"I hope nothing has happened to your wife," said Mrs. J. anxiously. "Or her mother," added Jones rather cynically.
The man at the door was certainly a policeman, and an elderly one, and had probably been recalled from pension when the War broke out.
"Good evening, Sir," he said, staring hard at me. "Are you Mr. Brown"—I nodded—"of Myrtle Villa, next door"—he eyed me suspiciously—"No. 17?"
"Yes, yes," I said impatiently; "what of it?"
"I must ask you for your name and address, Sir," pulling out his note-book, "for showing a strong light at the back of the 'ouse at 8 P.M."
"That's all nonsense," I answered impatiently; "the house is empty."
"Excuse me, Sir, I saw it myself from the road at the back and came straight round," said he with his notebook ready.
"But it can't be," I said, getting annoyed.
At this moment a Special came running down the path. "They're coming," he panted.
"Who are?" I asked. "No one's been invited but myself."