strode found himself
in London, drew a deep breath and capitulated.

THE SIXTH ADVENTURE

VI

IN WHICH HE DISCARDS A KNAVE AND SAVES A QUEEN

The morning he left for Westboro' Castle, Bulstrode remembers as being
the most beautiful of days; it came to him like a golden gift of
unrivalled loveliness as it broke and showered sunlight over England.

"The very crannies of the island," he smiled at his own conceit, "must
filter out this gold to the sea."

England lay like a viking's cup full to the brim of sunlight;
especially entrancing because unusual in the British calendar, and
enchanting to the American gentleman because it absolutely accorded
with his own mood.

It was middle November, and yet there was not--so it seemed as one
looked at yellow and copper luxuriance--a leaf lost from the suave
harmony of the trees. Farms, tiled and thatched, basked in summery
warmth, forest, hedge and copse, full-foliaged and abundant, shone out
in copper and bronze, and the air's stillness, the patient
tranquillity, enfolding the land, made it seem expectantly to wait for
some sudden wind that should ultimately cast devastation through the
forests.

On leaving his ship at Plymouth the day before, Bulstrode found amongst
other letters in his mail the Duke of Westboro's invitation for a
week's shooting in the west of England: "There were sure to be heaps of
people Jimmy would know"--and Bulstrode eagerly read the subjoined list
of names until he saw in a flash the name of the One Woman in the
World. He at once telegraphed his acceptance.

The following afternoon he threw his evening papers and overcoat into a
first-class carriage whilst the guard placed his valise and
dressing-case in the rack.

As there had been several minutes to starting time, he had not
immediately taken his seat, but had stood smoking by the side of his
carriage. He might, and did, doubtless, pass with others of the well
set-up, well-looking men travelling on that day, for an Englishman, but
closer observation showed his attire to be distinguished by that
personal note which marks the cosmopolitan whose taste has been more or
less tempted by certain fantasies of other countries. Bulstrode's
clothes were brown, his gloves, cravat, and boots all in the same color
scheme--one mentions a man's dress only on rare occasions, as on this
certain day one has been led to mention the weather. That a man is
perfectly turned out should, like the wea