"Each to his tribe, and God for all," said Sydney. "I used to envy you."
"I wanted to be a soldier," answered Brand.
"But, Sydney, why all this secrecy; why put your card in a sealed envelope?"
The soldier's face turned grave. "I have good reason. These walls," he looked anxiously about him, "have they ears?"
"Sydney, this isn't London."
"May I look round?"
Brand laughed, but his visitor walked to the door and opened it suddenly, making a rapid survey of the ante-room. Other doors he examined which led to the safe, and to Brand's private chambers; then considering the walls and hangings, returned to his place.
"I should have been followed from London," he explained, "but I hired an actor to personate me, and he is leading a fine chase of spies to Stamboul."
"Who has you watched?"
"My father, and when he knows I've been here you'll catch the infection. I warn you, Brand."