One day, Rupert Holliday with Pat Dillon had met their friends Lord Fairholm and Sir John Loveday, whose regiment was quartered in the town, at the principal wine shop, a large establishment, which was the great gathering place of the officers of the garrison.

There an immense variety of bright uniforms were to be seen; English, German, and Dutch, horse, foot, and artillery; while the serving men hurried about through the throng with trays piled with beer mugs, or with wine and glasses.
"Who is that officer," Dillon asked, "in the Hessian cavalry uniform?
Methinks he eyes you with no friendly look." Rupert and his friends glanced at the officer pointed out.
"It is that fellow Fulke," Sir John said.

"I heard he had managed to obtain a commission in the army of the Landgrave of Hesse.

You must keep a smart lookout, Master Rupert, for his presence bodes you no good.

He is in fitting company; that big German officer next to him is the Graff Muller, a turbulent swashbuckler, but a famous swordsman--a fellow who would as soon run you through as look at you, and who is a disgrace to the Margrave's army, in which I wonder much that he is allowed to stay." "Who is the fellow you are speaking of ?" Dillon asked.
"A gentleman with whom our friend Rupert had a difference of opinion," Sir John Loveday laughed.