He beheld the way clear, in a flash of wicked inspiration.

He put back the pistol, slapped down the lid of the box and replaced it in its drawer.
He rose, took up the letter to the Commissary-general, stepped briskly to the door and pulled it open.
"Mullins!" he called sharply.

"Are you there?
Mullins ?" Came the sound of a scraping chair, and instantly that door at the end of the corridor was thrown open, and Mullins stood silhouetted against the light behind him.

A moment he stood there, then came forward.
"You called, Sir Terence ?" "Yes." Sir Terence's voice was miraculously calm.

His back was to the light and his face in shadow, so that its drawn, haggard look was not perceptible to the butler.