Considerably dismayed, Winkfield said: “It’s very late, sir. Now, won’t you——”
“I know it’s late. The letter must be written at once, if it is to catch the mail. What time does it leave Sheffield for London?”
“At six in the morning, I believe, sir, but—”
“Joseph must ride in to catch it. Tell him!”
The valet almost wrung his hands. “I beg you, sir, don’t ask me to bring you pen and ink at this hour! The doctor particularly desired you not to sit up, and it’s past ten o’clock now!”
“Damn the doctor! And you, too! Do as I bid you!”
“Sir—”
Sir Peter put up his hand and grasped the valet’s arm, shaking it feebly. “Winkfield, old friend, I have no time—no time! Do you want me to sleep peacefully tonight?”
“God knows I do, sir!”
“Then don’t thwart me! I know what I’m about. I’m well, too—very well!”