I trembled lest Jakoub should come out and be recognised by Brogden, but instead there was an exclamation of annoyance or alarm, as someone hastily shut the door.
“Here you are,” cried Brogden, bringing a wine-glass filled with an amber liquor with an olive at the bottom of it. “That will do you more good than all the medicine in the chemists’ shops! Good health!”
“Good health,” I answered, tasting the liquor, which was certainly very agreeable.
“I hate leaving you alone, old man. But I can’t cut lunch at the club—or dinner to-day, and to-morrow I have to go to Cairo for a day. When does your boat sail?”
“I’ve not decided yet. I may rest here a day or two in any case.”
“Then we shall meet again, and I’ll be able to trot you round a bit when I get back.”
“Yes, I hope so. But remember if we miss each other we must not ‘lose touch’ again. We will write, and I’ll hope to come out next winter. And you must spend part of your next leave with me.”
His going to Cairo was an unspeakable relief; but I longed for an opportunity to make him some amends. So we parted very cordially.
I got wearily back to my room and counted over again the cases of hashish! They were undisturbed, but I felt more nervous of my trust than if they had been solid gold or dynamite.
I ordered my meals to be sent up to my room, sent for some papers and books which I knew I should be unable to read, and sat down once more trying to plan out my immediate future.