back.

The night-porter escorted him to the hall, and opened the great door
for him. In the portico he bade the honest man good night, and stood
for a moment, mapping out in his mind his way to "The Swan with Two
Necks." He shivered slightly, after his nap, in the chill of the
approaching dawn.

As the door closed behind him he was aware of a light shining, out
beyond the screen of the fore-court, and again a horse blew through
its nostrils on the raw air.

"Lord!" thought the Lieutenant. "That fool of a post-boy cannot have
mistaken me and waited all this time!"

He hurried out into Whitehall. Sure enough a chaise was drawn up
there, and a post-boy stood by the near lamp, conning a scrap of
paper by the light of it. No, it was a different chaise, and a
different post-boy. He wore the buff and black, whereas the other
had worn the blue and white. Yet he stepped forward confidently, and
with something of a smile.

"Lieutenant Lapenotiere?" he asked, reaching back and holding up his
paper to the lamp to make sure of the syllables.

"That is my name," said the amazed Lieutenant.

"I was ordered here--five-forty-five--to drive you down to Merton."

"To Merton?" echoed Lieutenant Lapenotiere, his hand going to his
pocket. The post-boy's smile, or so much as could be seen of it by
the edge of the lamp, grew more knowing.

"I ask no questions, sir."

"But--but who ordered you?"

The post-boy did not observe, or disregarded, his bewilderment.

"A Briton's a Briton, sir, I hope? I ask no questions, knowing my
place. . . . But if so be as you were to tell me there's been a great
victory--" He paused on this.

"Well, my man, you're right so far, and no harm in telling you."

"Aye," chirruped the post-boy. "When the maid called me up with the
order, and said as how _he_ and no other had called with it--"

"He?"

The fellow nodded.

"She knew him at once, from his portraits. Who wouldn't? With his
right sleeve pinned across so. . . . And, said I, 'Then there's been
a real victory. Never would you see him back, unless. And I was
right, sir!' he concluded triumphantly.

"Let me see that piece of paper."

"You'll let me have it back, sir?--for a memento," the post-boy
pleaded. Lieutenant Lapenotiere took it from him--a plain half-sheet
of note-paper roughly folded. On it was scribbled in pencil,
back-hand wise, "Lt. Lapenotiere. Admiralty, Whitehall. At 6.30
a.m., not later. For Merton, Sur