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He had come up, he announced, standing straight and stiff before them, to see O'Moy, but hearing of Lord Wellington's presence, had preferred to see his lordship in the first instance. "And indeed you arrive very opportunely, Grant," his lordship confessed. He turned to take his leave of Jack Armytage's niece. "I'll not forget either Mr.
If I weren't poor I could put my fortunes to the test, and make an end of the matter one way or the other." There was a pause. "Sure I hope I am the last man to force a confidence, Ned," said O'Moy. "But you certainly seem as if it would do you good to confide." Tremayne shook himself mentally. "I think we had better deal with the matter of this dispatch that was tampered with at Penalva."
"Why, certainly, Miss Armytage." For so imperturbable a young man he seemed oddly breathless in his eagerness to welcome her. "Are you looking for O'Moy? He left me nearly half-an-hour ago to go to breakfast, and I was just about to follow." "I scarcely dare detain you, then." "On the contrary. I mean... not at all. But... were you wanting me?"
"You told the court," O'Moy addressed the witness Mullins, consulting his notes as he did so, "that on the night on which Count Samoval met his death, I sent you at ten minutes past twelve to take a letter to the sergeant of the guard, an urgent letter which was to be forwarded to its destination first thing on the following morning.
"It is that," O'Moy admitted readily. Forjas sighed, shook his dark head and drew himself up like a man who has chosen his part. Being shrewd, he saw the immediate necessity of choosing, and, being honest, he chose honestly. "Perhaps it is as well," he said. "That Lord Wellington should go?" cried O'Moy. "That Lord Wellington should announce intentions of going," Forjas explained.
Butler, sir." "How long had he been here?" asked O'Moy, after a brief pause. "'Tis what I can't tell ye, sir. I never set eyes on him until I saw him coming downstairs from her ladyship's room as it might be." "You can go, Mullins." "I hope, sir " "You can go." And Sir Terence slammed the door upon the amazed servant, who realised that some unhappy mystery was perturbing the adjutant's household.
O'Moy proceeded to do his best to explain the unexplainable, and since, himself a professional soldier, he could not take the sane view of his sane young questioner, hot argument ensued between them, to the infinite weariness of Lady O'Moy, who out of self-protection gave herself to the study of the latest fashion plates from London and the consideration of a gown for the ball which the Count of Redondo was giving in the following week.
No further word had there been of the missing lieutenant, and by the end of May both O'Moy and Tremayne had come to the conclusion that he must have fallen into the hands of some of the ferocious mountaineers to whom a soldier whether his uniform were British or French was a thing to be done to death. For his wife's sake O'Moy came thankfully to that conclusion.
She was tempted to tell his lordship of the odd words that O'Moy had used to her last night concerning Tremayne. But she hesitated, and her courage failed her.
And Tremayne, looking straight into the adjutant's faintly smouldering blue eyes, beheld there a fierce and rancorous determination which he was at a loss to understand, but which he attributed to something outside his own knowledge that must lie between O'Moy and his brother-in-law. "I am sorry," he said gravely.
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