“Market Burnham Hall is burnt to the ground!” Granet sighed as he crossed the room and took his seat at the table. “If you fellows hadn’t slept like oxen last night,” he remarked, “you’d have known a lot more about it. I saw the whole show.” “Nonsense!” Major Harrison exclaimed. “Tell us all about it?” young Anselman begged. “I heard the thing just as I was beginning to undress,” Granet explained. “I rushed downstairs and found Collins out in the garden. ... Where the devil is Collins, by-the-bye?” They glanced at his vacant place. “Not down yet. Go on.” “Well, we could hear the vibration like anything, coming from over the marsh there. I got the car out and we were no sooner on the road than I could see it distinctly, right above us--a huge, cigar-shaped thing. We raced along after it, along the road towards Market Burnham. Just before it reached the Hall it seemed to turn inland and then come back again. We pulled up to watch it and Collins jumped out. He said he’d go as far as the Hall and warn them. I sat in the car, watching. She came right round and seemed to hover over those queer sort of outbuildings there are at Market Burnham. All at once the bombs began to drop.” “What are they like?” Geoffrey Anselman exclaimed. Granet poured out his coffee carefully. “I’ve seen ‘em before--plenty of them, too,” he remarked, “but they did rain them down. Then all of a sudden there was a sort of glare--I don’t know what happened. It was just as though some one had lit one of those coloured lights. The Hall was just as clearly visible as at noonday. I could see the men running about, shouting, and the soldiers tumbling out of their quarters. All the time the bombs were coming down like hail and a corner of the Hall was in flames. Then the lighted stuff, whatever it was, burnt out and the darkness seemed as black as pitch. I hung around for some time, looking for Collins. Then I went up to the house to help them extinguish the fire. I didn’t get back till four o’clock.” “What about Collins?” young Anselman asked. “I was playing him at golf.” “Better send up and see,” Granet proposed. “I waited till I couldn’t stick it any longer.” They sent a servant up. The reply came back quickly--Mr. Collins’ bed had not been slept in. Granet frowned a little. “I suppose he’ll think I let him down,” he said. “I waited at least an hour for him.” “Was any one hurt by the bombs?” Geoffrey Anselman inquired. “No one seemed to be much the worse,” Granet replied. “I didn’t think of anything of that sort in connection with Collins, though. Perhaps he might have got hurt.” “We’ll all go over and have a look for him this afternoon if he hasn’t turned up,” Anselman suggested. “What about playing me a round of golf this morning?” “Suit me all right,” Granet agreed. “I’d meant to lay up because of my arm, but it’s better this morning. We’ll start early and get back for the papers.”