enough, it was the potential assassin himself who solved his dilemma—by tossing a visiting-card on to the table.
“I shouldn’t dream of sleeping in the bedroom while you are roughing it down here, your Grace,” he said. “I shall certainly insist on occupying the settle.”
Beaumanoir picked up the card and read:
“Colonel Anstruther Walcot,
The sight of that card, for all his imminent danger, cheered him, as showing that his opponents were not infallible. Not only had they made the initial blunder of furnishing this obvious Yankee with the outward semblance and name of an English officer commanding a distinguished regiment, relying on the fact that the real owner of the name was in India, but they had chanced to select the name of the colonel of Beaumanoir’s old regiment.
The impostor’s card inspired him with an idea. He would accept him at his own valuation.
“Very well,” he said, rising from his chair. “As I am the first comer, perhaps it is right that I should be first served. I’ll take the bed-
[190]
