Ten minutes after the usual time the adjutant darted in and plunged with his characteristic impetuosity into the pile of passes and other papers stacked up by the sergeant-major at his table.  To all questions as to where he had been and what was the matter with the colonel he replied, with more than usual asperity of manner,—­the asperity engendered of some years of having to answer the host of questions propounded by vacant minds at his own busiest hour of the day,—­that the colonel would tell them all about it himself; he had no time for a word.  The evident manner of suppressed excitement, however, was something few failed to note; and every man in the room felt certain that when the colonel came there would be a revelation.  It was with something bordering on indignation, therefore, that the assemblage heard the words that intimated to them that all might retire.  The colonel had come in very quietly, received the report of the officer of the day, relieved him, and dismissed the new officer of the day with the brief formula, “Usual orders, sir,” then glanced quickly around the silent circle of grave, bearded or boyish faces.  His eyes rested for an instant with something like shock and trouble upon one face, pale, haggard, with almost bloodless lips, and yet full of fierce determination,—­a face that haunted him long afterwards, it was so full of agony, of suspense, almost of pleading,—­the face of Captain Rayner.

Then, dispensing with the customary talk, he quietly spoke the disappointing words,—­

“I am somewhat late this morning, gentlemen, and several matters will occupy my attention:  so I will not detain you further.”

The crowd seemed to find their feet very slowly.  There was visible disinclination to go.  Every man in some inexplicable way appeared to know that there was a new mystery hanging over the garrison, and that the colonel held the key.  Every man felt that Billings had given him the right to expect to be told all about it when the colonel came.  Some looked reproachfully at Billings, as though to remind him of their expectations:  Stannard, his old stand-by, passed him with a gruff “Thought you said the colonel had something to tell us,” and went out with an air of injured and defrauded dignity.  Rayner arose, and seemed to be making preparations to depart with the others, and some of the number, connecting him unerringly with the prevailing sensation, appeared to hold back and wait for him to precede them and so secure to themselves the satisfaction of knowing that, if it was a matter connected with Rayner, they “had him along” and nothing could take place without their hearing it.  These men were very few, however; but Buxton was one of them.  Rayner’s eyes were fixed upon the colonel and searching for a sign, and it came,—­a little motion of the hand and a nod of the head that signified “Stay.”  Then, as Buxton and one or two of his stamp still dallied irresolute, the colonel turned somewhat sharply to them:  “Was there any matter on which you wished to see me, gentlemen?” and, as there was none, they had to go.  Then Rayner was alone with the colonel; for Mr. Billings quickly arose, and, with a significant glance at his commander, left the room and closed the door.