It
feels too comfortable for anything else."
The Commandant took the hat to a lamp and examined it carefully.
He drew out the lining and looked all the way round. Suddenly he
gave vent to a little exclamation.
"Here are the owner's initials," he declared, "rather faint but
still distinguishable,--B. M. Hm! There's no doubt about its
being a German hat."
"B. M.," Sir Henry muttered, looking over his shoulder. "How very
interesting! B. M.," he repeated, turning to Philippa, who had
recommenced her knitting. "Is it my fancy, or is there something
a little familiar about that?"
"I am sure that I have no idea," Philippa replied. "It conveys
nothing to me."
There was a brief but apparently pointless silence. Philippa's
needles flashed through her wool with easy regularity. Lessingham
appeared to be sharing the mild curiosity which the others showed
concerning the hat. Sir Henry was standing with knitted brows, in
the obvious attitude of a man seeking to remember something.
"B. M.," he murmured softly to himself. "There was some one I've
known or heard of in England--What's that, Mills?"
"Your dinner is served, sir," Mills, who had made a silent entrance,
announced.
Sir Henry apparently thought no more of the hat or its possible
owner. He threw it upon a neighbouring table, and his face expressed
a new interest in life.
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