But what had caused this change the boy could not imagine.
“Perhaps,” he thought, “it was but the sudden discovery that there is a third person in the room—a person who might have overheard something to the disadvantage of Abdallah and his fellows.”
There was a marked pause; the backs of both men were turned to Ezra; to his searching gaze it was plain that they were casting about as to what they should do or say. It was Gilbert Scarlett who broke the silence.
“Of course,” said he, “a gentleman of my fortune—or lack of it—has no choice but to gain the wages that enable him to live. I somehow fancied the service of this Abdallah. Perhaps its strangeness appealed to me. But now that he has failed me, I can see nothing to do but to take service with the colonial army.”
“From your tone,” spoke Pennington, “I gather that you do not care to do this.” He laughed his disagreeable laugh and resumed, “They have the right upon their side, you must admit that. And then they are led by very virtuous statesmen.”
“They are right enough,” said Scarlett, with a shrug. “But is their treasury deep enough to pay a needy officer with reasonable regularity? I fancy not. As to their statesmen, I grant you their ability, knowing nothing of them good or bad; but it takes generals to win battles.”
As he spoke he threw one arm across the back of the settle, and in the most careless way in the world, turned his head. When he saw Ezra he first looked surprised, and then amused.
“What,” said he, jovially, “my young friend of the pistol! Well met!”
He arose. The spurs upon the heels of his boots clinked upon the tiled floor, his long sword trailed noisily at his side. Ezra, perfectly self-possessed, arose to greet him. Scarlett clasped his hand warmly.
“Chance,” declared the adventurer, “plays us many queer pranks as we journey through life.” He looked from Ezra to Pennington, a mocking smile upon his lips, then he continued: “For I suppose it was the very blindest chance that brought you here.”