The wind dropped suddenly, and the fogs swept up and veiled the stars. The crimson deepened to purple in the west. "Are you cold?" asked Furlonger awkwardly, and drew back. "No, thank you," said Tony, and leaned back too. A few minutes later they rose to go. It was half-past five, and strange shadows were in the lanes, where the ruts and puddles gleamed. An owl called from Ashplats Wood. The November dusk had suddenly become chill. Nigel slipped off his overcoat and wrapped it round Tony. "I don't want it," he insisted. "Oh, what a funny little thing you look!" "It comes down right over my heels--it's ripping and warm." They walked on in silence for about a quarter of a mile. Then the distant throbbing of a car troubled the evening. It drew nearer, and they stood aside to let it pass them in the narrow lane. But instead of passing, it pulled up suddenly, and out jumped Sir Gambier Strife. Their surprise and dismay were so great that for a time they could not use their tongues. Sir Gambier stood before them, his face flushed, his mouth a little open, while the dusk and the arc-lights of the huge motor had games with his figure, making it seem monstrous and misshapen. "Father----" began Tony, and then stopped. She was really the least disconcerted of the three, for she had only Mr. Smith to deal with--surely the presence of such a knight could easily be explained and forgiven. But the other two had to face the complication of Furlonger. "What the----" broke from Strife, after the time-honoured formula of the man who wants to swear, but objects on principle to swearing before women. The colour mounted on Nigel's face, from his neck to his cheeks, from his cheeks to his forehead--and gradually his head drooped. Tony turned to him with sublime assurance. "Father, let me introduce Mr. Smith." "Smith!" Nigel opened his mouth to speak, but the words stuck to his tongue. "You know about Mr. Smith," continued Tony, "how helpful he was at East Grinstead----" "He told you his name was Smith, did he?" "Of course. I know him quite well now--he lives at Fan's Court, near Blindley Heath, and...." Tony's voice trailed off. She wondered why Mr. Smith did not speak for himself. "You damn liar!" roared Strife, swinging round on Nigel. "Father!" "Sir Gambier, let me explain...." "I won't hear a word. Explanation, indeed! What explanation can there be?--you victimiser of innocent little girls!--Antoinette, get into the car at once, and come home. Then we'll hear all the lies this Furlonger's been cramming you with." "Furlonger...." The word came in a long gasp. "Yes--Furlonger. That's his name. 'Smith,' indeed!" "Father, he isn't Furlonger. Furlonger was quite different, short and dark and dirty-looking." "I tell you this is Furlonger--and he's quite dirty-looking enough for me. Come along, Antoinette, I won't have you standing here." "But you aren't Furlonger--are you, Mr. Smith?"