Passing quickly through the anteroom, he headed for the door. He had to step aside to make way for the entry of another visitor, a tall, elderly man, slightly stooped with a ruddy-complexioned face topped with a thatch of thinning, silvery-white hair.

By the time Prevost’s secretary had risen to greet the newcomer, Hawkwood had left the room, unaware of the look he’d attracted as the white-haired man paused and gazed after him, forehead creasing.

In answer to the knock, Sir George rose from his desk. The door opened and the secretary showed his visitor in.

Sir George greeted the white-haired man warmly. “Delighted to see you, my dear fellow! Please, do take a seat. May I offer you a brandy?”

There was the merest pause, as though his visitor’s mind had been preoccupied, but then his invitation was accepted with a nod. “Thank you. Most kind.”

Sir George moved to the decanter, poured out two measures and returned to the fire. “There we are. To what shall we drink? Confusion to the enemy?”

His visitor smiled. “Why not? That’s usually been my preference.”

The two men drank. The white-haired man lowered his glass. “So, how may I be of service?”

Sir George waited until his visitor had settled into his seat. “I’m in need of your counsel.”

“As a friend or in a professional capacity?”

“The latter: as former superintendent.”

The visitor’s eyebrows rose. “Sounds intriguing, but it’s been a while since I held office – fifteen years and then some. Not sure I can remember that far back!”

“I don’t believe that for a moment,” Prevost said.

The visitor smiled politely and helped himself to another sip.

Sir George rotated the glass in his hand, watching the contents swirl, then looked up. “There’s been an incident – a place called Lacolle. Attempted cross-border incursion by our American friends. They failed, fortunately.”

His visitor sat back. “I see.”

Sir George moved to his desk and returned to the fire bearing papers. “I have here a report from Colonel de Salaberry – you’ve heard me speak of him. I’d like you to read it and give me your thoughts on how we might proceed.”

“Proceed? In what regard?”

“A matter of … persuasion. Your experience in fighting alongside our Indian allies is second to none. I would call upon it now. As you’ll read in the report, the incursion might well have succeeded if it hadn’t been for the assistance of a certain Mohawk war captain. De Salaberry and I believe he has potential, a fellow worth cultivating. He fought for us before, during the Revolution. It’s possible you may have knowledge of him.

“Really? His name?”

“It’s there in the report. He’s called Tewanias.”

The grey-haired man had been on the point of taking another drink. His hand paused.

“The name means something?” Prevost said, struck by the expression on his visitor’s face.