“Hugh,” she begged, passing her arm through his, “would you mind playing bridge?  The Mulliners are going on, and mother does miss her rubber so.  And we can talk afterwards, if you like,” she added.

Thomson glanced across the room to where Granet was chatting with some other guests.  Young Conyers for the moment was nowhere to be seen.

“I’ll play, with pleasure, Geraldine,” he assented, “but I want to have a word with Ralph first.”

“He’s at the telephone,” she said.  “The Admiralty rang up about something and he is talking to them.  I’ll tell him, if you like, when he comes up.”

“If you’ll do that,” Thomson promised, “I won’t keep him a minute.”

The little party settled down to their game—­Lady Conyers, Sir Charles Hankins,—­a celebrated lawyer,—­another man and Thomson.  Geraldine, with Olive Moreton and Captain Granet, found a sofa in a remote corner of the room and the trio were apparently talking nonsense with great success.  Presently Ralph reappeared and joined them.

“Hugh wants to speak to you,” Geraldine told him.

Ralph glanced at the little bridge-table and made a grimace.

“Hugh can wait,” he declared, as he passed his arm through Olive’s.  “This is my last night on shore for heaven knows how long and I am going to take Olive off to see my photographs of the Scorpion. Old Wilcock handed them to me out of his drawer this afternoon.”

The two young people disappeared.  Captain Granet and Geraldine remained upon the couch, talking in low voices.  Once Thomson, when he was dummy, crossed the room and approached them.  Their conversation was suddenly suspended.

“I told Ralph,” Geraldine said, looking up, “that you wanted to speak to him, but he and Olive have gone off somewhere.  By-the-bye, Hugh,” she went on curiously, “you didn’t tell me that you’d called on Captain Granet this evening.”

“Well, it wasn’t a matter of vital importance, was it?” he answered, smiling.  “My call, in any case, arose from an accident.”

“Major Thomson,” came a voice from the other side of the room, “it is your deal.”

Thomson returned obediently to the bridge-table.  The rubber was over a few minutes later and the little party broke up.  Thomson glanced around but the room was empty.

“I think, if I may,” he said, “I’ll go into the morning room and have a whisky and soda.  I dare say I’ll find the Admiral there.”

He took his leave of the others and made his way to the bachelor rooms at the back of the house.  He looked first into the little apartment which Geraldine claimed for her own, but found it empty.  He passed on into the smoking-room and found all four of the young people gathered around the table.  They were so absorbed that they did not even notice his entrance.  Ralph, with a sheet of paper stretched out before him and a pencil in his hand, was apparently sketching something.  By his side was Granet.  The two girls with arms interlocked, were watching intently.