other, in altered tones, "look at me closely.
Forget the brown skin and the black beard. Picture me a little thinner
and paler. Now, then, do you think Radford Leicester is dead?"

He took off his fez, and stood face to face with the man to whom he
spoke.

"That's it, look closer--feature by feature. Now then, do you believe
Radford Leicester is dead?"

"My God!" said Winfield.

"Ah," said the other quietly, "I thought you would recognise me if I put
it to you truly."

"But--but----"

"Yes, you recognise my voice now. I am no longer the Eastern gentleman
with the quiet, musical voice. The dead man has risen, eh?"

"But, I say, Leicester----"

"Not yet, Winfield. I am Signor Abdul Ricordo. I have an Italian father
and a Moorish mother, and I speak English with an Eastern voice, and
with a slight accent. But I speak your language well, don't I?"

"I--I can't believe it!" stammered Winfield.

"Yes, you can. Why"--and he moved his shoulders like the Leicester of
old--"do you think I am a kind of thing fed on asses' milk, a poor,
weak, pulpy thing that would allow myself to be the plaything of a woman
and two cads like Sprague and Purvis? Did you believe that, Winfield?"

"Then you did not----"

"Die? No. I went to hell, but I did not die."

"But, I say--I am dazed, bewildered. I hardly know where I am. I have a
feeling that I shall wake up presently and find that I have dreamed
this."

The other laughed quietly, and Winfield detected the laughter of Radford
Leicester of six years before.

"But, I say, Leicester, tell me--that is, tell me the--the meaning of it
all."

The other looked around him almost fearfully. The place was silent as
death. No sound was heard save the gurgling of the moorland stream.

"Do not mention that name again, Winfield--at least not yet. I am Abdul
Ricordo. Ricordo, as you know, is an Italian word which means
'remember.' I remember, my friend; I remember. I have forgotten nothing;
no, by heaven, _nothing_."

"But tell me, old man----"

"I say, Winfield, you do not seem glad. You do not congratulate me; you
do not offer to shake hands, nor do you tell me how thankful you are
that I did not throw myself in the river."

"You know, old man. It goes without saying. But I am shaken out of my
reckonings. I hardly know whether I am on my head or my heels. Glad to
see you! I am more than glad. I need not tell you now, what I told you
just now when I did not know who you were. But