“You’re quite wrong, Knott. He sent me--that exquisite study--on the wall yonder.” He pointed as he spoke to a small drawing in water colours. Peter got up, looked at it a moment, and shrugged his shoulders. “If you’re satisfied, I’ve got nothing to say.” “Satisfied--of course I’m satisfied--” A tolerant, almost condescending smile stole over David’s eyes and mouth. “You don’t understand--artists, Knott.” “Perhaps not, perhaps not.” Knott pulled out his watch. “Anything doing in your own line, Saunderson?” he asked in a tone of careful indifference. David puffed at his pipe. “I’m not very busy--but--you know--that’s rather a good thing--now I’m a special constable.” Peter Knott’s single eyeglass wandered over the unwieldy frame sitting opposite him. “A special constable?” he echoed. David puffed complacently. “Sergeant,” he replied. Peter Knott dropped his glass. “Really, you know, Saunderson. For a man at your time of life, and obliged to work for his living, it’s--” He hesitated. “Well, you oughtn’t to do it.” David smiled in a superior way. “That’s just where--you’re wrong--Knott--we relieve the--younger men--that’s our job--and I’m proud to--” Peter Knott’s kindly old eyes twinkled at the thought of David tackling a lusty cracksman, twinkled and then became grave. “Supposing you get laid up, injured in some way?” he asked. “We don’t think about that.” David’s expression was serene. “I go on--duty at--two--very quiet then--lovely it is--on fine nights--when I’ve been working--to get out--into the cool air--” As David spoke Peter Knott pulled out his watch again and then got up. “I saw your cousin Herbert a few days ago, Saunderson. He said he hadn’t seen you for a long time, wondered whether you’d go down to Rendlesham for a few weeks. He wants a catalogue of his prints, and there are some old manuscripts he would like your opinion about. I’m going down this week-end. What shall I tell him?” David put down his pipe. “Tell him--I’m much obliged--later on perhaps--I can’t--leave my duties--while these Zeppelin scares last. They need experienced men--one doesn’t know what--may happen.” He had got on his feet and had gradually reached the door of the tiny flat. “Good-bye, Knott,” he said as he took the other’s hand. “Don’t forget--about Macmanus and--Plimsoll--” His visitor was two flights below when David called to him-- “If you happen--to hear of--a secretaryship--Wyatt’s--” But by the time he got the words out Peter Knott was out of hearing. In due course Peter Knott reported the result of his visit to Sir Herbert Saunderson. The latter, a kindly man with an income barely enough for the responsibilities a large family entailed on him, took counsel with his old friend as to what could be done next. There was reason for believing that David’s stolid silence regarding his own concerns concealed a general impecuniousness quite as pronounced as that of the artist friends whose cause he pleaded.