He stood in the deserted porch, watching Jim strap his baggage to the saddle, occasionally giving a curt direction. Presently Mr. Chadber appeared with the stirrup-cup, which he drained and handed back with a word of thanks and a guinea at the bottom.

Someone called lustily from within, and the landlord, bowing very low, murmured apologies and vanished.

Jim cast a last glance at the saddle-girths, and, leaving the mare quietly standing in the road, came up to his master with gloves and whip.

Carstares took them silently and fell to tapping his boot, his eyes thoughtfully on the man’s face.

“You will hire a coach, as usual,” he said at length, “and take my baggage to⁠—” (He paused, frowning)⁠—“Lewes. You will engage a room at the White Hart and order dinner. I shall wear⁠—apricot and⁠—h’m!”