was told, I forget by whom, that your father had devoted years of his life to a wonderfully minute study of English coast defences and her naval strength. My informant went on to say that--forgive me, but this was said quite openly you know--that whilst on general matters your father's mental health was scarcely all that could be desired, his work in connection with these two subjects was of great value. It struck me as being a very singular and a very interesting case." Wolfenden shook his head dubiously. "Your informant was misled, I am afraid," he said. "My father takes his hobby very seriously, and of course we humour him. But as regards the value of his work I am afraid it is worthless." "Have you tested it yourself?" Mr. Sabin asked. "I have only seen a few pages," Wolfenden admitted, "but they were wholly unintelligible. My chief authority is his own secretary, who is giving up an excellent place simply because he is ashamed to take money for assisting in work which he declares to be utterly hopeless." "He is a man," Mr. Sabin remarked, "whom you can trust, I suppose? His judgment is not likely to be at fault." "There is not the faintest chance of it," Wolfenden declared. "He is a very simple, good-hearted little chap and tremendously conscientious. What your friend told you, by the bye, reminds me of rather a curious thing which happened yesterday." Wolfenden paused. There did not seem, however, to be any reason for concealment, and his companion was evidently deeply interested. "A man called upon us," Wolfenden continued, "with a letter purporting to be from our local doctor here. He gave his name as Franklin Wilmot, the celebrated physician, you know, and explained that he was interested in a new method of treating mental complaints. He was very plausible and he explained everything unusual about his visit most satisfactorily. He wanted a sight of the work on which my father was engaged, and after talking it over we introduced him into the study during my father's absence. From it he promised to give us a general opinion upon the case and its treatment. Whilst he was there our doctor drove up in hot haste. The letter was a forgery, the man an impostor."