CHAPTER XXI.
At about half-past ten that evening, Granet suddenly threw down his cue in the middle of a game of billiards, and stood, for a moment, in a listening attitude.
"Jove, I believe that's an airship!" he exclaimed, and hurried out of the room.
They all followed him.

He was standing just outside the French-windows of the sitting-room, upon the gravel walk, his head upturned, listening intently.

There was scarcely a breath of wind, no moon nor any stars.
Little clouds of grey mist hung about on the marshes, shutting out their view of the sea.

The stillness was more than usually intense.
"Can't hear a thing," young Anselman muttered at last.
"It may have been fancy," Granet admitted.
"A motor-cycle going along the Huntstanton Road," Major Harrison suggested.
"It's a magnificent night for a raid," Dickens remarked glancing around.
"No chance of Zepps over here, I should say," Collins declared, a little didactically.

"I was looking at your map at the golf club only this morning." They all made their way back to the house.