had felt in my adventure before the war. But this was far
worse, for it was more cold-blooded and premeditated, and I didn't seem
to have even a sporting chance. I watched the figures in khaki passing
on the pavement, and thought what a nice safe prospect they had
compared to mine. Yes, even if next week they were in the
Hohenzollern, or the Hairpin trench at the Quarries, or that ugly angle
at Hooge. I wondered why I had not been happier that morning before I
got that infernal wire. Suddenly all the trivialities of English life
seemed to me inexpressibly dear and terribly far away. I was very
angry with Bullivant, till I remembered how fair he had been. My fate
was my own choosing.

When I was hunting the Black Stone the interest of the problem had
helped to keep me going. But now I could see no problem. My mind had
nothing to work on but three words of gibberish on a sheet of paper and
a mystery of which Sir Walter had been convinced, but to which he
couldn't give a name. It was like the story I had read of Saint Teresa
setting off at the age of ten with her small brother to convert the
Moors. I sat huddled in the taxi with my chin on my breast, wishing
that I had lost a leg at Loos and been comfortably tucked away for the
rest of the war.

Sure enough I found my man in the Grill Room. There he was, feeding
solemnly, with a napkin tucked under his chin. He was a big fellow
with a fat, sallow, clean-shaven face. I disregarded the hovering
waiter and pulled up a chair beside the American at the little table.
He turned on me a pair of full sleepy eyes, like a ruminating ox.

'Mr Blenkiron?' I asked.

'You have my name, Sir,' he said. 'Mr John Scantlebury Blenkiron. I
would wish you good morning if I saw anything good in this darned
British weather.'

'I come from Sir Walter Bullivant,' I said, speaking low.

'So?' said he. 'Sir Walter is a very good friend of mine. Pleased to
meet you, Mr--or I guess it's Colonel--'

'Hannay,' I said; 'Major Hannay.' I was wondering what this sleepy
Yankee could do to help me.

'Allow me to offer you luncheon, Major. Here, waiter, bring the carte.
I regret that I cannot join you in sampling the efforts of the
management of this hotel. I suffer, Sir, from dyspepsia--duodenal
dyspepsia. It gets me two hours after a meal and gives me hell just
below the breast-bone. So I am obliged to adopt a diet. My
nourishment is fish, Sir, and boiled milk and a little