"H'm!" reflected Maxwell-Pitt. "He'll be a tough customer to tackle. It strikes me that if I pull this off I shall have earned the Blue Riband of the Club. I wonder where the beggar is stationed?" Further inquiries elicited the fact that Captain Richards was at present spending his well-earned leave with his sister, who lived at Bamburn, in Lincolnshire. The next meeting of the Club had been fixed for the 22nd of the month. On the 19th Maxwell-Pitt set out for Bamburn. It was an ancient country town. Once it had been an ecclesiastical centre--as its minster still bore witness--but now it was given up to the sale of sheep and the manufacture of chocolate. In its outskirts was a number of highly eligible residences, and in one of these, the bequest of an uncle who was the inventor of chocolate caramels, lived Miss Richards. Maxwell-Pitt learnt some of this from the local directory, and some from the waiter at the inn, the night of his arrival; and on the following morning he made his way to the neighbourhood of Burgoyne Lodge--so Miss Richards' house was styled--and sat down on a seat thoughtfully provided by the local district council. He waited there a long time, apparently deeply absorbed in the columns of a sporting paper, but in reality rarely taking his eyes from the house. At eleven o'clock his patience was rewarded. The gate opened, and two people came out. The man--tall, straight, and bronzed--was obviously Captain Richards, the lady probably his sister. Mr. Maxwell-Pitt saw them disappear along the road in the direction of the town, and then he approached the house to take in its bearings. It was the last building on the road, and it was closely surrounded by a belt of trees; behind the trees were thick bushes. This screen effectually concealed the house from the road--for the inventor of chocolate caramels had been a recluse by nature--so, in order to obtain a better view of it, Maxwell-Pitt got over the wall, and peered through the bushes. It was a solid Georgian dwelling, with two windows on each side of the door. Which window should he attempt to force? The end ones would be farthest from the hall, and perhaps the safest. Or would it be better to try the back? Confound it! His eyes had been so intently fixed on the house that he had omitted to notice an occupant of the garden, but now he was aware that a trimly and plainly gowned little woman who was engaged in cutting flowers had stopped in her work, and was watching him. The position was ridiculous. What excuse could he offer? He turned round, got over the wall again, and walked quickly away, with the conviction that he had made a blunder, criminal in a professional, and unpardonable even for an amateur.