"When you've had six months of it, and been through the winter," said the Colonel grimly, "with your wind-gauge showing seventy miles an hour for weeks on end, and the lighthouse siren never stopping booming, I am afraid you won't be in quite the same cheerful mood."
"I am cheerful by nature, sir," said the young man, tucking into the marmalade. He ate heartily, and by the time he had finished the Colonel was smoking a cigar.
Lieutenant-Commander Grieves filled his pipe, lit it, and, with a nod at the Colonel, sauntered out to his quarters. For the first time John was alone with Hobin. For some minutes there was silence, then the Colonel spoke.
"You will take the leave book to-night, Treves. Ask Parkson about it."
"Very good, sir," John answered.
"You can go now, if you like," said the Colonel. "Get Parkson to show you the run of the place before parade in the morning."
At this point John rose mysteriously, opened the door into the corridor and looked out. Then, to the Colonel's surprise, he closed it again, and came quietly back into the room. From the inner pocket of his coat he took a long, narrow, yellow envelope, which he handed to Hobin.
"What's this?" demanded the Colonel. He tore open the envelope and began to read with furrowed brows.
When Colonel Hobin had perused the official-looking letter a second and a third time, his brow cleared; he lifted his eyes and looked at John with a new and keen interest.
"So you are from the Intelligence Department?"