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 in the lower meadow; he was meeting Sandham and Evan, hurrying up the lane, not five minutes afterwards.

"Is it old Mulberry?" asked Jan, with absolute certainty that it was.

"What do you know about him?" cried Evan suspiciously.

Jan forced a conciliatory grin. "I thought everybody knew something about Mulberry," he said.

"But what makes you think of him the moment I mention Yardley Wood?"

"I saw him come out the other Sunday."

"I daresay. He hides there half the summer. But what's that got to do with me?"

"He waved to us by mistake, and the next thing was that we met you and Sandham coming up as we went down."

"So you put two and two together on the spot?"

"Well, more or less, between us."

"Oh, Carpenter, of course! He was with you, wasn't he?"

"Yes. But Chips wouldn't let out a word, any more than I would, Evan. Not," added Jan, "that there's anything to let out in what you've told me as yet. . . Is there, Evan?" The opportunity afforded by a pointed pause had not been taken. "You may as well tell me now you've got so far—but don't you if you've thought better of it." There again was the studious delicacy that was growing on Jan, that had always been in his blood.

Evan flung up his head once more.

"I'll tell you, of course. I came to tell you. It's nothing awful after all. There's no harm in it, really; only you can do things at home, quite openly, with your people, that become a crime if you do them here." "That's true enough," said Jan, who still smoked his