"Sir Hector, sir, I forgot to give him his flask; here it is."
In an instant Sir George had stretched out his hand, and coolly taking the flask unscrewed the top, and put it to his nostrils. He then handed it to Macpherson, who did the same.
"Hurry, Glover," said the P.M.O., "you'll catch him if you're quick," and the boy galloped away, leaving the two looking at each other.
"Good-day, General," said Romford at last; "I must get back to my work."
CHAPTER XXV
"Any sign yet of Sir Hector? It's past the half-hour, and our time's short enough, goodness knows. You might look out, one of you, and see, will you?"
The speaker, Sir Thomas Moleyns, glanced up from the desk at which he sat, with a typewritten document before him. He alone of the assembled crowd was seated, the remainder, all generals, were standing together in a group some distance away.
Moleyns, however, had already assumed the mantle of Lord Harford, just deceased. With this garment upon his back, he had now discarded his former transparent cloak of subserviency, and was issuing orders boldly in his own name, one of the said orders being the summons to attend the present conference at Headquarters.
All had obeyed save one. That one was his nominal chief, for nominal Moleyns intended him to be; if not, well, he had cards up his sleeve higher than any the other was likely to possess. If necessary, he would produce these, but such necessity, he felt confident, was hardly likely to arise, for Graeme would certainly knuckle under, as Lord Harford and all others with whom he had hitherto come in contact had done.
At his request, brigadiers, major-generals even, anxious to placate the all-powerful, hastened to the door. Then they suddenly stopped, and looked back over Moleyn's head, to where the upper half of a top-hatted figure was to be seen busily engaged in cutting an entrance through the side of the tent.