"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.

Sir Terence stood facing them again. He was a changed man. The
fire had all gone out of him. His head was bowed and his face
looked haggard and suddenly old. His lip curled into a sneer.

"Pantaloon in the comedy," he said, remembering in that moment the
bitter gibe that had cost Samoval his life.

"What did you say?" her ladyship asked him.

"I pronounced my own name," he answered lugubriously.

"It didn't sound like it, Terence."

"It's the name I ought to bear," he said. "And I killed that liar
for it - the only truth he spoke."

He came forward to the table. The full sense of his position