m when Joseph delivered Marie's message.

Nestorius was wide awake now. When he saw Oscard his small face suddenly
expanded into a brilliant grin.

"Bad case!" he said.

It was rather startling, until Marie spoke.

"He thinks you are Mr. Meredith," she said. "Mr. Meredith taught him to
say 'Bad case!'"

Nestorius looked from one to the other with gravely speculative eyes,
which presently closed.

"He is dying--yes!" said the mother, looking at Jocelyn.

Oscard knew more of this matter than any of them. He went forward and
leant over the table. Marie removed a piece of salted bacon that was
lying on the table near to the pillow. With the unconsciousness of long
habit she swept some crumbs away with her apron. Oscard was trying to
find the pulse in the tiny wrist, but there was not much to find.

"I am afraid he is very ill," he said.

At this moment the kettle boiled over, and Marie had to turn away to
attend to her duties.

When she came back Oscard was looking, not at Nestorius, but at her.

"We spent four days at Msala," he said, in a tone that meant that he had
more to tell her.

"Yes?"

"The place is in ruins, as you know."

She nodded with a peculiar little twist of the lips as if he were
hurting her.

"And I am afraid I have some bad news for you. Victor Durnovo, your
master--"

"Yes--tell quickly!"

"He is dead. We buried him at Msala. He died in my arms."

At this moment Joseph gave a little gasp and turned away to the window,
where he stood with his broad back turned towards them. Maurice Gordon,
as white as death, was leaning against the table. He quite forgot
himself. His lips were apart, his jaw had dropped; he was hanging
breathlessly on Guy Oscard's next word.

"He died of the sleeping sickness," said Oscard. "We had come down to
Msala before him--Joseph and I. I broke up the partnership, and we left
him in possession of the Simiacine Plateau. But his men turned against
him. For some reason his authority over them failed. He was obliged
to make a dash for Msala, and he reached it, but the sickness was upon
him."

Maurice Gordon drew a sharp sigh of relief which was almost a sob. Marie
was standing with her two hands on the pillow where Nestorius lay. Her
deep eyes were fixed on the Englishman's sunburnt, strongly gentle face.

"Did he send a message for me--yes?" she said softly.

"No," answered Oscard. "He--there was no time."

Joseph at the window had turned half round.