ons of camels lying by the side
of the track. Do you know the camel's way? He is an unfriendly,
graceless beast, but he marches to within an hour of his death. He drops
and dies with the load upon his back. It seemed to me, even in those
days, the right and enviable way to finish. You can imagine how I must
envy them that advantage of theirs now. Good night."

He felt for the bannister and walked up the stairs to his room.

CHAPTER XXVI

GENERAL FEVERSHAM'S PORTRAITS ARE APPEASED

Lieutenant Sutch, though he went late to bed, was early astir in the
morning. He roused the household, packed and repacked his clothes, and
made such a bustle and confusion that everything to be done took twice
its ordinary time in the doing. There never had been so much noise and
flurry in the house during all the thirty years of Lieutenant Sutch's
residence. His servants could not satisfy him, however quickly they
scuttled about the passages in search of this or that forgotten article
of his old travelling outfit. Sutch, indeed, was in a boyish fever of
excitement. It was not to be wondered at, perhaps. For thirty years he
had lived inactive--on the world's half-pay list, to quote his own
phrase; and at the end of all that long time, miraculously, something
had fallen to him to do--something important, something which needed
energy and tact and decision. Lieutenant Sutch, in a word, was to be
employed again. He was feverish to begin his employment. He dreaded the
short interval before he could begin, lest some hindrance should
unexpectedly occur and relegate him again to inactivity.

"I shall be ready this afternoon," he said briskly to Durrance as they
breakfasted. "I shall catch the night mail to the Continent. We might
go up to London together; for London is on your way to Wiesbaden."

"No," said Durrance, "I have just one more visit to pay in England. I
did not think of it until I was in bed last night. You put it into my
head."

"Oh," observed Sutch, "and whom do you propose to visit?"

"General Feversham," replied Durrance.

Sutch laid down his knife and fork and looked with surprise at his
companion. "Why in the world do you wish to see him?" he asked.

"I want to tell him how Harry has redeemed his honour, how he is still
redeeming it. You said last night that you were bound by a promise not
to tell him anything of his son's intention, or even of his son's
success until the son returned himself. But I am bound by n