"Buxton, sir," the constable answered.
"Ah, well inland! The enemy will not reach so far as that until England is conquered."
"Which isn't at all likely," added Challis.
"I don't feel so sure about that," retorted Mr. Croucher. "Everything seems to point to the probability that the Germans will land sooner or later. Look at what the War Office are doing here! Look at that long line of trenches and the breastworks. Look at all these soldiers!"
"Yes, sir," nodded the constable, "we're beginnin' to look quite military, aren't we?"
"Military? I call it desperately warlike," declared the invalid. "Those trenches are not being so carefully dug merely to give training to the Territorials. They are being made for military use. Such elaborate defences would be a waste of time and material if there were not grave danger. It is clear that the authorities expect them to land just here."
Constable Challis leant his folded arms on the rail.
"You may take it from me, sir," he said, reassuringly, "that it's only a reasonable precaution. The same sort of defence work is going on at other places—at Buremouth and Eastwold."
But Mr. Croucher shook his head obstinately.
"Not to the same extent, Challis," he insisted. "I am told that there are twenty thousand soldiers assembled within easy reach of Haddisport. That is not simple precaution. It is preparation—preparation for an armed resistance. And look at these stockades and redoubts, or whatever they call them—battlements—fortifications! Look at the loopholes for heavy guns, and the sandbags! I suppose the guns themselves are lying ready somewhere close at hand, with the shells to fire them with."