The parlourmaid presently brought in a sheet of typewritten paper, saying that it had been left at the door by a police sergeant. Mark Redisham took it from her and glanced at it. It was an order, issued by the Chief Constable of the county, under the Defence of the Realm Act.
"This ought to keep silly people along the front from showing lights from their windows," he announced. "Listen!"
"All lights visible from seaward shall be effectually obscured. No person shall show a light on the shore or on the land adjoining thereto, or visible from seaward.
"The public are hereby warned that non-compliance with this regulation will render them liable to instant arrest, and that patrols have been instructed to fire at sight and without further warning on any person found signalling."
"That's what should have been done weeks ago."
"Bright lights on motor-cars ought to be prohibited, too," pursued Vera.
"Yes," agreed Mark, "and all Germans ought to be shut up. If innocent Belgian refugees are not allowed to stay in Haddisport, why should we let Germans live in houses overlooking the coast? They ought to be cleared out instead of being given the chance of sending messages over to Germany. It's certain there are spies all along the East Coast. Otherwise, how could the enemy know so well about the movements of our warships?"
He picked up the ball of khaki wool which Vera had dropped.
"I believe they're only waiting their chance to slip across and do a bit of raiding," he went on. "The Admiralty seem to think it possible, anyhow. That's why they have altered the positions of the lightships and buoys. I expect they'll continue to shift them about, so that the enemy may be confused."
"Of course, motor-cars and bicycles, however brightly lighted, can't send messages across the North Sea," Vera reflected.
Mark shrugged his shoulders.