The sergeant stood to attention. "Captain Tremayne, sir, arrived
rather more than half-an-hour ago. He came in a curricle, which
is still waiting at the gates."
"Half-an-hour ago, eh?" said Sir Terence, and from Colquhoun Grant
there was a sharp and audible intake of breath, expressive either
of understanding, or surprise, or both. The adjutant looked at
Tremayne again. "As my questions seem only to entangle you further,"
he said, "I think you had better do as I suggest without more
protests: report yourself under arrest to Colonel Fletcher in the
morning, sir."
Still Tremayne hesitated for a moment. Then drawing himself up, he
saluted curtly. "Very well, sir," he replied.
"But, Terence - " cried her ladyship from above.
"Ah?" said Sir Terence, and he looked up. "You would say - ?" he
encouraged her, for she had broken off abruptly, checked again -
although none below could guess it - by the one behind who prompted
her.
"Couldn't you - couldn't you wait?" she was faltering, compelled to
it by his question.
"Certainly. But for what?" quoth he, grimly sardonic.
"Wait until you have some explanation," she concluded lamely.
"That will be the business of the court-martial," he answered.
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