up-country again at once in some capacity or
other. This new line was something of a novelty to him, but it was a
very welcome one, for Sir Anson Selmes had arranged it upon the most
liberal terms. He had given him an absolutely free hand in the matter
of expenses, and the honorarium which he was to receive was generous to
a degree.

"You're very confiding, Sir Anson," Greenoak remarked in his queer blunt
way. "How do you know I shan't rob you? Why, you're almost putting a
premium on any man doing so under that agreement."

Still discussing the arrangement just concluded, the two were seated in
deck chairs in the shade afforded by a boat slung inward on chocks. The
voyage was nearly at an end. The ship had lain three days in the Cape
Town docks, and now was skirting Danger Point, with its lofty cliffs and
treacherous archipelago of sunken reefs. There was a fine roll on, and
every now and then the nose of the liner dipped deep into the green
water, throwing up a seething splash of milky spume.

"Because," answered Sir Anson, "I know something of men, although my
experience has been gained in a side of life totally different from your
own. Apart from that, does it occur to you that you may not be entirely
unknown to some of the passengers, and even, by repute, to the ship's
officers? What if I may have heard it said, more than once, that Harley
Greenoak's name is better than most men's witnessed signature?"

"Well, Sir Anson, I don't want to brag, but, since you put things that
way, it has certainly always been as good," was the reply.

For a minute or two both men smoked on in silence, their gaze resting
meditatively on the white lines of surf storming against the base of the
iron cliffs at no great distance on the port beam. Then Greenoak said:

"I believe we can't be far from where the _Birkenhead_ went down. In
fact I shouldn't be surprised if this was the very spot."

"Let's hope not," rejoined Sir Anson. "I mean let's hope we're a little
further out from land. But it's interesting to be on it, and I'm glad
you reminded me. By Jove, but that is a story which no Englishman could
read or dwell upon without a thrill of pride; for I don't believe any
other country could produce its parallel. Think of the splendid
discipline of those heroic fellows--rank and file alike--drawn up as
though on parade, staring death--certain death--straight in the face
without a qualm, so that the women and children sho