man, dressed in civilian black, with knee-breeches. "Lapenotiere--of
the _Pickle_ schooner."

"Yes, yes--the porter bungled your name badly, but I guessed.
Lord Barham will see you personally. He is, in fact, dressing with
all haste at this moment. . . . I am his private secretary,"
explained the shrewd-looking gentleman in his quiet, business-like
voice. "Will you come with me upstairs?"

Lieutenant Lapenotiere followed him. At the foot of the great
staircase the Secretary turned.

"I may take it, sir, that we are not lightly disturbing his
Lordship--who is an old man."

"The news is of great moment, sir. Greater could scarcely be."

The Secretary bent his head. As they went up the staircase
Lieutenant Lapenotiere looked back and caught sight of the
night-porter in the middle of the hall, planted there and gazing up,
following their ascent.

On the first-floor landing they were met by a truly ridiculous
spectacle. There emerged from a doorway on the left of the wide
corridor an old gentleman clad in night-cap, night-shirt and bedroom
slippers, buttoning his breeches and cursing vigorously; while close
upon him followed a valet with dressing-gown on one arm, waistcoat
and wig on the other, vainly striving to keep pace with his master's
impatience.