The man seemed relieved to get rid of the burden. He shoved his hands in his pockets again and sloped off across the road. The policeman, a queer look flickering on his fresh young face, put his hand round the girl’s arm carefully and subtly, to help her. She did not lean at all on the support of the big hand, but she was interested, so she did not resent it. Having held herself all her life intensely aloof from physical contact, and never having let any man touch her, she now, with a certain nymphlike voluptuousness, allowed the large hand of the young policeman to support her as they followed the quick, wolflike figure of the other man across the road uphill. And she could feel the presence of the young policeman, through all the thickness of his dark-blue uniform, as something young and alert and bright. When they came up to the man in the bowler hat, he was standing with his head ducked, his ears pricked, listening beside the iron rail inside which grew big, black holly trees tufted with snow, and old, ribbed, silent English elms. The policeman and the girl stood waiting. She was peering into the bushes with the sharp eyes of a deaf nymph, deaf to the world’s noises. The man in the bowler hat listened intensely. A lorry rolled downhill, making the earth tremble. “There!” cried the girl, as the lorry rumbled darkly past. And she glanced round with flashing eyes at her policeman, her fresh, soft face gleaming with startled life. She glanced straight into the puzzled, amused eyes of the young policeman. He was just enjoying himself. “Don’t you see?” she said, rather imperiously. “What is it, miss?” answered the policeman. “I mustn’t point,” she said. “Look where I look.” And she looked away with brilliant eyes, into the dark holly bushes. She must see something, for she smiled faintly, with subtle satisfaction, and she tossed her erect head in all the pride of vindication. The policeman looked at her instead of into the bushes. There was a certain brilliance of triumph and vindication in all the poise of her slim body. “I always knew I should see him,” she said triumphantly to herself. “Whom do you see?” shouted the man in the bowler hat. “Don’t you see him, too?” she asked, turning round her soft, arch, nymphlike face anxiously. She was anxious for the little man to see. “No, I see nothing. What do you see, James?” cried the man in the bowler hat, insisting. “A man.” “Where?” “There. Among the holly bushes.” “Is he there now?” “No! He’s gone.” “What sort of a man?” “I don’t know.” “What did he look like?” “I can’t tell you.” But at that instant the man in the bowler hat turned suddenly, and the arch, triumphant look flew to his face. “Why, he must be _there_!” he cried, pointing up the grove. “Don’t you hear him laughing? He must be behind those trees.”