“Fault?”
“No, no, not fault. You know what I mean; but it is so pitiful to think of. Only the other day we gave him that dinner on his appointment to his regiment in the Egyptian army, and he is off to Cairo. Then the next thing is that he goes on the expedition to join Gordon up the country.”
“And the next news,” said the doctor sadly, “is that he and all with him have been massacred, fighting in poor Gordon’s defence.”
“Horrible! Horrible!” said Landon passionately. “So bright, so brave a lad, with, in the ordinary course, a good manly career of fifty years before him.”
“Think there is any possibility of his having escaped after all?” said the doctor, after a pause.
“Not a bit, poor lad. I was red-hot to go up the country somehow or other last year when I was about to investigate those buried tombs of the Ra Sa dynasty. I wanted to give up the search for those mummies and the stores of old incised inscriptions.”
“Yes, and you applied for permission,” said the doctor.
“Like an idiot,” said Landon angrily, “instead of keeping my own counsel and going without saying a word. I might have found poor old Hal a prisoner, or a slave, or something. But what did the authorities say?”
“That they were quite convinced that there were no survivors of the last expedition, and that they must debar your proceeding up the country.”
“Debar!” cried Landon, with a peculiar laugh. “Splendid word for it. Bar, indeed! Yes, and they politely bundled me out of the country just when I was on the scent of some of the most wonderful discoveries ever made, connected with the ancient Egyptian civilisation.”