from the chief that he should report himself there. He feared the worst from the stern soldier, who spared others as little as he spared himself. And his worst forebodings were realised. Travel-stained and weary, he reported himself one night at the general’s quarters. Behind a table piled with papers and strewn with maps the famous soldier and his Chief of Intelligence were deep in plans and figures. Their greeting was a cold one.
“I understand, Captain Joyce,” said the general, “that you have allowed a very important prisoner to slip through your fingers.”
“I am sorry, sir.”
“No doubt. But that will not mend matters. Did you ascertain anything about him before you lost him?”
“No, sir.”
“How was that?”
“I could get nothing out of him, sir.”
“Did you try?”
“Yes, sir; I did what I could.”
“What did you do?”
“Well, sir, I threatened to use physical force.”
“What did he say?”
“He said nothing.”
“What was he like?”
“A tall man, sir. Rather a desperate character, I should think.”
“Any way by which we could identify him?”
“A long black beard, sir. Grey eyes. And a nervous way of twitching his face.”
“Well, Captain Joyce,” said the general, in his stern, inflexible voice, “I cannot congratulate you upon your first exploit in the Egyptian army. You are aware that every English officer in this force is a picked man. I have the whole British army from which to draw. It is necessary, therefore, that I should insist upon the very highest efficiency. It would be unfair upon the others to pass over any obvious want of zeal or intelligence. You are seconded from the Royal Mallows, I understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I have no doubt that your colonel will be glad to see you fulfilling your regimental duties again.” Hilary Joyce’s heart was too heavy for words. He was silent. “I will let you know my final decision to-morrow morning.” Joyce saluted and turned upon his heel.
“You can sleep upon that, you beauty, and a good night’s rest may it give you!”
