On the following day Frank and Harry might have been seen, with their heads nearly close together, leaning over one of the tables in the large breakfast-room at the Tavistock Hotel in Covent Garden.  The ominous whip, to the handle of which Frank had already made his hand well accustomed, was lying on the table between them; and ever and anon Harry Baker would take it up and feel its weight approvingly.  Oh, Mr Moffat! poor Mr Moffat! go not out into the fashionable world to-day; above all, go not to that club of thine in Pall Mall; but, oh! especially go not there, as is thy wont to do, at three o’clock in the afternoon!

With much care did those two young generals lay their plans of attack.  Let it not for a moment be thought that it was ever in the minds of either of them that two men should attack one.  But it was thought that Mr Moffat might be rather coy in coming out from his seclusion to meet the proffered hand of his once intended brother-in-law when he should see that hand armed with a heavy whip.  Baker, therefore, was content to act as a decoy duck, and remarked that he might no doubt make himself useful in restraining the public mercy, and, probably, in controlling the interference of policemen.

‘It will be deuced hard if I can’t get five or six shies at him,’ said Frank, again clutching his weapon almost spasmodically.  Oh, Mr Moffat! five or six shies with such a whip, and such an arm!  For myself, I would sooner join the second Balaclava gallop than encounter it.

At ten minutes before four these two heroes might be seen walking up Pall Mall, towards the ——­ Club.  Young Baker walked with an eager disengaged air.  Mr Moffat did not know his appearance; he had, therefore, no anxiety to pass along unnoticed.  But Frank had in some mysterious way drawn his hat very far over his forehead, and had buttoned his shooting-coat up round his chin.  Harry had recommended to him a great-coat, in order that he might the better conceal his face; but Frank had found the great-coat was an encumbrance to his arm.  He put it on, and when thus clothed he had tried the whip, he found that he cut the air with much less potency than in the lighter garment.  He contented himself, therefore, with looking down on the pavement as he walked along, letting the long point of the whip stick up from his pocket, and flattering himself that even Mr Moffat would not recognise him at the first glance.  Poor Mr Moffat!  If he had but had the chance!

And now, having arrived at the front of the club, the two friends for a moment separate:  Frank remains standing on the pavement, under the shade of the high stone area-railing, while Harry jauntily skips up three steps at a time, and with a very civil word of inquiry of the hall porter, sends his card to Mr Moffat—­

‘Mr Harry baker’

Mr Moffat, never having heard of such a gentleman in his life, unwittingly comes out into the hall, and Harry, with the sweetest smile, addresses him.