The firelight played upon his face, as he sat with head thrown back, his eyes seeming to study the scroll-work on the handsome ceiling. A foreign-looking man who stood a few feet away waited patiently for his attention--a man whose sun-tanned, wind-roughened skin told plainly of the sea. His style of dress confirmed the impression, and there were sailor’s earrings in his great red ears. “You understand?” said Marcus White, his gaze coming down to the man’s face. “Yes, General, but----” “There is no ‘but.’ You understand?” “Yes, General.” “Everything is on board?” “Yes, General.” “You can trust your men?” Pedro showed his white teeth in what was intended for a smile. The answer was sufficiently convincing. “Steam is to be kept up day and night, in case you are wanted.” “That will be so, General; but--pardon--if one might know when we are likely to clear out of the river?” “On the twenty-fourth, after dark--probably about this time”; he glanced back through the great blindless window at the darkened sky. “It will be dark enough?” he asked. “Quite dark enough, General.” “What is the weather likely to be?” “One must expect squalls at this time of the year, General; but your quarters will be well protected, and you do not fear the sea, though in a boat like that----.” He paused significantly. Marcus White stared into the fire. The other waited awkwardly, then said: “All shall be ready when it suits you to come aboard, General.” “I stay here.” The man’s surprise was manifest. “But, my General, I understood----” Marcus White waved his hand. “There will be other passengers.” “Where are they to be landed, General?” “You will come here for sealed orders on the twenty-fourth, at noon.” “Sealed orders? Yes, General, but when am I to open them?” “When you sight the Channel Islands.” A questioning look came to the man’s face, but there was a glint in the eyes of Marcus White that checked him. CHAPTER XXVI THE CAPTURE OF THE JUDGES The weather had suddenly turned to bitter cold, and, in spite of prevailing alarms, every one had something more or less obvious to say on the unfailing subject. Disaster may impend, kingdoms may totter to their fall, but through all the steadfast Briton harps on the text of the barometer. “Dry and much colder; freshening north-easterly wind,” was the record of the morning, and the afternoon abundantly confirmed its truth. His Majesty’s judges, for the most part elderly gentlemen, and necessarily leading sedentary lives, felt, and liked not, the eager, nipping air. They reached the Law Courts in the dusk of the afternoon for their projected conference, feeling not a little ill-used that, on Christmas Eve of all days in the year, such a conference should be needed.