"I beg your pardon, sir, but--" The man's apprehensive look fastened
itself on a dark stain on the coat, near the shoulder.

"Just winged me--a scratch," replied John Steele with an indifferent
shrug, sinking into a chair near the fire which burned low.

"It's lucky you came off no worse, sir, and you'll be finding a change
of garments up-stairs; I put them out for you myself--"

"I'm afraid, Dennis, I'm rather large for your master's clothes," was
the visitor's reply in a voice that he strove vainly to make light.

"Sure, they're your own, sir." The other looked up quickly. "I'll get
everything ready for a bath, and if you've a mind for anything to eat
afterward--"

"I think I'll have a little of the last, first," said the visitor
slowly.

"Right you are, sir. You do look a bit done up, sir," sympathetically,
"but there's a veal and 'ammer in the cupboard that will soon make you
fit."

"One moment, Dennis." John Steele leaned back; the dying embers revealed
a haggard face; his eyes half closed as if from lack of sleep but
immediately opened again. "You spoke of expecting me; how," he stretched
out his legs, "did you know--?"

"Sure, sir, by your luggage; it arrived with my master's heavier boxes