nor, next day, the sportsmen banging off guns at the partridges
around Salisbury. The slow, jolly life of England on either side of
the high road turned leisurely as a wagon-wheel on its axle, while
between hedgerows, past farm hamlets, church-towers and through the
cobbled streets of market towns, he had sped and rattled with
Collingwood's dispatch in his sealed case. The news had reached
London with him. His last post-boys had carried it to their stables,
and from stable to tavern. To-morrow--to-day, rather--in an hour or
two--all the bells of London would be ringing--or tolling! . . .

"He's as tired as a dog," said the voice of the Secretary.
"Seems almost a shame to waken him."

The Lieutenant opened his eyes and jumped to his feet with an
apology. Lord Barham had gone, and the Secretary hard by was
speaking to the night-porter, who bent over the fire, raking it with
a poker. The hands of the Queen Anne clock indicated a quarter to
six.

"The First Lord would like to talk with you . . . later in the day,"
said Mr. Tylney gravely, smiling a little these last words.
He himself was white and haggard. "He suggested the early afternoon,
say half-past two. That will give you time for a round sleep. . . .
You might leave me the name of your hotel, in case he should wish to
send for you before that hour."

"'The Swan with Two Necks,' Lad Lane, Cheapside," said Lieutenant
Lapenotiere.

He knew little of London, and gave the name of the hostelry at which,