"We had one most extraordinary thing happen in this place," said he.
"Nobody has got to the bottom of it yet."
"Really!" cried Mr. Hobhouse. "How very interesting! What was it?"
"Well," said the doctor, "one morning when I had that fellow O'Brien staying with me, a young man walked into my house under the impression—so he said—that it was my cousin's. Whether he told the truth or not I've often wondered since. He had no cap, was buttoned up in an oilskin coat (though I may say it was a fine morning) and talked with a distinct foreign accent. I could swear it was German, but O'Brien, who contradicted everything, stuck to it it was Russian. A lot he knew about Russian! He was only in the house about five minutes, for when he discovered his mistake—or what he said was his mistake—he went off. And that is all I saw of him personally."
"But did he go to Mr. Rendall's then?"
The doctor nodded.
"He turned up there and spent two or three nights in the house. The chap had the impudence of the devil. He said he had been landed from one of our own cruisers and didn't want to be recognised as an officer, so would they be kind enough to lend him a coat and let him lock his uniform coat up in a drawer! He was in his oilskin all this time, you must remember. A day or two later my cousins grew suspicious and opened that drawer. What do you think they found?"
"Maps!" guessed Mr. Hobhouse.
"Nothing at all! He had never had a uniform coat. They promptly wired to the Naval Authorities, locked him in his room meanwhile, and when Commander Whiteclett appeared he arrested him and took him off."
"And who was he?"
The doctor turned to his guest with an expression of considerable indignation.