The guard-tent had disappeared.

　　Private Jones' bewildered eye, rolling in a fine frenzy from heaven toearth, and from earth to heaven, in search of the missing edifice,found it at last in a tangled heap upon the ground. It was too dark tosee anything distinctly, but he perceived that the canvas was risingand falling spasmodically like a stage sea, and for a similarreason--because there were human beings imprisoned beneath it.

　　By this time the whole camp was up and doing. Figures in_deshabille_, dashing the last vestiges of sleep away with theirknuckles, trooped on to the scene in twos and threes, full of inquiryand trenchant sarcasm.

　　"What are you men playing at? What's all the row about? Can't youfinish that game of footer some other time, when we aren't trying toget to sleep? What on earth's up?"Then the voice of one having authority.

　　"What's the matter? What are you doing?"It was perfectly obvious what the guard was doing. It was trying toget out from underneath the fallen tent. Private Jones explained thiswith some warmth.

　　"Somebody jumped at me and sat on my head in the ditch. I couldn't getup. And then some blackguard cut the ropes of the guard-tent. Icouldn't see who it was. He cut off directly the tent went down."Private Jones further expressed a wish that he could find the chap.

　　When he did, there would, he hinted, be trouble in the old homestead.

　　The tent was beginning to disgorge its prisoners.

　　"Guard, turn out!" said a facetious voice from the darkness.

　　The camp was divided into two schools of thought. Those who werewatching the guard struggle out thought the episode funny. The guarddid not. It was pathetic to hear them on the subject of theirmysterious assailants. Matters quieted down rapidly after the tent hadbeen set up again. The spectators were driven back to their lines bytheir officers. The guard turned in again to try and restore theirshattered nerves with sleep until their time for sentry-go came round.

　　Private Jones picked up his rifle and resumed his beat. The affair wasat an end as far as that night was concerned.

　　Next morning, as might be expected, nothing else was talked about.

　　Conversation at breakfast was confined to the topic. No halfpennypaper, however many times its circulation might exceed that of anypenny morning paper, ever propounded so fascinating and puzzling abreakfast-table problem. It was the utter impossibility of detectingthe culprits that appealed to the schools. They had swooped down likehawks out of the night, and disappeared like eels into mud, leaving notraces.

　　Jimmy Silver, of course, had no doubts.

　　"It was those Kay's men," he said. "What does it matter aboutevidence? You've only got to look at 'em. That's all the evidence youwant. The only thing that makes it at all puzzling is that they didnothing worse. You'd naturally expect them to slay the sentry, at anyrate."But the rest of the camp, lacking that intimate knowledge of theKayite which he possessed, did not turn the eye of suspicion towardsthe Eckleton lines. The affair remained a mystery. Kennedy, who nevergave up a problem when everybody else did, continued to revolve themystery in his mind.

　　"I shouldn't wonder," he said to Silver, two days later, "if you wereright."Silver, who had not made any remark for the last five minutes, withthe exception of abusive comments on the toughness of the meat whichhe was trying to carve with a blunt knife for the tent, asked for anexplanation. "I mean about that row the other night.""What row?""That guard-tent business.""Oh, that! I'd forgotten. Why don't you move with the times? You'realways thinking of something that's been dead and buried for years.""You remember you said you thought it was those Kay's chaps who didit. I've been thinking it over, and I believe you're right. You see,it was probably somebody who'd been to camp before, or he wouldn'thave known that dodge of loosing the ropes.""I don't see why. Seems to me it's the sort of idea that might haveoccurred to anybody. You don't want to study the thing particularlydeeply to know that the best way of making a tent collapse is to loosethe ropes. Of course it was Kay's lot who did it. But I don't see howyou're going to have them simply because one or two of them have beenhere before.""No, I suppose not," said Kennedy.

　　After tea the other occupants of the tent went out of the lines toplay stump-cricket. Silver was in the middle of a story in one of themagazines, so did not accompany them. Kennedy cried off on the plea ofslackness.

　　"I say," he said, when they were alone.

　　"Hullo," said Silver, finishing his story, and putting down themagazine. "What do you say to going after those chaps? I thought thatstory was going to be a long one that would take half an hour to getthrough. But it collapsed. Like that guard-tent.""About that tent business," said Kennedy. "Of course that was all rotwhat I was saying just now. I suddenly remembered that I didn'tparticularly want anybody but you to hear what I was going to say, soI had to invent any rot that I could think of.""But now," said Jimmy Silver, sinking his voice to a melodramaticwhisper, "the villagers have left us to continue their revels on thegreen, our wicked uncle has gone to London, his sinister retainer,Jasper Murgleshaw, is washing his hands in the scullery sink,and--_we are alone!_""Don't be an ass," pleaded Kennedy.

　　"Tell me your dreadful tale. Conceal nothing. Spare me not. In fact,say on.""I've had a talk with the chap who was sentry that night," beganKennedy.

　　"Astounding revelations by our special correspondent," murmuredSilver.

　　"You might listen.""I _am_ listening. Why don't you begin? All this hesitationstrikes me as suspicious. Get on with your shady story.""You remember the sentry was upset--""Very upset.""Somebody collared him from behind, and upset him into the ditch. Theywent in together, and the other man sat on his head.""A touching picture. Proceed, friend.""They rolled about a bit, and this sentry chap swears he scratched theman. It was just after that that the man sat on his head. Jones sayshe was a big chap, strong and heavy.""He was in a position to judge, anyhow.""Of course, he didn't mean to scratch him. He was rather keen onhaving that understood. But his fingers came up against the fellow'scheek as he was falling. So you see we've only got to look for a manwith a scratch on his cheek. It was the right cheek, Jones was almostcertain. I don't see what you're laughing at.""I wish you wouldn't spring these good things of yours on mesuddenly," gurgled Jimmy Silver, rolling about the wooden floor of thetent. "You ought to give a chap some warning. Look here," he added,imperatively, "swear you'll take me with you when you go on your tourthrough camp examining everybody's right cheek to see if it's got ascratch on it."Kennedy began to feel the glow and pride of the successfulsleuth-hound leaking out of him. This aspect of the case had notoccurred to him. The fact that the sentry had scratched hisassailant's right cheek, added to the other indubitable fact thatWalton, of Kay's, was even now walking abroad with a scratch on hisright cheek, had seemed to him conclusive. He had forgotten that theremight be others. Still, it was worth while just to question him. Hequestioned him at Cove Reservoir next day.

　　"Hullo, Walton," he said, with a friendly carelessness which would nothave deceived a prattling infant, "nasty scratch you've got on yourcheek. How did you get it?""Perry did it when we were ragging a few days ago," replied Walton,eyeing him distrustfully.

　　"Oh," said Kennedy.

　　"Silly fool," said Walton.

　　"Talking about me?" inquired Kennedy politely.

　　"No," replied Walton, with the suavity of a Chesterfield, "Perry."They parted, Kennedy with the idea that Walton was his man still moredeeply rooted, Walton with an uncomfortable feeling that Kennedy knewtoo much, and that, though he had undoubtedly scored off him for themoment, a time (as Jimmy Silver was fond of observing with a sataniclaugh) would come, and then--!

　　He felt that it behoved him to be wary.