around in Bardur, and then go
down to Gilgit, and, I suppose, on to the Punjab. They've got excellent
manners, and they hang about the clubs and give dinners and charm the
whole neighbourhood. Logan is their bosom friend, and Thwaite declares
that their society reconciles him to the place. Then they go away, and
the place keeps on the randan for weeks after."

"Do you know a man called Marker by any chance?" Lewis asked.

Gribton looked curiously at the speaker. "Have you actually heard about
him? Yes, I know him, but not very well, and I can't say I ever cared
for him. However, he is easily the most popular man in Bardur, and I
daresay is a very good fellow. But you don't call him Russian. I
thought he was sort of half a Scotsman."

"Very likely he is," said Lewis. "I happen to have heard a good deal
about him. But what ails you at him?"

"Oh, small things," and the man laughed. "You know I am getting elderly
and cranky, and I like a man to be very fair and four-square. I confess
I never got to the bottom of the chap. He was a capital sportsman, good
bridge-player, head like a rock for liquor, and all that; but I'm hanged
if he didn't seem to me to be playing some sort of game. Another thing,
he seemed to me a terribly cold-blooded devil. He was always slapping
people on the back and calling them 'dear old fellows,' but I happened
to see a small interview once between him and one of his servants.
Perhaps I ought not to mention it, but the thing struck me unpleasantly.
It was below the club verandah, and nobody happened to be about except
myself, who was dozing after lunch. Marker was rating a servant in some
Border tongue--Chil, it sounded like; and I remember wondering how he
could have picked it up. I saw the whole thing through a chink in the
floor, and I noticed that the servant's face was as grey as a brown
hillman's can be. Then the fellow suddenly caught his arm and twisted
it round, the man's face working with pain, though he did not dare to
utter a sound. It was an ugly sight, and when I caught a glimpse of
Marker's face, 'pon my soul, those straight black eyebrows of his gave
him a most devilish look."

"What's he like to look at?" George asked.

"Oh, he's rather tall, very straight, with a sort of military carriage,
and he has one of those perfect oval faces that you sometimes see. He
has most remarkable black eyes and very neat, thin eyebrows. He is the
sort of man you'd turn round to look at if you