other.

Whereupon Bones swore to himself that he would carefully avoid
corresponding with any person who might have the remotest acquaintance
with the remotest of Hamilton's relatives.

Every mail night Captain Hamilton underwent a cross-examination which at
once baffled and annoyed him.

Picture a great room, the walls of varnished match-boarding, the bare
floor covered in patches by skins. There are twelve windows covered
with fine mesh wire and looking out to the broad verandah which runs
round the bungalow. The furniture is mainly wicker work, a table or two
bearing framed photographs (one has been cleared for the huge gramophone
which Bones has introduced to the peaceful life of headquarters). There
are no pictures on the walls save the inevitable five--Queen Victoria,
King Edward, Queen Alexandra, and in a place of honour above the door
the King and his Consort.

A great oil lamp hangs from the centre of the boarded ceiling, and under
this the big solid table at either side of which two officers write
silently and industriously, for the morrow brings the mail boat.

Silent until Bones looked up thoughtfully.

"Do you know the Gripps, of Beckstead, dear old fellow?"

"No."

"None of your people know 'em?" hopefully.

"No--how the dickens do I know?"

"Don't get chuffy, dear old chap."

Then would follow another silence, until----

"Do you happen to be acquainted with the Lomands of Fife?"

"No."

"I suppose none of your people know 'em?"

Hamilton would put down his pen, resignation on his face.

"I have never heard of the Lomands--unless you refer to the Loch
Lomonds; nor to the best of my knowledge and belief are any of my
relations in blood or in law in any way acquainted with them."

"Cheer oh!" said Bones, gratefully.

Another ten minutes, and then:

"You don't know the Adamses of Oxford, do you, sir?"

Hamilton, in the midst of his weekly report, chucked down his pen.

"No; nor the Eves of Cambridge, nor the Serpents of Eton, nor the Angels
of Harrow."

"I suppose----" began Bones.

"Nor are my relations on speaking terms with them. They don't know the
Adamses, nor the Cains, nor the Abels, nor the Moseses, nor the Noahs."

"That's all I wanted to know, sir," said an injured Bones. "There's no
need to peeve, sir."

Step by step Bones was compiling a directory of people to whom he might
write without restraint, providing he avoided mythical lion hunts and
confined himself to an