# Lord Stranleigh, Philanthropist/Chapter 6

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CHAPTER VI.
LORD STRANLEIGH ON GUARD
"I'm going to take the rest-cure," announced Stranleigh. "This 'back to the land' theory is all very well so long as you don't practise it."
"Do you regret, then, your experiment with the phalanstery?" said Blake. "It did cost a lot of money."
"Oh, money!" cried Stranleigh, with a grimace. "I've just had a report this morning from my man of business in London that has quite discouraged me."
The secretary looked up, an expression of disquiet on his face. The financial affairs of his lordship were completely out of Mr. Blake's range, but he knew that Stranleigh had been spending the coin in a most lavish manner, and this sort of thing could not be continued indefinitely without disaster. Blake's position was a most lucrative one, and he ​did not wish to see it jeopardised. A few years more in Stranleigh's employ, and his invested accumulations would make him independent so far as income was concerned; therefore he fervently hoped his young master would moderate his excessive expenditure.
"A gloomy report?" he asked anxiously.
"Well, that depends on the point of view. For some time now I have been trying, as you know, to ameliorate in a measure a few of the evils by which we are surrounded. I rather posed, before myself of course, not in public, as being a self-sacrificing man. Now it appears from this report received to-day that, despite all my efforts, my income has increased by a quarter of a million."
"Oh," replied Blake, his brow clearing, "that's the state of things, is it? I daresay most people would wish they had no greater cause of worry. Then, so far as self-sacrifice is concerned, you did stick to the digging of the earth for nearly two months in the spring, when I'm sure you didn't like it."
"Of course I didn't. I became impressed with the futility of labour, and instead of experiencing that sense of exaltation which writers tell us follows honest toil, I merely knew myself to be a fool. All ​that I could produce from an acre of ground in a year would amount to very little, therefore my industry was folly. There was not even left to me the joy of slumber, for although I am considered something of an athlete, practical horticulture made my bones ache so much that I could not sleep at night. What's that poem about sheep and the rich man, and sleep and the poor man?"
"I'm sure I don't know," replied Blake.
"Why don't you know? You're my private secretary, and it's the business of a private secretary to know ever so much more than his employer. A private secretary should let his gifts so shine before men through his chief, that the public overestimate the qualities of that chief. I know at least a score of incompetents, especially in Parliament, ignorant asses, who are winning the plaudits of the populace, simply because each has a brilliant private secretary, yet here I want an insignificant little untruthful verse, and you can't give it to me."
"How does it go? I'll look it up in the book of quotations."
"Oh, blow your book of quotations! If I remembered how it went, I shouldn't need any assistance. It's something like this:—
"'Whence cometh sheep
 To the rich man's door,
 Whence cometh sleep
 To the bed that's poor.'
My bed was poor enough during our gardening spasm, but very little sleep came to it."
"I never heard the verse," said Blake, "and I don't see much coherency in it. I know the doors of some rich men, but the sheep don't gather there—at least, not in London. The police keep these ferocious animals away."
"Quite so, Blake, quite so. The point is, however, that I am becoming seriously alarmed about my mental condition. I called myself a fool a few minutes ago, and I'm prepared to prove that statement."
"No necessity," replied Blake glibly.
Stranleigh laughed.
"You're willing to take my word for it?"
"Perfectly."
"But I can furnish evidence that most other people are fools, too."
"Carlyle said that years ago."
"Look here, Blake, although I complain of your lack of knowledge, you mustn't infer that I want too much information. Some of your remarks are ​singularly inopportune, and you should remember that when a man complains of his own mental equipment, he always does so to a person undoubtedly his intellectual inferior."
"I thought you said a while ago that most men owe their brilliancy to private secretaries?"
"Every rule has its exceptions, Blake. Let us prove exceptional. The point I am endeavouring to make is this: I have tried to carry out some of my own ideas, and one or two of other people's. Failure in both cases. When I advertised for an idea, and was willing to pay for it, the response was overwhelming. Have you had time to examine any more of the letters?"
"I have looked through them all."
"Industrious man. How many good ideas did you get?"
"Two. Three at most."
"A modern rendition of the needle in the haystack. What was the idea that most commended itself to you?"
"That your lordship should go to prison for the good of the country."
"Well, Blake, aware as you must be that I do everything by deputy, I can't see why you're so cheerful about the proposal. However, though I ​admit a taste of jail would probably do my private secretary good, I nevertheless fail to see what benefit could accrue to the country, which would thus be compelled to support him."
"The writer, who hails from Plymouth, points out with some show of reason that no scheme of philanthropy is of any avail while England lies open to conquest by the foreigner. The question which, according to him, dwarfs all other problems, is national defence. He refers to the ease with which England can be invaded, and cites William the Norman, the Duke of Monmouth, and William, Prince of Orange."
"Yes; but the Duke of Monmouth got his head taken off for landing at Lyme Regis."
"Certainly; yet the other two captured the country, and so far as invasion is concerned, the Duke was successful. He failed through having no competent general, when once he got inland. The unmilitary Duke lost his head first at the Battle of Sedgemoor, and secondly, on Tower Hill. Your correspondent suggests that you charter a foreign ship and land either at Salcombe or Lyme Regis, then march your men inland until you are surrounded and captured. The foreigners would likely be dismissed, while you would be sent to penal servitude. This ​would arouse the country in two directions; first, regarding the ease with which you landed your men, and secondly, through sympathy with you, whose intention had been to awake the people to their danger. There would be agitation for your release, and the whole question of coastal defence would be ventilated thoroughly."
"Excellent, excellent! I will finance the expedition, and you, Blake, shall lead it. The glory of martyrdom shall be yours."
"I'm so capable a private secretary that I could not think of depriving your lordship of my services."
"True, Blake, true. Besides, we are both going in for the rest-cure."
"Nothing better for that than one of his Majesty's prisons, my lord."
"I never contradict a man of experience, Blake. Send the writer of this letter fifty pounds for it; tell him it will be thought over, and if adopted, an additional four hundred and fifty forwarded. We are now heading for the simple life, and freedom from brain work. How long will it take you to pack up?"
"Oh, half an hour."
"All right! Tell the chauffeur to have the car round in that time, with petrol enough to run us ​a couple of hundred miles, although to-day we shall go but fifty or thereabouts."
The spot where this conversation took place was Stranleigh's estate in Dorsetshire. The party of three ran to Exeter, where they enjoyed their midday meal, then along the excellent south-west high road to Ashburton, and south-east to lovely Totnes, next south-west again to Kingsbridge, celebrated for white beer and the peppery Peter Pindar. From this point Salcombe Estuary was skirted, until the road turned directly eastward. At Chillington the car deflected straight south over a somewhat inferior road to Chivelstone, next east through South Allington, and finally southward, past a water-mill, through a deep valley, and along a lane by the stream, so rough that the automobile made very slow and difficult progress. The hills on either side were densely wooded. It seemed as if the motorists had come to the end of all things, and indeed, they were at the end of England, approaching its most southerly point excepting only the Lizard and Land's End.
At last the valley widened, and there broke gloriously upon the tourists a view of the blue sea, with a wild, rocky headland jutting into it to the east. Here Blake sprang out to open an ​obstructing gate, and the chauffeur drove his machine through, the wheels sinking deep into the sand. Stranleigh stepped out of the car to stretch his limbs. Blake, closing the gate, came alongside, looking doubtfully at the automobile.
"I hope," said Blake, "you can get it out of here."
"Can you turn round, Henri?" asked Stranleigh.
"Of a surety, my lord," replied the confident Frenchman.
"Then I think you'd better drive back through the gateway again, where you will be on firm ground at least."
While Henri accomplished this, Stranleigh and Blake walked across the cove towards a mill-house that stood beside the stream, and from this building several children peered out at the wonderful machine, the like of which they had probably never seen before. Opposite the cottage, by the very edge of the sea, stood the ruins of a stone structure, roofless, its walls concealed by a luxurious growth of vegetation.
"That," said Stranleigh, "is the remains of Lannacombe Mill, and, curiously enough, it is in a way an object-lesson on the theme of our correspondent who would put me in prison. During our last war with France a privateer sent a boatload of men into this cove. They took from the miller ​everything they could lay their hands on, even to the bed on which his wife and her new-born child lay. I often wonder if that little Englishman, when he grew up, wished for another war so that he might revenge the cowardly attack on his parents. The robbery took place as night was falling, and it happened that at the moment the miller held in a bag his year's earnings, represented by good British gold. He ran upstairs and flung the bag out into the dusk, hoping it would thus escape the searchers, who, however, were not easily baffled. They took the miller's lantern and searched outside for anything that could be found, and next morning the privateer was gone.
"The miller was up at daybreak, and became more and more despondent as he failed to find the bag. When called in to breakfast he raised his hands and his eyes toward heaven, deploring his ruin, and then, in the notch of a large tree adjacent to the mill-house, he saw the leathern bag, which had never fallen to the ground at all, and had been tied so well that not a coin escaped."
The two slowly climbed the very steep hill.
"Where have we got to?" gasped Blake, rather out of breath.
"I told you. Lannacombe Mill."
​"Yes; but what part of the Devonshire coast?"
"Just round the corner to the east is the Start, and when we get up a little higher, I'll show you Prawle Point to the west."
When they reached the top, both paused before the striking scene presented to them of the iron coast, where acres of black jagged rocks extended from the steep cliffs far out into the sea, like the lower jaw of a gigantic alligator. Stranleigh said the scene was sublime; Blake called it horrible.
A naval-looking man strolled up with a telescope under his arm, and overhearing the last remark, chimed in:
"You may well say that, sir, but you should see it in a south-west gale, with the waves rolling in torn to pieces on them rocks."
"A ship wouldn't have much chance," said Blake, "once she touched the reef."
No chance at all, sir. It's a terrible coast. On a March night, in '91, the London steamer Marana, went ashore, and twenty-five hands lost, and an hour later the barque Dryad, of Liverpool, all hands lost, twenty-one of them, and next morning not a plank or a spar of either vessel to be found. Fifty-two lives lost that night; men and boats ground to bits on them rocks."
​"Cheerful place," muttered Blake, and Stranleigh, turning to the man, changed the subject.
"Where's Morgan?"
"Morgan, sir?"
"Yes; head of this coastguard station."
The young man waved his hand towards a row of two-storeyed houses that seemed brand new, and ridiculously out of place, as if they had been taken from a street on the outskirts of London. These incongruous-looking suburban villas were situated in the midst of a most trimly-kept piece of level ground, part lawn and part garden. In front of them rose the white-painted flagpole, with its cross-spar set at an angle of forty-five, thin rope slightly flapping, but no flag flying.
"Oh, sir, this be'ant a coastguard; leastways, it's abandoned."
"Abandoned? What do you mean?"
"Why, sir, I means just what I say. This was a coastguard station once, but the men are all ordered away, and won't be here no more. I'm only the caretaker until the place is sold."
"Oh, it's to be sold, is it?" cried Stranleigh in amazement. "Why, these houses seem new."
"They are, sir. Not a year old, I daresay, but ​you can buy them now for a good deal less than they cost; ground and all, sir, freehold."
"Really! That is very interesting, but I did not come as a purchaser. In the past I have spent many restful days on this eagle's nest, Morgan kindly providing me with board and lodging. He was not certain he had the legal right to take boarders, but I persuaded him to risk it. Can I do the same with you?"
The caretaker shook his head, and with visible reluctance declined the offer.
"That's impossible, sir. All the houses are empty except one, and in that there is only a shake-down for myself, and an oil stove where I cook what vittles I need. It's a mighty lonesome place here, and I shall be glad to get back to town again."
Stranleigh glanced at the sun, low down in the west.
"In that case, Blake, we'll have to be off as quick as possible. I hope the motor won't break down before we get out of the wilderness. I'm very much obliged for your information, caretaker, and if this bit of gold will mitigate the loneliness, you are more than welcome to it."
The guardian was profuse in his thanks for the unexpected size of the tip, because even small ​donations were scarce in that locality. The two descended the hill past the ruins, over the stream and through the gate, where Henri patiently awaited them.
"Make for Kingsbridge," said his master, "over the same roads by which you came. Drive carefully out of this valley, and when you reach the highway, forget that there's a speed limit. I want to be in Kingsbridge before dark."
They negotiated the rough lane beside the stream with success, and completed the run to Kingsbridge in the fastest time on record, but without molestation. The elasticity of the law is wonderful when you get more than two hundred miles west of London. Very soon after their arrival in Kingsbridge, Stranleigh and Blake sat down to an excellent dinner at the "King's Arms," an ancient hostelry that had begun existence as a Church House, entered an era of prosperity as a coaching inn, and now was modernised to meet the motor traffic. Stranleigh had been silent since leaving the lonely coastguard station. Ordering a tankard of white beer as an experiment, he said to Blake:
"This meal doubtless excels the cuisine of our friend the caretaker."
"Did you really intend to stop on that horrible headland?"
​"Certainly, if Morgan had been there."
"Why, a person would go melancholy mad in a week!"
"Oh, there's more going on than you think! You see, it is nearly the southernmost point of England, and the shipping of the world passes it. Every now and then you may witness a flotilla of torpedo-boat destroyers, one black boat following another round the Start, making for Plymouth. Then there are real battleships and cruisers, and nearly every day huge passenger boats, American liners, all the German leviathans, and the monsters of the White Star Line. Brilliantly lighted up at night, these marine giants always remind me of Kipling's simile: 'Like a grand hotel.' Even on a calm day the sea is perpetually quarrelling with the pointed rocks, the most admirable object-lesson of persistence I know, and in a storm, when it comes to blows, it is the most majestic sight I have ever seen."
Blake made a grimace, and shuddered.
"That little spit of sand down by the mill is the finest possible early morning bathing-place," continued Stranleigh, "with the exciting advantage of strong currents. I am never sure, when I plunge in there, but that I may be compelled to land at ​Dartmouth or Torquay. I wish I could take a header there to-morrow morning."
"You have abandoned the idea of the coastguard station, then?"
"Abandoned it? Not likely, with the example of that incessant marine battle before me. No; to-morrow will be your busy day. I have already discovered that there is a train for London at eight o'clock in the morning, with a restaurant-car. It will land you at Paddington at one-thirty, just after you have consumed an excellent Great Western lunch. You will take a taxi to the office of Berkim and Duncannon, Old Jewry. Ask them to get in touch with the Government, and buy for me the freehold of Lannacombe coastguard station, getting the deal through as quickly as possible.
"Then take train to Southampton, and call on the captain of my yacht, which you will order him to transform into a cargo steamer. Find the best house-fitting emporium in the town, and purchase an equipment complete for five bedrooms, two drawing-rooms, and a kitchen. Put all this on the yacht, telling the captain to land the goods at Lannacombe Bay, if the weather is fine; if not, to push on to Salcombe Harbour and await further orders. You may then return to London."
​"One moment, Lord Stranleigh. Before going further, allow me to become accustomed to the amateurish idiocy of your proposal."
"Which part of it? The coastguard station, or the furnishing thereof?"
"The furniture proposition. Of course, the buying of the coastguard station merely means that you will spend good money to acquire property that you can't give away. The English may be mostly fools, as you remarked this morning, but they are not so imbecile as to buy several suburban villas on an inaccessible rock."
"I don't intend to sell again," said Stranleigh, with great good nature, "but I am evolving a plan to dispose of this desirable marine property to the Government that now heedlessly parts with it. Your main objection I take to be the acquiring of furniture, yet much as I love the simple life, I can't reside in empty houses."
"Certainly not; but you purpose making a freighter of your beautiful yacht, and will knock more paint and varnish off the craft and break more of her fittings, than the whole thing is worth. Even imagine that done, there may not be another day this year when you can land the stuff at Lannacombe Cove."
​"All right, Blake. What do you propose?"
"I propose a little spasm of sanity for a change. I suggest that you telegraph your instructions to the solicitors, thus saving the whole forenoon to-morrow, besides encouraging the telegraph people. Then select what furniture you need right here in Kingsbridge. The seller will gladly cart it over to Lannacombe, and his men would carry it up the hill, placing it in the particular houses you choose. You thus assist local trade, always a popular thing to do, and the shopkeeper will be most anxious to please you. Doubtless your yacht will be saved from shipwreck, and I shall escape an unnecessary journey to London."
"Why, I thought you were tired of this place? Nothing doing, according to you."
"I'm not tired of Kingsbridge and Salcombe. The tired feeling comes upon me among those rocks. Still, if you furnish a villa or two, and engage a cook who will equal the range I buy, I'm content to spend the whole summer at Lannacombe."
"Right you are, Blake. I think of Minerva whenever you begin to discourse."
"I've another suggestion to make. Telegraph to the captain of your yacht commanding him to bring her round to Salcorabe Harbour, and not to ​leave behind your most delectable chef. He may steam right up to Kingsbridge if you don't mind your yacht being left high and dry when the tide goes out. We might live on the yacht until a telegram comes from your solicitors saying that the deal with the Government is completed. Then the furniture can go at once to Lannacombe."
"Very well, make it so, as the captain says," agreed Stranleigh, rising and yawning. "I've had so much fresh air to-day on the motor, and so much salt air at Lannacombe, that I'm sleepy. I will show you an example of early rising to-morrow morning by deputy. You are appointed. I shall expect the telegrams sent and the furniture chosen before I breakfast, and, by the way, make arrangements for the telephone to be left at the coastguard station. Good-night."
Kingsbridge seems to be so called because no king ever entered it, and there is no river and no bridge within its boundaries. Next day Stranleigh strolled round the quaint old place, keeping a wary eye out for Blake, whom he avoided with much ingenuity, for he knew that his secretary wished to consult him further about the furniture, and Stranleigh didn't want to be bothered. In one of these sudden side-trackings to circumvent the ​energetic Blake, Stranleigh entered the yard of the fine old church, and was arrested by an epitaph, which he wrote down in his note-book, wondering whether the poet of the town, Peter Pindar, composed it:
"Here lie I at the chancel door;
Here lie I because I'm poor;
The farther in, the more you'll pay;
Here lie I as warm as they."
"This chap seems to have been contented with his lot. I wonder what, besides getting into the church, he would have done with his money if he had it. We millionaires are a sorry, unimaginative crew. Now, if Gilbert Chesterton, or H. G. Wells, or George Bernard Shaw had several millions each, they would certainly do something original. The American millionaire gives money to found a university, of which there are too many already. The English millionaire leaves his cash to hospitals. Now and then a rich man tries to get out of the rut, but without conspicuous success. Carnegie, the man of iron, representing strength, gives New York a library; Tate, the sugar-maker, representing sweetness, gives London a picture gallery. Out of the strong came forth sweetness, said Samson. ​I was going to apply that text somehow to the ingots of steel and cubes of sugar, but my brain is quite evidently becoming numb. Civilisation is undoing me. I hope it will harden when it confronts realities among the rocks of Lannacombe."
Several days later a telegram came from the London solicitors, announcing to Stranleigh that he now possessed the coveted coastguard station. Once they were installed at Lannacombe, Stranleigh said to Blake:
"Do you know why I brought you here?"
"Yes," replied Blake, gloomily, "to undergo the rest-cure."
"Well, not exactly. I desired you, rather, to witness the effects of the rest-cure upon me. Bitterly will you regret your scoffing at the indolence I proposed for both of us. Now your busy days begin. Is the typewriter in good working order?"
"Excellent."
"You brought with you all the supplies necessary for that diabolical machine?"
"Everything."
"Very good. Now, I wish a history written of all my doings from the time I landed upon this rock until the day I leave."
"I can do that with a lead pencil, and in five ​minutes each day; that is, if I have to record your bodily exertions and your brilliant remarks. Nothing can happen at this fag-end of creation."
Stranleigh went on calmly, unheeding all innuendo:
"Every letter I dictate must be done in duplicate, so that I may possess exact impressions of all my correspondence. This eyrie is going to be the busiest spot in the Empire, and for the next two or three months much more important than London."
"Important to whom, my lord?"
"Never mind; yours not to make reply, yours not to reason why, yours but to do your noble six hundred words every fifteen minutes on that machine. Now, Blake, your first letter will be a telegram, and your first telegram a 'phone call. Get into communication with whatever telegraph office or telephone wire connects, and send the solicitors a message to this effect. Thank them for their promptness in buying Lannacombe. Inform them how to communicate with me by telegraph or telephone. Ask them to discover how many coastguard stations are for sale. Instruct them to purchase for me all that are in the market. If any have been sold already to private persons the solicitors must get in touch with those private owners, and either buy or rent for the summer the said coastguard stations."
​"Great heavens!" ejaculated Blake, "that's what I call a large order. Shall I ask them to make a bid for the rest of the island?"
"Now, what I want from you, Blake, is prompt action, and not attempted sarcasm. Send that message over the wire, and return for further instructions."
When Blake came back, Stranleigh said:
"Now take this down in shorthand as accurately as possible, type it out, then read it to me. I'll merely suggest what I want, and leave the details entirely to your carrying-out. It is rather a particular piece of work, and I am anxious there should be no publicity and no bungling. I wish to engage for the summer two hundred men at a price just a little more than the current wage of such men in their respective localities. All their expenses shall be paid, and they shall enjoy free board and lodging while in my service.
"These men must possess naval or military training; none is to be over fifty years of age; all must speak English intelligently, and if acquainted with England and its manners and customs, so much the better. Fifty of these men are to be selected in Hamburg, subjects of the German Emperor; fifty are to come from Amsterdam, ​citizens of Holland; fifty from Antwerp, true Belgians; fifty from Dunkirk, Cherbourg, or any of the ports between these two, citizens of France. The pay of these men shall begin immediately, and they are to hold themselves at my disposal in or near the ports from which they are selected, so that when I call for them at any time with my yacht, they will be ready to embark within an hour of receiving notice.
"Meanwhile, purchase and have delivered here military tents, sufficient for the shelter of two hundred men, in accordance with military rule. Having no idea myself how many men a commander puts in a tent, you will acquire this information. The tents are to be packed in one of the empty houses. Secure also cooking equipment for such a military camp. During the intervals learn from headquarters what are the duties of a coastguard man."
As Stranleigh became silent, Blake looked up, a quizzical smile on his face.
"Is that all?" he asked.
"All for the present, Mr. Blake. There is, of course, much more to follow."
"Yes; I see dimly ahead many things that may follow."
"I daresay you do. Have you any comments to offer?"
​"Merely a suggestion, Lord Stranleigh. You choose an inconvenient spot upon the coast. It would have been better to select the coastguard station on Portland Bill, if there is one at that point."
"Why?"
"Because it is so much more handy for Portland Prison, where aristocratic contraveners of the law are placed in retirement."
Stranleigh laughed.
"Oh, you see breakers ahead, do you?"
"Yes; law breakers."
Again Stranleigh laughed.
"Coming from you, Blake, that isn't so bad. Still, there is nothing illegal in the task assigned to you. If it comes to the worst you can always prove stupidity on your part, and claim that you didn't fathom the nefariousness of my designs. Should any contravention of the statutes ensue, I'll take full command and full responsibility."
Within a few weeks Stranleigh found himself the owner of nearly a hundred coastguard stations. Leaving Blake in charge of Lannacombe, the young nobleman departed aboard his yacht. Some ten days previously the tents had been erected, partly to learn whether they would stand the heavy winds frequenting that section of the coast, even in summer, ​and partly to discover whether any enquiry would be made regarding them, but so far the white village attracted no attention. Stranleigh picked up his men at Hamburg, Amsterdam, Antwerp and Cherbourg, and steamed leisurely across the Channel, favoured in his design by a peaceful summer calm.
Guided by the Start light, the yacht cast anchor off Lannacombe Cove, a manœuvre which the captain had tried several times from his base in Salcombe Harbour. The men landed without mishap or molestation, and were conducted to their tents, while the yacht stood out to sea, and entered the Salcombe Estuary in daylight.
The invaders, amply provided with money, were sent to their various coastguard stations in batches of about half a dozen, marching to different railway stations, thus to attract as little attention as possible. Week by week their reports came in, written in French, German or Dutch. On an average there were three men of the same nationality at each station, and they had all been warned that continuous pay and avoidance of trouble lay in keeping their mouths shut. Being naval and military men, well disciplined, this injunction was strictly obeyed.
At the end of a couple of months, Stranleigh gave them all leave of absence on full pay, they to ​make their way home by Southampton and Harwich, each to report in his own handwriting when he arrived. Once they were safely out of the way, the following letter to the British Government was dictated by Stranleigh, who said to Blake, with a smile, before he began:—
"You have never appreciated my craftiness in selecting Germans, Dutchmen, Belgians and Frenchmen for this enterprise. If the Government intends to make a fuss it may find itself involved in an international complication. Now, take this down carefully:—
"Earl Stranleigh of Wychwood begs to inform His Majesty's Government that early in the summer he purchased from it such abandoned coastguard stations as the Government wished to dispose of. For two months these stations have been occupied by Germans, Dutchmen, Belgians, and Frenchmen, whose reports, in their various languages. Earl Stranleigh encloses for the information of the authorities. The men sailed from various Continental ports in Earl Stranleigh's yacht, and were landed without hindrance upon the coast of England. They were all naval and military men, and two hundred of them lived for a week under military discipline in a camp of tents, on British soil. They ​travelled through England to their various stations, and have now returned to their respective homes by the ordinary routes. So far as Lord Stranleigh is aware, no enquiry has been made, and no questions asked.
"(Signed) Stranleigh of Wychwood."
Two weeks passed without any answer to this letter, then arrived a long blue envelope, decorated by the capital letters "O.H.M.S." Stranleigh tore it open, and read:—
"Earl Stranleigh of Wychwood:—
"My Lord,
"The Right Honourable the Secretary of State for the Blue desires me to thank your lordship for the communication sent to him.
"Yours, John Hobson, Secretary."
"Pigeon-holed, by jingo!" ejaculated Stranleigh, throwing down the paper for Blake's inspection.
Blake read, and laughed.
"Good old British Government! The villain is foiled again."
"But the villain still pursues her!" cried his lordship. "I shall now qualify for prison with an effectiveness that cannot be ignored."