CHAPTER XLI
"TWO YEARS AFTER"
"Colonel Sir Francis Devereux to see you, sir."
I turned away from the window of my room, whence I had been gazing idly into the dreary barrack square below, and advanced to greet the stately, grey-headed old man who stood in the doorway.
"Surprised to see me, Hugh, eh?" he asked, sinking into my one easy chair.
"I didn't expect you in town again so soon," I acknowledged. "But I'm very glad to see you. You know that."
"Are you?" he said shortly. "Then why the devil can't you come and see me sometimes? A nice thing to bring an old man over seventy years of age a couple of hundred miles whenever he wants to have a word or two with his grandson! Damn it, sir, you're as obstinate as a mule!"
I did not answer him. He knew very well why I would not go to Devereux. What was the use of treading all over the old ground again?
"More rumours in the Times this morning, I see, about Burton Leigh and Mr. Arbuthnot," he remarked, after a short silence. "They say they've been handed over to the Mahdi now. Don't believe a word of it!"
"I hope to God that it's not true," I groaned; "but in any case they must be in terrible danger. The Mahdi is gaining fresh followers every day, and they must be in the very centre of the most perilous district. Why on earth the Government doesn't make a decided move, I can't imagine!"