that innocent-looking missive, he would fling it with horror-stricken
hands into the coal-fire that burns on the grate beside him.

But no disturbing thought enters his mind. The future looks bright and
cheerful enough just at present, and ripping open the end of the
envelope without breaking the seal, he pulls out a folded paper and
reads:

COLONIAL OFFICE, DOWNING STREET, S. W.
TO CAPTAIN GUY CHUTNEY:
Your immediate presence is requested on urgent affairs.

(Signed) ---- ----
SECRETARY OF STATE FOR COLONIAL AFFAIRS.

Chutney looks with some surprise at the famous signature attached with a
bold hand. He places the letter in his pocket, pushes open a swinging
door at the left, and vanishes up a broad stairway.

In five minutes he reappears, clad in a big mackintosh, and, calling a
cab, he rattles off westward through the fog.

He is not in the best of humors. He had made other plans for the day,
for his furlough is up, and tomorrow he leaves for India to rejoin his
regiment. He had come up yesterday from the country, where he had put in
a week at grouse hunting with his brother, Sir Lucas Chutney, and today
he intended bidding good-by to old friends, and to attend to the making
of a few purchases.

Downing Street is not far away, and presently the cab rolls into
Whitehall and draws up before the big granite building.

Guy makes his way through the spacious corridors thronged with clerks,
civilians, foreigners from every part of the globe, and at last reaches
the private apartments of the chief.

The Right Honorable Lord is deeply engaged, but his private secretary
receives Chutney cordially, and, leading him back into a still more
secluded and stately apartment, motions him to a soft chair and sits
down opposite him.

"Captain Chutney," he begins abruptly, "you leave for India tomorrow?"

"India Mail, eight o'clock in the morning," Guy replies briefly.

"Very well. We are going to intrust you with a very important
commission. You will stop off at Aden, cross the Gulf of Aden in the
semi-weekly steamer, and present these documents to Sir Arthur Ashby,
the Political Resident of Zaila, the fortified town of the Somali Coast
Protectorate."

The secretary hands Guy two bulky envelopes, stamped and sealed with the
government seal.

"They relate to affairs of importance," he continues. "Your gallant
recor