"THAT'S more hopeful," ejaculated Flight sub-lieutenant Barcroft. "I hear footsteps."
For perhaps half a minute he listened intently. He was not mistaken in his surmise, but there was still the haunting doubt that the benighted wayfarer might be proceeding in a different direction. But no; the footsteps came nearer and nearer. It was not the firm tread of a man, nor the clatter of a pair of Lancashire clogs.
"A woman, by Jove!" muttered Billy. "I'll have to be jolly careful not to give her a fright. Rummy idea having to hail a craft of that sort at this time of the morning. Wonder what brings her out in this isolated spot?"
In his anxiety not to unduly alarm the approaching woman, the flight-sub began to walk in her direction. It was, he decided, a better course than to stand back until she passed.
"Excuse me," he said touching his cap, "but can you direct me to Tarleigh?"
"Yes, I am going part of the way," was the reply in a decidedly clear and pleasant voice, which spoke with perfect composure. "If you like I'll go with you as far as Two Elms. It is then a straight road."
"Thank you," said Barcroft, falling into step with his unknown benefactor. "You see, I'm quite a stranger here."
"Hang it all!" he mused. "That voice seems familiar. A trim little craft, too, I should imagine, although I can't see her face. Wonder who she is?"
"You are a naval officer, I see," remarked the girl.
"Yes," admitted Billy. "On leave and going to a home I've never seen. This raid affair made me late."