t thunder of lumbering
traffic.

'I understand that he died very bravely,' said the American in an
attempt to ease the intensity of the silence.

'Yes,' muttered Durwent dreamily, 'he would. . . . So old Malcolm is
dead. . . . Somehow, I always looked on his soldiering as a joke. I
never thought that those fellows in the Regulars would ever really go
to war. . . . Yet, when the time came, he was ready, and I was
skulking off to China like a thief in the night.'

The Englishman's voice was so low that it seemed as if he were talking
more to himself than to his listener.

'What happened to that swine?' he ejaculated suddenly. 'I mean the one
I almost killed. By any chance, did he die?'

'I saw in a paragraph last week,' said Selwyn, 'that he was out on
crutches for the first time. The paper also commented on your complete
disappearance.'

'I wish I had killed him,' said the young man grimly. 'If I ever get a
chance I'll tell you about him. I was drunk at the time--that's what
saved his life. If I had been sober I should have finished him. Well,
it's a damp night, my friend, and I won't keep you any longer from a
decent billet.'

'Look here, Durwent,' said Selwyn; 'come along to my rooms. You're
soaked to the skin, and I could give you a change and a shakedown for
the night.'

'Thanks very much; but I'm accustomed to this kind of thing.'

'You won't be seen,' urged Selwyn. 'I have accepted so much from your
family that you would do me a kindness in coming.'

'Well, I must say I'm not married to this place. If you don't mind
taking in a disreputable wharf-rat'----

'That's the idea,' said Selwyn, helping him to his feet. The
Englishman shivered slightly.

'You haven't a flask, have you?' he queried. 'I didn't know how cold I
was.'

'I haven't anything with me,' said the American; 'but I can give you a
whisky and something to eat at my rooms.'

'Right! Thanks very much.'

Tucking the cape under his arm, and shaking his waterproof cap to clear
it of water, Dick Durwent followed the American on to the Embankment,
where the two sphinxes of Egypt squatted, silent sentinels.

II.

To avoid the crowds as much as possible, the two men followed the
Embankment, and had reached the Houses of Parliament, intending to make
a detour into St. James's Square, when Selwyn felt a hand upon his
shoulder. He turned quickly about, and Durwent moved off to one side
to be out of the light of a lamp.