ey talked for a little time
together;" and as he came to this point he raised his head. A look of
recognition came into his face. He laid his hands upon the table-edge,
and leaned forward with his feet drawn back beneath his chair as though
he was on the point of springing up. But he did not spring up. His look
of recognition became one of bewilderment. He glanced round the table
and saw that Colonel Dawson was helping himself to cocoa, while Major
Walters's eyes were on his plate. There were other officers of the
garrison present, but not one had remarked his movement and its sudden
arrest. Calder leaned back, and staring curiously in front of him and
over the major's shoulder, continued his story. "But I could never hear
that Durrance spoke to any one else. He seemed, except that one knows to
the contrary, merely to have strolled through the village and back again
to Wadi Halfa."

"That doesn't help us much," said the major.

"And it's all you know?" asked the colonel.

"No, not quite all," returned Calder, slowly; "I know, for instance,
that the man we are talking about is staring me straight in the face."

At once everybody at the table turned towards the mess-room.

"Durrance!" cried the colonel, springing up.

"When did you get back?" said the major.

Durrance, with the dust of his journey still powdered upon his clothes,
and a face burnt to the colour of red brick, was standing in the
doorway, and listening with a remarkable intentness to the voices of his
fellow-officers. It was perhaps noticeable that Calder, who was
Durrance's friend, neither rose from his chair nor offered any greeting.
He still sat watching Durrance; he still remained curious and perplexed;
but as Durrance descended the three steps into the verandah there came
a quick and troubled look of comprehension into his face.

"We expected you three weeks ago," said Dawson, as he pulled a chair
away from an empty place at the table.

"The delay could not be helped," replied Durrance. He took the chair and
drew it up.

"Does my story account for it?" asked Calder.

"Not a bit. It was the Greek musician I expected that night," he
explained with a laugh. "I was curious to know what stroke of ill-luck
had cast him out to play the zither for a night's lodging in a cafe at
Tewfikieh. That was all," and he added slowly, in a softer voice, "Yes,
that was all."

"Meanwhile you are forgetting your breakfast," said Dawson, as he rose.
"What will