“I had thought of commencing some reading I brought with me,” Hamel replied, “but Miss Esther has challenged me to another game of golf.” “Excellent!” Mr. Fentolin declared. “It is very kind of you indeed, Mr. Hamel. It is always a matter of regret for me that society in these parts is so restricted. My nephew and niece have little opportunity for enjoying themselves. Play golf with Mr. Hamel, by all means, my dear child,” he continued, turning to his niece. “Make the most of this glorious spring weather. And what about you, Gerald? What are you doing to-day?” “I haven’t made up my mind yet, sir,” the boy replied. Mr. Fentolin sighed. “Always that lack of initiative,” he remarked. “A lack of initiative is one of your worst faults, I am afraid, dear Gerald.” The boy looked up quickly. For a moment it seemed as though he were about to make a fierce reply. He met Mr. Fentolin’s steady gaze, however, and the words died away upon his lips. “I rather thought,” he said, “of going into Norwich, if you could spare me. Captain Holt has asked me to lunch at the Barracks.” Mr. Fentolin shook his head gently. “It is most unfortunate,” he declared. “I have a commission for you later in the day.” Gerald continued his breakfast in silence. He bent over his plate so that his face was almost invisible. Mr. Fentolin was peeling a peach. A servant entered the room. “Lieutenant Godfrey, sir,” he announced. They all looked up. A trim, clean-shaven, hard-featured young man in naval uniform was standing upon the threshold. He bowed to Esther. “Very sorry to intrude, sir, at this hour of the morning,” he said briskly. “Lieutenant Godfrey, my name. I am flag lieutenant of the Britannia. You can’t see her, but she’s not fifty miles off at this minute. I landed at Sheringham this morning, hired a car and made the best of my way here. Message from the Admiral, sir.” Mr. Fentolin smiled genially. “We are delighted to see you, Lieutenant Godfrey,” he said. “Have some breakfast.” “You are very good, sir,” the officer answered. “Business first. I’ll breakfast afterwards, with pleasure, if I may. The Admiral’s compliments, and he would take it as a favour if you would haul down your wireless for a few days.” “Haul down my wireless,” Mr. Fentolin repeated slowly. “We are doing a lot of manoeuvring within range of you, and likely to do a bit more,” the young man explained. “You are catching up our messages all the time. Of course, we know they’re quite safe with you, but things get about. As yours is only a private installation, we’d like you, if you don’t mind, sir, to shut up shop for a few days.” Mr. Fentolin seemed puzzled. “But, my dear sir,” he protested, “we are not at war, are we?” “Not yet,” the young officer replied, “but God knows when we shall be! We are under sealed orders, anyway, and we don’t want any risk of our plans leaking out. That’s why we want your wireless disconnected.”