"Nous nous battons! Ii faut que je m'habille." Belmont, a little wizened fellow who understood nothing of this topsy-turveydom, hastened forward, deposited his armful on the table, and selected a finely embroidered waistcoat, which he proceeded to hold for his master.

Wriggling into it, Feversham rapped out his orders.
"Captain Wentwort', you will go to your regimen at once.

But first, ah--wait.

Take t'ose six men and Mistaire Wilding.

'Ave 'im shot at once; you onderstan', eh?
Good.