“A graduate of Magdalen, my brother’s intimate friend, and a frequent visitor at my father’s house in Cheshire,” Philippa observed, with faint sarcasm.

“The possibility of your having made a mistake, Lady Cranston,” Captain Griffiths rejoined, “has, I must confess, only just occurred to me.  The authorities at Magdalen College have been appealed to, and no one of the name of Lessingham was there during any one of your brother’s terms.”

Philippa took the blow well.  She simply stared at her caller in a noncomprehending manner.

“We have also information,” he continued gravely, “from Wood Norton Hall—­from your mother, in fact, Lady Cranston—­that no college friend of your brother, of that name, has ever visited Wood Norton.”

“Go on,” Philippa begged, a little faintly.  “Did I ever live there myself?  Was Richard ever at Magdalen?”

Captain Griffiths proceeded with the air of a man who has a task to finish and intends to do so, regardless of interruptions.

“I have had some conversation with Mr. Lessingham, in the course of which I asked him to explain his method of reaching here, and his last habitation.  He simply fenced with me in the most barefaced fashion.  He practically declined to give me any account of himself.”

Philippa rose and rang the bell.

“I suppose I must give you some tea,” she said, “although you seem to have come here on purpose to make my head ache.”

“My object in coming here,” Captain Griffiths rejoined, a little stiffly, “is to save you some measure of personal annoyance.”

“Oh, please don’t think that I am ungrateful,” Philippa begged.  “Of course, it is all some absurd mistake, and I’m sure we shall get to the bottom of it presently—­Tell me what you think of the storm?” she added, as Mills entered with the tea tray.  “Do you think it will get any worse, because I am terrified to death already?”

“I am no judge of the weather here,” he confessed.  “I believe the fishermen are preparing for something unusual.”

She seated herself before the tea tray and insisted upon performing her duties as hostess.  Afterwards she laid her hand upon his arm and addressed him with an air of complete candour.

“Now, Captain Griffiths,” she began, “do listen to me.  Just one moment of common sense, if you please.  What do you suppose there could possibly be in our harmless seaside village to induce any one to risk his life by coming here on behalf of the Secret Service of Germany?”

“Dreymarsh,” Captain Griffiths replied, “was not made a prohibited area for nothing.”

“But, my dear man, be reasonable,” Philippa persisted.  “There are perhaps a thousand soldiers in the place, the usual preparations along the cliff for coast defence, a small battery of anti-aircraft guns, and a couple of searchlights.  There isn’t a grocer’s boy in the place who doesn’t know all this.  There’s no concealment about it.  You must admit that Germany doesn’t need to send over a Secret Service agent to acquaint herself with these insignificant facts.”