with
the preciseness of an educated foreigner.

"Yes, sir. Rusty--that is, Mr. Ward knows my record."

"I was his sergeant in France, sir; saw fighting with him in Morocco,
Turkey, Nicaragua--"

"You can vouch for him, then; his character, courage--"

"You couldn't get a better man, sir. If I had known he was in town I
would have sent for him."

"Very well; that is sufficient. But Mr.--Miles did you
say?--understands he is embarking on a dangerous adventure with grave
chances of losing his life?"

"I have faced danger and risked my life before this," said Justus
Miles quietly.

The other nodded. "Then that is all I am prepared to tell you at this
time."

Justus Miles accompanied Ward to his room where the latter laid out
for him a change of clothing. It was luxurious to splash in warm water
and bath-salts after the enforced griminess of weeks. The clothes
fitted him fairly well, the two men being of a size. Lounging in his
friend's room after a substantial meal, and smoking a Turkish
cigarette, he questioned Ward more closely.

"Who is the old fellow?"

"I don't know. He hired me through an advertisement and then set me to
employing others."

"But surely you know where we are going?"

"Hardly more than you do. Solino did say there was a country, a city
to be invaded. Whereabouts is a secret. I can't say I care for going
it blind, but neither do I like starving to death. I was in about the
same shape you were when you applied. Desperate."

Justus Miles stretched himself comfortably.

"A spiggoty by the looks of him," he said; "negro blood, no doubt.
Well, fighting's my trade. I'd rather cash in fighting than sit on a
park bench. I suppose the old boy will tell us more in good time, and
until then we're sitting pretty, with good eats to be had; so why
worry?"

And yet if Justus Miles had been able to look ahead he might not have
talked so blithely.

* * * * *

During the week that followed his employment, he saw nothing of
Solino, though Ward met the old man for a few moments every day to
receive his instructions. "It puzzles me," he confessed to Miles,
"how the old chap lives. There's a private exit to the street from his
rooms, but I could swear he never goes out. How could he in that
wheelchair--no attendant. And yet he must. How would he get food?"

Justus Miles smiled lazily. "No mystery at all, Rusty. We're gone for
hours at a time. What's to prevent him from