“Not altogether that,” the banker replied. “We have some reports, although they don’t go far enough. I can put you on to the track of the thing. The apparatus you saw is something in the nature of an inverted telescope, with various extraordinary lenses treated by a new process. You can see forty feet down under the surface of the water for a distance of a mile, and we believe that attached to the same apparatus is an instrument which brings any moving object within the range of what they call a deep-water gun.” “Did that come from reports?” Granet asked eagerly. “It did,” Sir Alfred said. “Further than that, the main part of the instrument is being made under the supervision of Sir Meyville Worth, in a large workshop erected on his estate in a village near Brancaster in Norfolk.” “I take it back,” Granet remarked. “The plans of the instrument should be worth a hundred thousand pounds,” Sir Alfred continued calmly. “If that is impossible, the destruction of the little plant would be the next consideration.” “Do I come in here?” Granet inquired. “You do, Ronnie,” his uncle replied. “The name of the village where Sir Meyville Worth lives is Market Burnham, which, as I think I told you, is within a few miles of Brancaster. Geoffrey, at my instigation, has arranged a harmless little golf party to go to Brancaster the day after to-morrow. You will accompany them. In the meantime, Miss Worth, Sir Meyville Worth’s only daughter, is staying in London until Wednesday. She is lunching with your aunt at the Ritz to-morrow. I have made some other arrangements in connection with your visit to Norfolk, which will keep for the present. I see that some strangers have entered the room. Tell me exactly how you came by the wound in your foot?” Granet turned a little around. There was a queer change in his face as he looked back at his uncle. “Do you know the man at that corner table?” he asked. Sir Alfred glanced across the room. “Very slightly. I spoke to him an hour ago. He thanked me for some ambulances. He is the chief inspector of hospitals, I think--Major Thomson, his name is.” “Did you happen to say that I was dining with you?” Sir Alfred reflected for a moment. “I believe that I did mention it,” he admitted. “Why?” Granet struggled for a moment with an idea and rejected it. He drained his glass and leaned across the table. “He’s a dull enough person really,” he remarked, a little under his breath, “but I seem to be always running up against him. Once or twice he’s given me rather a start.” Sir Alfred smiled. He called the wine steward and pointed to his nephew’s glass. “The best thing in the world,” he observed drily, as he watched the wine being poured out, “for presentiments.” CHAPTER XVII