The Colonel reined in. He seemed once to have had the jaundice, perhaps to have served in the Fever Islands, for his skin was yellow like old parchment. The face beneath the tasselled bicorne hat twitched in involuntary spasm. The blue eyes, startlingly blue, were unfriendly. ‘Button your bloody jackets.’

The Captains put down their wine cups, buttoned their jackets and pulled their belts into place. One, a plump young man, frowned because the Colonel had shouted at them in front of the grinning privates.

The Colonel let his horse walk two steps closer to the pair of Captains. 'What are you doing here?

'Here, sir? The taller, thinner Captain smiled. 'Just visiting, sir.

'Just visiting, eh? The face twitched again. The Colonel had a strangely long neck hidden by a cravat that he pinned high on his throat. 'Just the two of you?

'Yes, sir.

'And Lady Farthingdale, sir, added the plump one.

'And Lady Farthingdale, eh? The Colonel mimicked the Captain's plummy voice, then he screamed at them in sudden vehemence. 'You're a bloody disgrace, that's what you are! I hate you! Christ's belly, I hate you!

The street was suddenly silent in the winter sunshine. The soldiers that had gathered either side of the Colonel's horse grinned at the two Captains.

The taller Captain wiped the spittle flung from the Colonel's mouth offhis red jacket. 'I must protest, sir.

'Protest! You puking horror! Smithers!

'Colonel?

'Shoot him!

The plump Captain grinned, as if a joke had been made, but the other flung an arm up, flinched, and as Smithers, grinning, levelled and fired his musket so did the Colonel bring out an ornate chased pistol and shoot the plump Captain in the head. The shots echoed in the street, the smoke drifted in two distinct clouds above the fallen bodies, and the Colonel laughed before standing in his stirrups. 'Now, lads, now!