When he told Asta a few minutes later her face brightened, and she turned to me, saying-- "Well, this is really good news, Mr Kemball. Dad has often been on the Continent with the car, but he has never taken me before. He thought that the long runs might be too fatiguing." "Any thing, my dear, to get you out of this place," he said, with a laugh. "You must have a change, or else you'll be ill." Later on, a young man and a girl called, and we played tennis for an hour. Then when the visitors had gone, I sat for a little while with Asta in the drawing-room to get cool. She looked very sweet in her simple lace blouse, short white skirt, and white shoes. Exertion had heightened the tint of her cheeks, and something of the old expression had returned to her eyes. As we sat chatting, a peculiar low whistle suddenly reached our ears. I listened. The call was repeated, and seemed to come from the room above. "It's Dad," the girl said. "Of late he seems to have taken to whistling like that. Why, I can't tell, for we have no dogs." We listened again, and it was repeated a third time, a short shrill call of a peculiar note. Apparently he was in his room directly over the drawing-room--which was the bedroom--and the window being open we could hear distinctly. Again it was repeated, when Asta rose, and, going to the window, shouted up-- "Who are you calling, Dad?" "Oh, nobody, dear," was his reply. "I--I didn't know you were there. I thought you were with Mr Kemball in the garden." The incident held me speechless for a few minutes, for I had suddenly recollected that after I had encountered Shaw at Titmarsh, on the occasion of the discovery of poor Guy, I had heard an exactly similar whistle. It was a peculiar note which, once heard, was not quickly forgotten. We met Shaw outside on the lawn a few minutes later, when Asta exclaimed-- "Why have you got into the habit of whistling so horribly, Dad? One could understand it if we had dogs. But to whistle to nothing seems so idiotic." "All, so it is, dear," he replied, laughing. "But I was not whistling to nothing. I was trying to call Muir, the gardener, from the window. I could see him at work over by the croquet lawn, but the old fellow gets very deaf nowadays." Such was Shaw's explanation. It was surely not an unusual circumstance, yet it was full of meaning when regarded in the light of what afterwards transpired. As I walked with him, and he discussed our projected trip over those fine level roads of France, I could not help wondering why he had uttered that peculiar call on that well-remembered morning at Titmarsh Court.