'Do you mean Johnston Smyth?'
'That's the chap.'
'I didn't know he was in France.'
'Rather. I thought your brother would have told you.'
'My brother?' There was not a vestige of colour in her cheeks. 'What do you mean?'
Maynard scratched the back of his head. 'Smyth told me,' he said, wondering at the cause of her agitation, 'that Dick and he enlisted together some months ago. By Jove! I remember now. He told me that this American fellow put them up at his rooms in St. James's Square one night. Smyth didn't know who Dick was until they got to France. He was travelling under the name of Sherlock, or Shylock, or Sherwood'——
'I—I thought Dick was in China.' She wrung her hands nervously. 'You didn't see him?'
'No. That's all I know about him, except that he was transferred to some other battalion than Dinglederry Smyth's.'
She went over to a table and took a piece of notepaper from a drawer. 'Mr. Selwyn used to belong to the R.A.C.,' she said quickly. 'Would you do me a favour, Horace dear?'
He murmured his desire to be of service in any capacity. Hesitating a moment, she wrote hurriedly: