“But it is two o’clock in the morning, sir,” said Jeremy. “His lordship will be asleep.”

“Oh, do you think so? With the fate of all Europe in his hands? I suppose you may be right.”

Reluctantly, Strange agreed that it would be better to go to the hotel now and look for Lord Wellington in the morning.

They had been recommended to a hotel in Shoemaker-street which belonged to a Mr Prideaux, a Cornishman. Mr Prideaux’s guests were almost all British officers who had just returned to Portugal from England or who were waiting for ships to take them on leave of absence. It was Mr Prideaux’s intention that during their stay at his hotel the officers should feel as much at home as possible. In this he was only partly successful. Do whatsoever he might, Mr Prideaux found that Portugal continually intruded itself upon the notice of his guests. The wallpaper and furnishings of the hotel might all have been brought originally from London, but a Portuguese sun had shone on them for five years and faded them in a peculiarly Portuguese manner. Mr Prideaux might instruct the cook to prepare an English bill of fare but the cook was Portuguese and there was always more pepper and oil in the dishes than the guests expected. Even the guests’ boots had a faintly Portuguese air after the Portuguese bootboy had blacked them.

The next morning Strange rose rather late. He ate a large breakfast and then strolled about for an hour or so. Lisbon proved to be a city well provided with arcaded squares, elegant modern buildings, statues, theatres and shops. He began to think that war could not be so very dreadful after all.

As he returned to the hotel he saw four or five British officers, gathered in the doorway, conversing eagerly together. This was just the opportunity he had hoped for. He went up to them, begged their pardon for interrupting, explained who he was and asked where in Lisbon Lord Wellington might be found.

The officers turned and gave him a rather surprized look as if they thought the question a wrong one, though he could not tell why it should be. “Lord Wellington is not in Lisbon,” said one, a man in the blue jacket and white breeches of the Hussars.

“Oh! When is he coming back?” asked Strange.

“Back?” said the officer. “Not for weeks – months, I expect. Perhaps never.”

“Then where will I find him?”

“Good God!” said the officer. “He might be anywhere.”

“Don’t you know where he is?” asked Strange.

The officer looked at him rather severely. “Lord Wellington does not stay in one place,” he said. “Lord Wellington goes wherever he is needed. And Lord Wellington,” he added for Strange’s better understanding, “is needed everywhere.”

Another officer who wore a bright scarlet jacket liberally adorned with silver lace, said in a rather more kindly tone, “Lord Wellington is in the Lines.”

“In the Lines?” said Strange.

“Yes.”