in its frank, its even
boisterous sincerity.

And now he was utterly alone, almost like Robinson Crusoe.

The _controleur_ came in to make the bed. Mr. Greyne told him the
dreadful story.

"No doubt he has been lured away, monsieur. The dressing-case was of
value?"

"Crocodile, gold fittings."

"Probably monsieur will never see him again. As likely as not he will
sleep in the Seine to-night, and at the morgue to-morrow."

Mr. Greyne shuddered. This was an ill omen for his expedition. He drank
a stiff whisky-and-soda instead of the usual barley water, and went to
bed to dream of bloody murders in which he was the victim.

When the train ran into Marseilles next morning he was an unshaven,
miserable man.

"Have I time to buy a tooth-brush," he inquired anxiously at the
station, "before the boat sails for Algiers?"

The _chef de gare_ thought so. Monsieur had four hours, if that was
sufficient. Mr. Greyne hastened forth, had a Turkish bath, purchased a
new dressing-case, ate a hasty _dejeuner_, and took a cab to the wharf.
It was a long drive over the stony streets. He glanced from side to
side, watching the bustling traffic, the hurry of the nations going to
and from the ships. His eyes rested upon two Arabs who were striding
along in his direction. Doubtless they were also bound for Algiers. He
thought they looked most wicked, and hastily took a note of them for
"African Frailty." Beside his sense of loss and loneliness marched the
sense of duty. The great woman at home in Belgrave Square, founder of
his fortunes, mother of his children, she depended upon him. Even in his
own hour of need he would not fail her. He took a lead pencil, and wrote
down:

Saw two Arab ruffians. Bare legs. Look capable of anything. Should not
be surprised to hear that they had----

There he paused. That they had what? Done things. Of course, but what
things? That was the question. He exerted his imagination, but failed to
arrive at any conclusion as to their probable crimes. His knowledge
of wickedness was really absurdly limited. For the first time he felt
slightly ashamed of it, and began to wish he had gone into the militia.
He comforted himself with the thought that in a fortnight he would
probably be fit for the regular army. This thought cheered him slightly,
and it was with a slight smile upon his face that he welcomed the first
glimpse of the _General Bertrand_, which was lying against the quay
ready to cast off at the s