He was suddenly calm. I’ve got to run to get to my Study Hall. ‘Except Captain Roding,’ agreed the old lady, nodding at the butler. Arrived at the audience-chamber, he set down the light upon a stand, threw open the door, and announced in a loud voice, but with the perfect intonation of the person he represented,—"Sir Rowland Trenchard. Crouching down, Gerald waited, hands at the ready. I could see his little animal brain churning away, inventing plans for me, formulating his revenge. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. He closed the door.
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