He turned sharply towards it, keeping his torch as much concealed as possible.

It was empty--a small coupe of pearl-grey--a powerful two-seater, with deep, cushioned seats and luxuriously fitted body.

He flashed his torch on to the maker's name and returned thoughtfully to his friend.
"Miles," he confessed, as he entered the sitting room, "there are some things I will never make fun of again.

Have you a personal enemy here ?" "Not one," replied Furley.

"The soldiers, who are all decent fellows, the old farmer at the back, and your father and mother are the only people with whom I have the slightest acquaintance in these parts." "The bridge has been deliberately sawn through," Julian announced gravely.
Furley nodded.