At the sound of his name the General turned slowly and accepted the note which the orderly presented. He took it without haste and yet without any perceptible loss of time or motion and, as always, without unnecessary words. Scanning it, he shifted his cigar to one corner of his mouth where its smoke would not rise into his eyes, thought for an instant, then nodded shortly.
"I'll see him. At once."
Dismissed, the orderly saluted and passed quickly out. The General, with his chin in his collar and his cigar held between his fingers at nearly the same level, moved back to the window and stood there silently as before. He knew what Lieutenant Harris would wish to speak to him about. A few weeks before a Lieutenant-Colonel of cavalry had been court-martialed on the charge of allowing the escape of a spy. The court had found him guilty and its findings had been submitted to the higher authorities and endorsed by them. A copy of these reports now lay on his desk. All this his Adjutant, Forbes, knew as well as the General himself, but if Forbes had thought it worth while to speculate on the extent of his commander's interest he might have guessed for years without ever drawing one logical conclusion from all the hints that that impassive face and figure gave him.
Again a ringing step in the corridor and this time Lieutenant Harris came into the room, his hand going up in salute. But his General was still looking out of the window, his eyes on a dead level. There was a silence and then—without turning around—
"Well, Lieutenant, what is it?"
"A short conference, General, if you'll grant it. The case of Lieutenant-Colonel Morrison." It was hard work to talk to one who kept his back turned and Harris was embarrassed.
The smoke from the General's cigar still curled lazily upwards.
"Reprieve?" came the monosyllabic question.
Harris caught himself together and put all his feelings.
"No, General. A pardon!"