CHAPTER XIX
THE COMMANDANT'S CONSCIENCE
"The Lord Proprietor to see you, sir!"
Archelaus, presenting himself at the door of the Commandant's office, with a slightly flushed but inscrutable face, drew aside and flattened himself against the door-jamb to let Sir Cæsar enter.
The Commandant closed the book in which he had been adding up accounts which never came right, and stood up in something of a flurry. He was dressed with more than ordinary care. The lapels and collar of his uniform-coat had been treated to a vigorous brushing. In fact, he was arrayed for action: to step down the hill in an hour's time, to call upon Mr. Fossell at the Bank and draw his pay, if any should be forthcoming.
"Good morning, Major!"
"Good morning, Sir Cæsar." The Commandant nodded towards a chair.
"I thank you." Sir Cæsar set down his hat upon the edge of the writing-table, drew off his gloves, tossed them into his hat, and seated himself. "I—er—called in the first place to speak about an unfortunate—er—incident that happened on Garrison Hill here last Sunday."
"Ah," said the Commandant, "so you have heard about it? I am sorry."