'We'd better get out of this,' he whispered.

'We're within a hundred yards of the German trenches and they are bringing searchlights up.' 'Who were you talking to just now ?' I asked, as we stole along.

'No one at all,' he answered.
I didn't take the thing seriously for the moment, although it seemed to me queer.

Afterwards I regretted, however, that I hadn't set myself to discover the meaning of what was apparently a deliberate lie.

The next time I met Granet was at a luncheon party at the Ritz, a few days ago.