“I might recite ‘The boy stood on the burning deck’ at a pinch. ‘The
boy stood on the burning deck, whence all but he had fled.’ That’s all
I know, but I can do that bit with action if you like. ‘The boy stood
on the burning deck’—whoosh—whoosh—whoosh—(the flames, you see)
‘Whence all but he had fled’—for that bit I run to and fro like a dog.”

Miss Taylor screamed with laughter.

“Oh, do look at Mr. Cade! Isn’t he funny?”

“Time for morning tea,” said Anthony briskly. “Come this way. There is
an excellent café in the next street.”

“I presume,” said Mrs. Caldicott, in her deep voice, “that the expense
is included in the Tour?”

“Morning tea, Mrs. Caldicott,” said Anthony, assuming his professional
manner, “is an extra.”

“Disgraceful.”

“Life is full of trials, isn’t it?” said Anthony cheerfully. Mrs.
Caldicott’s eyes gleamed, and she remarked with the air of one
springing a mine:

“I suspected as much, and in anticipation I poured off some tea into a
jug at breakfast this morning! I can heat that up on the spirit lamp.
Come, father.”

Mr. and Mrs. Caldicott sailed off triumphantly to the hotel, the lady’s
back complacent with successful forethought.

“Oh, Lord,” muttered Anthony, “what a lot of funny people it does take
to make a world.”

He marshalled the rest of the party in the direction of the café. Miss
Taylor kept by his side, and resumed her catechism.

“Is it a long time since you saw your friend?”

“Just over seven years.”

“Was it in Africa you knew him?”

“Yes, not this part though. The first time I ever saw Jimmy McGrath, he
was all trussed up ready for the cooking pot. Some of the tribes in the
interior are cannibals, you know. We got there just in time.”

“What happened?”

“Very nice little shindy. We potted some of the beggars, and the rest
took to their heels.”

“Oh, Mr. Cade, what an adventurous life you must have led!”

“Very peaceful, I assure you.”

But it was clear that the lady did not believe him.

* * * * *

It was about ten o’clock that night when Anthony Cade walked into the
small room where Jimmy McGrath was busy manipulating various bottles.

“Make it strong, James,” he implored. “I can tell you, I need it.”

“I should think you did, my boy. I wouldn’t take on that job of yours
for anything.”

“Show me another, and I’ll jump out of it fast enough.”

McGrath poured out his own drink, tossed it off with a practised hand
and mixed a second one. Then he said slowly:

“Are you in earnest about that, old son?”

“About what?”

“Chucking this job of yours if you could get another?”

“Why? You don’t mean to say that you’ve got a job going begging? Why
don’t you grab it yourself?”

“I have grabbed it—but I don’t much fancy it, that’s why I’m trying to
pass it on to you.”

Anthony became suspicious.

“What’s wrong with it? They haven’t engaged you to teach in a Sunday
school, have they?”

“Do you think anyone would choose me to teach in a Sunday school?”

“Not if they knew you well, certainly.”

“It’s a perfectly good job—nothing wrong with it whatsoever.”

“Not in South America by any lucky chance? I’ve rather got my eye on
South America. There’s a very tidy little revolution coming off in one
of those little republics soon.”

McGrath grinned.

“You always were keen on revolutions—anything to be mixed up in a
really good row.”

“I feel my talents might be appreciated out there. I tell you, Jimmy,
I can be jolly useful in a revolution—to one side or the other. It’s
better than making an honest living any day.”

“I think I’ve heard that sentiment from you before, my son. No, the job
isn’t in South America—it’s in England.”

“England? Return of hero to his native land after many long years. They
can’t dun you for bills after seven years, can they, Jimmy?”

“I don’t think so. Well, are you on for hearing more about it?”

“I’m on all right. The thing that worries me is why you’re not taking
it on yourself.”

“I’ll tell you. I’m after gold, Anthony—far up in the interior.”

Anthony whistled and looked at him.

“You’ve always been after gold, Jimmy, ever since I knew you. It’s your
weak spot—your own particular little hobby. You’ve followed up more
wild-cat trails than anyone I know.”

“And in the end I’ll strike it. You’ll see.”

“Well, every one his own hobby. Mine’s rows, yours is gold.”

“I’ll tell you the whole story. I suppose you know all about
Herzoslovakia?”

Anthony looked up sharply.

“Herzoslovakia?” he said, with a curious ring in his voice.

“Yes. Know anything about it?”

There was quite an appreciable pause before Anthony answered. Then he
said slowly:

“Only what every one knows. It’s one of the Balkan States, isn’t it?
Principal rivers, unknown. Principal mountains, also unknown, but
fairly numerous. Capital, Ekarest. Population, chiefly brigands. Hobby,
assassinating Kings and having Revolutions. Last King, Nicholas IV.
Assassinated about seven years ago. Since then it’s been a Republic.
Altogether a very likely spot. You might have mentioned before that
Herzoslovakia came into it.”

“It doesn’t except indirectly.”

Anthony gazed at him more in sorrow than in anger.

“You ought to do something about this, James,” he said. “Take a
correspondence course, or something. If you’d told a story like this in
the good old Eastern days, you’d have been hung up by the heels and
bastinadoed or something equally unpleasant.”

Jimmy pursued his course quite unmoved by these strictures.

“Ever heard of Count Stylptitch?”