'"Oh, he was in Upper Egypt. His family came from Devonshire, and he was a great friend of Maurice St. Mabyn who was killed. Poor chap, when he told us the story he nearly broke down. I never knew he had so much feeling in him."
'I don't know why it was, but I lost my head. I suppose the fellow's hypocrisy disgusted me so that I blurted out what St. Mabyn told me to keep quiet.
'"The blackguard," I said "he deserves to be shot, and will be shot, or hanged!"
'"Who's a blackguard?" asked Dawkins.
'"Springfield," I replied. "Grieving about the death of Maurice St. Mabyn! Why, the coward, he—he—; but Maurice St. Mabyn will turn up again, and—and——"
'"But St. Mabyn's dead!" cried Dawkins. "I saw it reported myself."
'"He isn't dead?" I blurted out.
'"But how can that be?" asked Dawkins.
'"Because I believe in my own eyes and ears," I replied.
'After that, I was under the impression that I was watched and followed. More than once when I thought I was alone I heard stealthy footsteps behind me, but although I tried to verify my suspicions I could not. However, I did not trouble, for in due time I started for home. I arranged to break my journey to Bombay at a place where I had been stationed for six months. It was only a one horse sort of a show, but I had some pals there, and they had insisted on my spending a day or two with them. It took me three days to get there, and on my arrival I found a long telegram purporting to be from my colonel, requesting me to go to an outpost station where important information would be given me. It also urged me to be silent about it.