CHAPTER XVIII.
Granet, a few days later, brought his car to a standstill in front of an ordinary five-barred gate upon which was painted in white letters "Market Burnham Hall." A slight grey mist was falling and the country inland was almost blotted from sight.

On the other side of the gate a sandy driver disappeared into an avenue of ragged and stunted elm trees, which effectually concealed any view of the house.
"Seems as though the girl were right," Granet muttered to himself.
"However, here goes." He backed his car close to the side of the hedge, and laying his hand upon the latch of the gate, prepared to swing it open.

Almost immediately a figure stepped out from the shrubs.
"Halt!" Granet looked with surprise at the khaki-clad figure.
"Your name and destination ?" the man demanded.
"Captain Granet of the Royal Fusiliers, home from the Front on leave," Granet replied.

"I was going up to the Hall to call on Miss Worth." "Stay where you are, if you please, sir," the man replied.
He stepped back into the sentry box and spoke through a telephone.

In a moment or two he reappeared.
"Pass on, please, sir," he said.
Granet walked slowly up the avenue, his hands behind him, a frown upon his forehead.