"Certainly, Mr. Holmes. My room,—that is, McLean's, be it. The door is open, and I'll be out of your way by that time. I'm going at once to ask the adjutant to take my sword, and get the major to let me go down for Mac."
"The ambulance is being put in readiness now. I'll go with you to Major Miller's. What time can I best see the corporal?"
"Right after retreat roll-call, just after sunset, I should say. He would like time to spruce up a bit and get supper."
"Then say nine o'clock. I must not leave my host alone at the dinner-table, and I fear Miss Bayard will not be down."
"Is Miss Bayard ill?" asked Mr. Hatton.
"Hardly that! She was greatly overcome by the shock of hearing this news as it was told her. Some idiot of a servant came rushing in, and said a courier was back from Captain Terry's command and that Mr. McLean was killed."
"And she swooned or fainted?" asked Hatton, with evident interest.
"Very nearly," answered Mr. Holmes, with grave face and eyes that never flinched. "I think she would have fallen down the stairs, had she not been caught in the nick of time."
"That will be something poor Mac will hear with comfort."
"Yes," was the decided answer, after an instant of silence. "Yes. It would comfort me if I were in his place. Nine o'clock then, Mr. Hatton, and at your quarters."