the road, and demand the business of all comers. I wish one
Crispin Galliard, who should pass this way ere long, detained,
and brought to me. He is a tall, lank man - "

"I know him, sir," Beddoes interrupted. "The Tavern Knight
they called him in the malignant army - a rakehelly, dissolute
brawler. I saw him in Worcester when he was taken after the
fight."

Hogan frowned. The righteous Beddoes knew overmuch. "That is
the man," he answered calmly. "Go now, and see that he does
not ride past you. I have great and urgent need of him."

Beddoes' eyes were opened in surprise.

"He is possessed of valuable information," Hogan explained.
"Away with you, man."

When alone, Harry Hogan turned his arm-chair sideways towards
the fire. Then, filling himself a pipe - for in his foreign
campaigning he had acquired the habit of tobacco-smoking - he
stretched his sinewy legs across a second chair, and composed
himself for meditation. An hour went by; the host looked in to
see if the captain required anything. Another hour sped on,
and the captain dozed.

He awoke with a start. The fire had burned low, and the hands
of the huge clock in the corner pointed to midnight. From the
passage came to him the sound of steps and angry voices.