At four o’clock on a sultry afternoon he sat at table with his Bevisham supporters, and pledged them correspondingly in English hotel champagne, sherry and claret.  At seven he was rid of them, but parched and heated, as he deserved to be, he owned, for drinking the poison.  It would be a good subject for Parliament if he could get it up, he reflected.

‘And now,’ said he to Palmet, ’we might be crossing over to the Club if I hadn’t to go about that stupid business to Holdesbury to-morrow morning.  We shall miss the race, or, at least, the start.’

The idea struck him:  ’Ten to one old Nevil ‘s with Shrapnel,’ and no idea could be more natural.

’We ‘ll call on Shrapnel,’ said Palmet.  ’We shall see Jenny Denham.  He gives her out as his niece.  Whatever she is she’s a brimming little beauty.  I assure you, Bask, you seldom see so pretty a girl.’

Wine, which has directed men’s footsteps upon more marvellous adventures, took them to a chemist’s shop for a cooling effervescent draught, and thence through the town to the address, furnished to them by the chemist, of Dr. Shrapnel on the common.

Bad wine, which is responsible for the fate of half the dismal bodies hanging from trees, weltering by rocks, grovelling and bleaching round the bedabbled mouth of the poet’s Cave of Despair, had rendered Captain Baskelett’s temper extremely irascible; so when he caught sight of Dr. Shrapnel walling in his garden, and perceived him of a giant’s height, his eyes fastened on the writer of the abominable letter with an exultation peculiar to men having a devil inside them that kicks to be out.  The sun was low, blazing among the thicker branches of the pollard forest trees, and through sprays of hawthorn.  Dr. Shrapnel stopped, facing the visible master of men, at the end of his walk before he turned his back to continue the exercise and some discourse he was holding aloud either to the heavens or bands of invisible men.

‘Ahem, Dr. Shrapnel!’ He was accosted twice, the second time imperiously.

He saw two gentlemen outside the garden-hedge.

‘I spoke, sir,’ said Captain Baskelett.

‘I hear you now, sir,’ said the doctor, walking in a parallel line with them.

‘I desired to know, sir, if you are Dr. Shrapnel?’

‘I am.’

They arrived at the garden-gate.

‘You have a charming garden, Dr. Shrapnel,’ said Lord Palmet, very affably and loudly, with a steady observation of the cottage windows.

Dr. Shrapnel flung the gate open.

Lord Palmet raised his hat and entered, crying loudly, ’A very charming garden, upon my word!’

Captain Baskelett followed him, bowing stiffly.

‘I am,’ he said, ’Captain Beauchamp’s cousin.  I am Captain Baskelett, one of the Members for the borough.’

The doctor said, ‘Ah.’

‘I wish to see Captain Beauchamp, sir.  He is absent?’