pestilence. With the mist came a moist,
sticky heat, the air was fetid. Trent wiped the perspiration from his
forehead and breathed hard. This was an evil moment for him.

Monty turned round at the sound of his approaching footsteps. The
two men stood face to face. Trent looked eagerly for some sign of
recognition--none came.

"Don't you know me?" Trent said huskily. "I'm Scarlett Trent--we went
up to Bekwando together, you know. I thought you were dead, Monty, or I
wouldn't have left you."

"Eh! What!"

Monty mumbled for a moment or two and was silent. A look of dull
disappointment struggled with the vacuity of his face. Trent noticed
that his hands were shaking pitifully and his eyes were bloodshot.

"Try and think, Monty," he went on, drawing a step nearer to him. "Don't
you remember what a beastly time we had up in the bush--how they kept us
day after day in that villainous hut because it was a fetish week, and
how after we had got the concessions those confounded niggers followed
us! They meant our lives, Monty, and I don't know how you escaped! Come!
make an effort and pull yourself together. We're rich men now, both of
us. You must come back to England and help me spend a bit."

Monty had recovered a little his power of speech. He leaned over his
spade and smiled benignly at his visitor.

"There was a Trentham in the Guards," he said slowly, "the Honourable
George Trentham, you know, one of poor Abercrombie's sons, but I thought
he was dead. You must dine with me one night at the Travellers'! I've
given up eating myself, but I'm always thirsty."

He looked anxiously away towards the town and began to mumble. Trent was
in despair. Presently he began again.

"I used to belong to the Guards,--always dined there till Jacques left.
Afterwards the cooking was beastly, and--I can't quite remember where
I went then. You see--I think I must be getting old. I don't remember
things. Between you and me," he sidled a little closer to Trent, "I
think I must have got into a bit of a scrape of some sort--I feel as
though there was a blank somewhere...."

Again he became unintelligible. Trent was silent for several minutes.
He could not understand that strained, anxious look which crept into
Monty's face every time he faced the town. Then he made his last effort.

"Monty, do you remember this?"

Zealously guarded, yet a little worn at the edges and faded, he drew the
picture from its case and held it before the old