The next morning at ten o’clock, while the workmen were still tacking down the fireproof carpets in headquarters upstairs, and before even the advance guard of the armies had begun to arrive, the eye of the clerk was caught by a tall young man rapidly approaching the desk.

“Is Mr. Hilary Vane here?”

“He’s in Number Seven,” said Mr. McAvoy, who was cudgelling his brains.  “Give me your card, and I’ll send it up.”

“I’ll go up,” said the caller, turning on his heel and suiting the action to the word, leaving Mr. McAvoy to make active but futile inquiries among the few travelling men and reporters seated about.

“Well, if you fellers don’t know him, I give up,” said the clerk, irritably, “but he looks as if he ought to be somebody.  He knows his business, anyway.”

In the meantime Mr. Vane’s caller had reached the first floor; he hesitated just a moment before knocking at the door of Number Seven, and the Honourable Hilary’s voice responded.  The door opened.

Hilary was seated, as usual, beside the marble-topped table, which was covered with newspapers and memoranda.  In the room were Mr. Ridout, the capital lawyer, and Mr. Manning, the division superintendent.  There was an instant of surprised silence on the part of the three, but the Honourable Hilary was the only one who remained expressionless.

“If you don’t mind, gentlemen,” said the visitor, “I should like to talk to my father for a few minutes.”

“Why, certainly, Austen,” Mr. Ridout replied, with an attempt at heartiness.  Further words seemed to fail him, and he left the room somewhat awkwardly, followed by Mr. Manning; but the Honourable Hilary appeared to take no notice of this proceeding.

“Judge,” said Austen, when the door had closed behind them, “I won’t keep you long.  I didn’t come down here to plead with you to abandon what you believe to be your duty, because I know that would be useless.  I have had a talk with Dr. Tredway,” he added gently, “and I realize that you are risking your life.  If I could take you back to Ripton I would, but I know that I cannot.  I see your point of view, and if I were in your place I should do the same thing.  I only wanted to tell you this—­” Austen’s voice caught a little, “if—­anything should happen, I shall be at Mrs. Peasley’s on Maple Street, opposite the Duncan house.”  He laid his hand for an instant, in the old familiar way, on Hilary’s shoulder, and looked down into the older man’s face.  It may have been that Hilary’s lips trembled a little.  “I—­I’ll see you later, Judge, when it’s all over.  Good luck to you.”

He turned slowly, went to the door and opened it, gave one glance at the motionless figure in the chair, and went out.  He did not hear the voice that called his name, for the door had shut.

Mr. Ridout and Mr. Manning were talking together in low tones at the head of the stairs.  It was the lawyer who accosted Austen.