"I say, here's a word you've missed," said Jackson, suddenly. "It's very faint, and badly smudged. I can hardly make it out, but it's 'Falls,' isn't it?"
They scrutinised the paper eagerly in the firelight.
"You're right," said Forrester. "That's his starting-point, by the look of it: some waterfall or other."
The stranger's pocket-book was lying on the ground where Forrester had placed it after removing the paper. Mackenzie picked it up.
"Don't you think we might?" he asked.
"It's the only way," said Jackson. "Find out who he is, and make inquiries about him as soon as we get back."
Mackenzie opened the case. From one of its pockets he drew forth a roll of rouble notes, from another a couple of letters addressed to Captain Redfern at Peshawar, and finally a small note-book.
"There's his name," said Forrester. "The note-book may help us."
He found, however, on opening this, that the leaves contained nothing but jottings of words and phrases in unfamiliar tongues, with their English equivalents. There was no clue to his destination or the object of his journey, no mention of his companion.
"We're not much forarder," said Forrester. "The only thing to do is to get home as quickly as possible to-morrow, and wire through to Sadiya or Calcutta. Somebody will know something about him."