We followed him, and as we turned through the baize door so as to go down the front staircase, Mercer and I managed to exchange a grip of the hand.
Directly after, we caught sight of the great roan horse at the door champing its bit, and sending flakes of foam flying over its glossy coat, and I noticed even then that one white spot fell on the groom’s dark brown coat.
Then, once more drawing a deep breath, we walked in together through the door Mr Rebble threw open, and closed behind us, when, as if through a mist, I saw the Doctor sitting at a writing-table, looking very stern and portly, the General, grey, fierce, and rather red-faced, seated a little way to the Doctor’s right, with his malacca cane between his legs, and his hands, in their bright brown gloves, resting on the ivory handle, so that his arms and elbows stood out squarely; while again on his right, about a couple of yards away, stood big, dark, and burly-looking Bob Hopley, in his best brown velveteen jacket.
“Er-rum!” coughed the Doctor as the door was closed, and we looked sharply round at the stern faces before us, Bob Hopley favouring us with a solemn wink, which I interpreted to mean, “I forgive you, my lads.” Then the Doctor spoke.
“Stand there, Thomas Mercer and Frank Burr. That will do. Now, Sir Hawkhurst, will you have the goodness to repeat the charge in their presence.”
The old officer faced fiercely round on the Doctor.
“Hang it all, sir!” he cried; “am I the magistrate, or are you?”
“You are the magistrate, sir,” said the Doctor gravely, “but I am the master. The distinction is slight, but I allow no one to stand between me and my boys. Unless you are going to proceed legally against them to punish I must request you to let me be their judge.”
“Beg pardon, beg pardon,” said the General sharply, “Old soldier, sir—been much in India, and the climate made me hot. Go on!”
I glanced at him quickly as I heard him mention India, and he caught my eye, and shook his fist at me fiercely.