"I shall be there at six with my seconds," said Pinckney curtly. "Lead
on."

The gate closed behind them. Clarence stood looking around the empty
patio and the silent house, from which it was now plain that the
servants had been withdrawn to insure the secrecy of the conspiracy.
Cool and collected as he knew he was, he remained for a moment in
hesitation. Then the sound of voices came to his ear from the garden
room, the light frivolity of Susy's laugh and Hooker's huskier accents.
He had forgotten they were there--he had forgotten their existence!

Trusting still to his calmness, he called to Hooker in his usual
voice. That gentleman appeared with a face which his attempts to make
unconcerned and impassive had, however, only deepened into funereal
gravity.

"I have something to attend to," said Clarence, with a faint smile, "and
I must ask you and Susy to excuse me for a little while. She knows the
house perfectly, and will call the servants from the annex to provide
you both with refreshment until I join you a little later." Satisfied
from Hooker's manner that they knew nothing of his later interview with
Pinckney, he turned away and ascended to his own room.

There he threw himself into an armchair by the dim light of a single
candle as if to reflect. But he was conscious, even then, of his own
calmness and want of excitement, and that no reflection was necessary.
What he had done and what he intended to do was quite clear, there was
no alternative suggested or to be even sought after. He had that sense
of relief which comes with the climax of all great struggles, even of