“You do, Ronnie,” his uncle replied.  “The name of the village where Sir Meyville Worth lives is Market Burnham, which, as I think I told you, is within a few miles of Brancaster.  Geoffrey, at my instigation, has arranged a harmless little golf party to go to Brancaster the day after to-morrow.  You will accompany them.  In the meantime, Miss Worth, Sir Meyville Worth’s only daughter, is staying in London until Wednesday.  She is lunching with your aunt at the Ritz to-morrow.  I have made some other arrangements in connection with your visit to Norfolk, which will keep for the present.  I see that some strangers have entered the room.  Tell me exactly how you came by the wound in your foot?”

Granet turned a little around.  There was a queer change in his face as he looked back at his uncle.

“Do you know the man at that corner table?” he asked.

Sir Alfred glanced across the room.

“Very slightly.  I spoke to him an hour ago.  He thanked me for some ambulances.  He is the chief inspector of hospitals, I think—­Major Thomson, his name is.”

“Did you happen to say that I was dining with you?”

Sir Alfred reflected for a moment.

“I believe that I did mention it,” he admitted.  “Why?”

Granet struggled for a moment with an idea and rejected it.  He drained his glass and leaned across the table.

“He’s a dull enough person really,” he remarked, a little under his breath, “but I seem to be always running up against him.  Once or twice he’s given me rather a start.”

Sir Alfred smiled.  He called the wine steward and pointed to his nephew’s glass.

“The best thing in the world,” he observed drily, as he watched the wine being poured out, “for presentiments.”

CHAPTER XVII

Lady Anselman stood once more in the foyer of the Ritz Hotel and counted her guests.  It was a smaller party this time, and in its way a less distinguished one.  There were a couple of officers, friends of Granet’s, back from the Front on leave; Lady Conyers, with Geraldine and Olive; Granet himself; and a tall, dark girl with pallid complexion and brilliant eyes, who had come with Lady Anselman and who was standing now by her side.

“I suppose you know everybody, my dear?” Lady Anselman asked her genially.

The girl shook her head a little disconsolately.

“We are so little in London, Lady Anselman,” she murmured.  “You know how difficult father is, and just now he is worse than ever.  In fact, if he weren’t so hard at work I don’t believe he’d have let me come even now.”

“These scientific men,” Lady Anselman declared, “are great boons to the country, but as parent I am afraid they are just a little thoughtless.  Major Harrison and Colonel Grey, let me present you to my young charge—­for the day only, unfortunately—­Miss Worth.  Now, Ronnie, if you can be persuaded to let Miss Conyers have a moment’s peace perhaps you will show us the way in to lunch.”