, Rawdon dispatched Captain
Macmurdo's servant to Curzon Street, with an order to the domestic there to give
up a bag of clothes of which the Colonel had great need. And during the man's
absence, and with great labour and a Johnson's Dictionary, which stood them in
much stead, Rawdon and his second composed a letter, which the latter was to
send to Lord Steyne. Captain Macmurdo had the honour of waiting upon the Marquis
of Steyne, on the part of Colonel Rawdon Crawley, and begged to intimate that he
was empowered by the Colonel to make any arrangements for the meeting which, he
had no doubt, it was his Lordship's intention to demand, and which the
circumstances of the morning had rendered inevitable. Captain Macmurdo begged
Lord Steyne, in the most polite manner, to appoint a friend, with whom he
(Captain M'M.) might communicate, and desired that the meeting might take place
with as little delay as possible. In a postscript the Captain stated that he had
in his possession a bank-note for a large amount, which Colonel Crawley had
reason to suppose was the property of the Marquis of Steyne. And he was anxious,
on the Colonel's behalf, to give up the note to its owner.
    By the time this note was composed, the Captain's servant returned from his
mission to Colonel Crawley's house in Curzon Street, but without the carpet-bag
and portmanteau for which he had been sent, and with a very puzzled and odd
face.
    »They won't give 'em up,« said the man; »there's a regular shinty in the
house, and everything at sixes and sevens. The landlord's come in and took
possession. The servants was a drinkin' up in the drawing-room. They said - they
said you had gone off with the plate, Colonel,« the man added after a pause.
»One of the servants is off already. And Simpson, the man as was very noisy and
drunk indeed, says nothing shall go out of the house until his wages is paid
up.«
    The account of this little revolution in Mayfair astonished and gave a
little gaiety to an otherwise very triste conversation. The two officers laughed
at Rawdon's discomfiture.
    »I'm glad the little 'un isn't at home,« Rawdon said, biting his nails. »You
remember him, Mac, don't you, in the Riding School? How he sat the kicker to be
sure! didn't he
