He hurried out into Whitehall. Sure enough a chaise was drawn up there, and a post-boy stood by the near lamp, conning a scrap of paper by the light of it. No, it was a different chaise, and a different post-boy. He wore the buff and black, whereas the other had worn the blue and white. Yet he stepped forward confidently, and with something of a smile. "Lieutenant Lapenotiere?" he asked, reaching back and holding up his paper to the lamp to make sure of the syllables. "That is my name," said the amazed Lieutenant. "I was ordered here--five-forty-five--to drive you down to Merton." "To Merton?" echoed Lieutenant Lapenotiere, his hand going to his pocket. The post-boy's smile, or so much as could be seen of it by the edge of the lamp, grew more knowing. "I ask no questions, sir." "But--but who ordered you?" The post-boy did not observe, or disregarded, his bewilderment. "A Briton's a Briton, sir, I hope? I ask no questions, knowing my place. . . . But if so be as you were to tell me there's been a great victory--" He paused on this. "Well, my man, you're right so far, and no harm in telling you." "Aye," chirruped the post-boy. "When the maid called me up with the order, and said as how _he_ and no other had called with it--" "He?" The fellow nodded. "She knew him at once, from his portraits. Who wouldn't? With his right sleeve pinned across so. . . . And, said I, 'Then there's been a real victory. Never would you see him back, unless. And I was right, sir!' he concluded triumphantly. "Let me see that piece of paper." "You'll let me have it back, sir?--for a memento," the post-boy pleaded. Lieutenant Lapenotiere took it from him--a plain half-sheet of note-paper roughly folded. On it was scribbled in pencil, back-hand wise, "Lt. Lapenotiere. Admiralty, Whitehall. At 6.30 a.m., not later. For Merton, Surrey." He folded the paper very slowly, and handed it back to the post-boy. "Very well, then. For Merton." The house lay but a very little distance beyond Wimbledon. Its blinds were drawn as Lieutenant Lapenotiere alighted from the chaise and went up to the modest porch. His hand was on the bell-pull. But some pressure checked him as he was on the point of ringing. He determined to wait for a while and turned away towards the garden. The dawn had just broken; two or three birds were singing. It did not surprise--at any rate, it did not frighten--Lieutenant Lapenotiere at all, when, turning into a short pleached alley, he looked along it and saw _him_ advancing.