ing about!" Benson broke in. "Not all
tricks. Seen funny things in the East; thingsh decent men better leave
alone."

Letting go the post, he lurched forward; and as the light fell on his
face Blake started. He had been puzzled by something familiar in the
voice, and now he recognized the man, and had no wish to meet him. He
was too late in hitching his chair back into the shadow, for Benson had
seen him and stopped with an excited cry.

"Blake of the sappers! Want to cut your old friendsh? Whatsh you
doing here?"

"It's a mutual surprise, Benson," Blake replied.

Benson, holding on by a chair back, smiled at him genially.

"Often wondered where you went to after you left Peshawur, old man.
Though you got the sack for it, it wasn't your fault the ghazees broke
our line that night. Said so to the Colonel--can see him now, sitting
there, looking very sick and cut up, and Bolsover, acting adjutant,
blinking like an owl."

"Be quiet!" Blake commanded in alarm, for the man had been a lieutenant
of native infantry when they had met on the hill campaign.

Benson, however, was not to be deterred.

"This gentleman old friend of mine; never agreed with solemn old
Colonel, but they wouldn't listen to me. Very black night in India;
ghazees coming yelling up the hill; nothing would stop 'em. Rifles
cracking, Nepalese comp'ny busy with the bayonet; and in the thick of
it the bugle goes----"

Raising a hand to his mouth, he gave a shrill imitation of the call to
cease firing, and then lost his balance and fell over the chair with a
crash.

"Leave him to me," said Gardner, seizing the fallen man and with some
difficulty lifting him to his feet. After he pushed him through the
door there were sounds of a scuffle, and a few minutes later Gardner
came back with a bruise on his face.

"He's quiet now, and the bartender will put him to bed," he said.

There was silence for the next few moments, for the group on the
veranda had been impressed by the scene; then a man came up the steps.
He was dressed in old brown overalls and carried a riding quirt, but
Harding recognized him as the man they had met at the hotel in Montreal.

"Have you got Benson here?" he asked.

"Sure," said Gardner. "He's left his mark on my cheek. Why don't you
look after the fool? You must have come pretty quietly; I didn't hear
you until you were half-way up the steps."

"Light boots," Clarke answered, smiling; "I bought them from you.