'We've a lot of soldiers down here,' Mr. Silburn explained. 'They are always commandeering the line for military purposes.'
'You seem to get plenty of messages,' Lavendale remarked, as a servant for the third or fourth time brought a slip of folded paper to his master.
Silburn smiled.
'I have a private line,' he announced. 'Sorry I can't ask you to use it, but I have promised the military here that no one else save myself shall communicate by means of it. Are you a bridger, Lavendale?'
Lavendale excused himself, but gained nothing, for Suzanne was almost forced into the game by her host. He wandered about the hall, glancing up at the pictures. Then he went back to the telephone room.
'Line's still engaged, sir,' was the laconic reply to his inquiry.
Lavendale strolled back. He wandered uneasily about the hall for a time and then approached the great front door.
'Think I'll have a look at the night,' he remarked, with his hand upon the bolt.
The servant who was standing by, intervened.
'I beg your pardon, sir,' he said, 'we are not allowed to open the front door after dusk. The military have complained so much about the lights.'