The "above address" was the big house that had belonged to the late Mr
Ewing. "Tomorrow afternoon" was but an hour off.

At five precisely Captain Carey shed his ulster in the palatial
vestibule, and at the heels of a soft-footed man-servant, marched
through the warm hall and up the shallow, muffled stairs to the
familiar drawing-room--a long room, the lower end of which was in
shadow, and the upper illuminated like a shrine, with rosy lamps
projecting from a forest of chimney ornament, and a great bright red
fire twinkling upon tiles and brass. The big palms were in their big
pots, spreading and bowing over settees and cosy corners; every bowl
and vase overflowed with the choicest flowers, although it was wintry
June. And the tea-table was ready; the old seductive chairs and tables
were grouped upon the Persian hearthrug in the old way, with the
sheltering screen half round them. Indications of the desire of the
mistress of the house to give him special welcome were too marked and
many to be ignored.

He was left here to meditate in solitude for a few minutes, and he did
all the meditating that was possible in the time. His heart thumped
rather faster than was necessary, but his strong face was a picture of
composed determination. Indeed, it was not easy to recognise the young
Guthrie Carey of old Redford days in this stern, tough, substantial
man, steady as a rock amid the winds and waves of incalculable fate.
Just now he had the look of a military commander braced for a pitched
battle. And the V.C. has been won for many a less courageous enterprise
than that on which he was now engaged.

Leaning his broad shoulders on the ledge of the mantelpiece, and
roasting his stout calves at the glorious fire, he watched the distant