All at once there came the sound of someone’s horse galloping up the road to the little wine-shop. This was quickly followed by the sound of someone’s boots pounding up the rickety stairs, which in turn was followed by the sound of someone’s fist pounding on the ramshackle door. The door opened and a smart young man in the uniform of the Hussars half-tumbled into the room. The smart young man was somewhat out of breath but managed to convey, between gulps of air, that Lord Wellington presented his compliments to Mr Strange and that if it was at all convenient to Mr Strange Lord Wellington would like to speak to him immediately.

At José Estoril’s house Wellington was at dinner with a number of his staff officers and other gentlemen. Strange could have sworn that the gentlemen at the table had all been engaged in the liveliest conversation up to the moment when he entered the room, but now all fell silent. This rather suggested that they had been talking about him.

“Ah, Strange!” cried Lord Wellington, raising a glass in greeting. “There you are! I have had three aides-de-camp looking for you all evening. I wished to invite you to dinner, but my boys could not find you. Sit down anyway and have some Champagne and dessert.”

Strange looked rather wistfully at the remains of the dinner which the servants were clearing away. Among other good things Strange believed he recognized were the remains of some roast geese, the shells from buttered prawns, half a ragoo of celery, and the ends of some spicy Portuguese sausages. He thanked his lordship and sat down. A servant brought him a glass of Champagne and he helped himself to almond-tart and dried cherries.

“And how do you like the war, Mr Strange?” asked a fox-haired, fox-faced gentleman at the other end of the table.

“Oh, it is a little confusing at first, like most things,” said Strange, “but having now experienced many of the adventures a war affords, I grow used to it. I have been robbed – once. I have been shot at – once. Once I found a Frenchman in the kitchen and had to chase him out, and once the house I was sleeping in was set on fire.”

“By the French?” inquired General Stewart.

“No, no. By the English. There was a company of the 43rd who were apparently very cold that night and so they set fire to the house to warm themselves.”

“Oh, that always happens!” said General Stewart.

There was a little pause and then another gentleman in a cavalry uniform said, “We have been talking – arguing rather – about magic and how it is done. Strathclyde says that you and the other magician have given every word in the Bible a number, and you look for the words to make up the spell and then you add the numbers together and then you do something else and then …”