And so they parted.
Hilary Blake turned back for Brackenhurst, and in half an hour found himself standing in the brick porch of Colonel Maundrell’s house at the end of Brackenhurst village. The colonel’s old soldier-servant answered his knock.
“Is your master in, Thomas?”
“Sure, sir; he is in.”
“And alone?”
“And alone, sir.”
Colonel Maundrell was sitting at the open window of his library that looked towards the sea.
Two candles in silver candlesticks stood on the oak table, and their pale light seemed to mingle with the moonlight that streamed in at the window. The old soldier with the hawk’s beak of a nose and the iron-grey head had been sitting there thinking.
Directly the door had closed and the sound of Thomas’s footsteps could be heard departing, Blake told his business.
“Colonel, I want you to second me. I fight Royce Severn at six to-morrow morning.”