"Now that this gentleman has come in your Grace will have to have the spare bedroom," said Mayne triumphantly, moving towards the door. "The wife will have it ready for you in a brace of shakes."
Beaumanoir detained him with a hasty gesture. "One minute," he said, "I'm not at all sure that I care about having the bedroom. I had arranged to sleep downstairs on the settle, you know. Why shouldn't we adhere to that plan, and let this gentleman have the room?"
He was moved to discover which of the two sleeping-places his enemies would prefer him to occupy, and also by the imperative need of gaining time to gauge the altered circumstances. Moreover, if Mayne went upstairs to consult his wife he would be left alone with this great strapping potential assassin, who as like as not would promptly admit half a dozen other assassins from outside. Strangely enough, it was the potential assassin himself who solved his dilemma—by tossing a visiting-card on to the table.
"I shouldn't dream of sleeping in the bedroom while you are roughing it down here, your Grace," he said. "I shall certainly insist on occupying the settle."
Beaumanoir picked up the card and read:
Colonel Anstruther Walcot,
14th Dragoon Guards.
The sight of that card, for all his imminent danger, cheered him, as showing that his opponents were not infallible. Not only had they made the initial blunder of furnishing this obvious Yankee with the outward semblance and name of an English officer commanding a distinguished regiment, relying on the fact that the real owner of the name was in India, but they had chanced to select the name of the colonel of Beaumanoir's old regiment.
The impostor's card inspired him with an idea. He would accept him at his own valuation.
"Very well," he said, rising from his chair. "As I am the first comer, perhaps it is right that I should be first served. I'll take the bedroom, Mayne; but there's no need to disturb your wife. If you'll show me up we'll soon put the room to rights. Good-night, sir, and thank you for your courtesy."
With which he signed to the keeper to lead the way and followed him out, casting a glance at the American to see how he took the arrangement. Diagnosis of the man's face was, however, impossible, for he had already turned to the window and was drawing aside the curtain—to signal to his fellows, Beaumanoir had no doubt.