Certainly, reflected Warden, there were elements in the life of Whitehall that escaped public notice.
“We have sent for you because you are wanted at once in West Africa,” went on the other. “Letters to and from the Governor of Northern Nigeria have culminated in a cablegram from the Governor asking that you should be recalled from furlough. Though you are attached to the southern portion of the Protectorate, his Excellency has the highest appreciation of your tact and ability. He thinks you are the man best fitted to deal with the natives of the disturbed region. It is not proposed that you should return by the ordinary mail service. We assume that the departure of officers and others for Lagos is closely watched at the present crisis. A passage has been secured on a coasting steamer for a mythical personage named Alfred Williams. Initials on baggage or linen, therefore, cannot cause inquiry. Now, the Water Witch sails from Cardiff by Saturday afternoon’s tide, and we would like Mr. Alfred Williams to go on board that morning.”
Warden looked blankly at the speaker. It was then Thursday. It left him little more than a day in which to unravel the mystery that enveloped Evelyn and her whereabouts. A bitter rage welled up in his breast, but he controlled his face, and the official attributed his silence to the suddenness of his suggested departure.
“I am sorry that your leave should be spoiled in this fashion,” continued the quiet voice. “But it is unavoidable. The thing presses. And I need scarcely tell you that when Government wants a man’s service it is good for the man.”
“I shall be on board the Water Witch on Saturday,” said Warden.
Perhaps the lack of enthusiasm in his manner was puzzling, but the suave official paid no heed.
“And now for your instructions,” he said. “The vessel touches at Cape Coast Castle before going on to Lagos. You will be met there by some officer whom you are acquainted with. He will tell you the exact position of affairs, and what, if any, developments have taken place in the meantime. He will also give you the Governor’s views as to the way in which your experience of the natives can best be utilized. I leave it to you to take the necessary precautions to conceal your movements and identity, and I am authorized to hand you £250 to meet any expenses incidental to your mission. Your passage on the Water Witch is paid for, by the way.”
Again the older man failed to understand why the young officer should laugh with the grim humor of one who bids fate do her worst. Certainly, the situation had in it some element of comedy. Gold was being showered on Warden from the skies—promotion and distinction were thrust upon him—yet he was miserable as any man in England that day.
“Something on his mind—is it a woman?” mused the shrewd official, and the time came when he remembered the idle fancy.