“Ascertain at what hour the next train starts for London.” In a couple of minutes Pierre came back. “The train for London passes Duxley station at four thirty-six,” he said. “Good. You will just have time to catch it,” said Mr. St. George. “You will reach London in two hours and a quarter after you leave Duxley. Take a cab. Find out Boucher. Tell him to telegraph me first thing to-morrow morning, so that the message will reach me here not later than eight o’clock. His telegram must be to this effect: _You are wanted in town immediately on most important business_. Do you understand?” “Yes, sir.” “An hour in London will be enough for you. You will be able to catch the eight o’clock down train, and ought to be back in this room by eleven at the latest. In fact, I shall expect to find you here when I return from Pincote.” “Yes, sir.” “And don’t say a word to any one about your journey.” Pierre bowed and left the room. “Invaluable fellow, that,” said Kester aloud. The excitement that had stirred his blood so strangely a few minutes before was still upon him. He was like a man who had screwed himself up to some desperate resolve which he was determined to go through with at every cost. He began slowly and deliberately to dress himself for dinner. “There’s an old saying, ‘Nothing risk, nothing have,’” he muttered to himself. “The risk, in this case, seems to be nothing very desperate. If I fail, I shall be no worse off than I am now. If I succeed——” His face blanched as suddenly as if he had seen a ghost. “I forgot that!” he whispered. “Dering sleeps in the next room to Osmond. What if he should be awake? Even when he does sleep, I’ve heard him say that the noise of a strange footstep is enough to rouse him. That is a difficulty I never thought of—the biggest difficulty of all.” He was still pondering over this difficulty, whatever it might be, when Osmond burst suddenly into the room. “Not ready yet?” he said. “What a dilatory fellow you are! We shall have Dering in a devil of a temper if you don’t make haste. I’ll wait for you, if you don’t mind my having a whiff meanwhile.” CHAPTER XI. IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT. “Say, Dering, it ain’t twelve o’clock yet. You’ll give me half an hour in the billiard-room before going to roost?” Percy Osmond was the speaker. He was getting out of the brougham which had brought the three gentlemen back from Pincote, where they had been dining. His voice was thick, and his gait unsteady. It was evident that he had been indulging too freely in Squire Culpepper’s old port. “You’ve surely had enough billiards for one night,” said Lionel, good-humouredly. “I should have thought that the thrashing you gave young Cope would have satisfied you till to-morrow morning.” “I want to thrash you as I thrashed him.” “You shall thrash me as much as you like in the morning.”