Fairley had to wait nearly an hour, and then Sir John came. He took no
notice of the coach, had no doubt given the servants some instructions
concerning it, but walked leisurely across the square with the air of a
man at peace with himself and all the world. Whatever plot might be on
foot, it had received no check, and Fairley argued the worst from that
handsome, smiling face.
"He is delighted with some great villainy," he said to himself as he
came from his hiding-place and followed him.
Sir John Lanison was conscious that some attention was paid to him as he
passed. He was a fine gentleman, and retained a little of that
old-fashioned grace which had been the admiration of the town a couple
of decades ago, when foolish women had looked upon him almost as a hero
of romance, and men had thought twice before raising the anger of so
accomplished a swordsman. A remembrance of former triumphs, with perhaps
a little sigh to keep it company, came to him as he went towards the
Haymarket, but certainly no thought of Martin Fairley was in his mind.
His destination was a hostelry where he was evidently known, and there
was a rush to do his bidding.
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