Even now the door was shut Hornblower believed he could hear that harsh voice, and curiosity completely overcame him. He rose and pulled at the bell cord beside the fire. Brown came in again, and with the opening of the door the harsh voice became distinctly audible.

“What the devil’s going on, Brown?” demanded Hornblower.

“I’m afraid it’s a lunatic, my lord.”

“A lunatic?”

“He says he’s Napoleon Bonaparte, my lord.”

“God bless my soul! And what does he want here?”

Even at seventytwo there was a little tingle of quickened blood in arteries and veins at the chance of action. A man who thought he was Napoleon Bonaparte might well intend causing trouble when coming to the house of Admiral of the Fleet Lord Hornblower. But Browns next words were not so promising of trouble.

“He wishes to borrow a carriage and horses, my lord.”

“What for?”

“It seems there has been trouble on the railway, my lord. He says he must reach Dover as soon as possible to catch the Calais packet. His business, he says, is of the greatest importance.”

“What is he like?”

“He is dressed like a gentleman, my lord.”

“H’m.”

It was not so very long ago that the railway had made its way round the edge of the park at Smallbridge, sullying the fair fields of Kent on its way to Dover. From the upper windows of the house the foul smoke of the engines could be seen, and the raucous sound of their whistles could be heard. But the worst prognostications of the pessimists had not been realized. The cows still gave down their milk, the pigs still harrowed, the orchards still bore their fruit, and there had been singularly few accidents.

“Will that be all, my lord?” asked Brown, recalling his master to the fact that there was still an intruder in the outer hall who had to be dealt with.

“No. Bring him in here,” said Hornblower.