“I should rather like to do it. We come from the same part of the country, and Agar seems anxious to have me. He is not a chap to say much, but I imagine there will be some sort of a _denouement_.” The Captain was looking through a pair of glasses ahead, towards the anchorage. “All right,” he said. “Go.” And he continued to attend to his business with that watchful care which made the _Mahanaddy_ one of the safest boats afloat. Presently Mark Ruthine left the bridge and went to his cabin to pack. As he descended he paused, and retracing his steps forward he went and touched Jem Agar on the arm. “It's all right,” he said. “I'll go with you.” Agar nodded. He was gazing at the green English hills and far faint valley of the Tamar with a curious gleam of excitement in his eyes. Half an hour later they landed. “You stick by me,” said Jem Agar, when they discerned the small wiry form of Seymour Michael awaiting them on the quay. “I want you to hear everything.” This man was, as Ruthine had said, dangerous. He was too calm. There was something grand and terrifying in that white heat which burned in his eyes and drove the blood from his lips. Seymour Michael came forward with his pleasant smile, waving his hand in greeting to Jem and to Ruthine, whom he knew. Jem shook hands with him. “I'm all right, thanks,” he said curtly, in answer to Seymour Michael's inquiry. “Good business--good business,” exclaimed the General, who seemed somewhat unnecessarily excited. “Old Mark Ruthine too!” he went on. “You look as fit as ever. Still turning your thousands out of the British public--eh!” “Yes,” said Ruthine, “thank you.” “Just run ashore for half an hour, I suppose?” continued Seymour Michael, looking hurriedly out towards the _Mahanaddy_. “No,” replied Ruthine, “I leave the ship here.” The small man glanced from the face of one to the other with something sly and uneasy in his eyes. Jem Agar had altered since he saw him last in the little tent far up on the slopes of the Pamir. He was older and graver. There was also a wisdom in his eyes--that steadfast wise look that comes to eyes which have looked too often on death. Mark Ruthine he knew, and him he distrusted, with that quiet keenness of observation which was his. “Now,” he said eagerly to Jem, “what I thought we might do was to have a little breakfast and catch the eleven o'clock train up to town. If Ruthine will join us, I for one shall be very pleased. He won't mind our talking shop.” Mark Ruthine was attending to the luggage, which was being piled upon a cab. “Have you not had breakfast?” asked Agar. “Well, I have had a little, but I don't mind a second edition. That waiter chap at the hotel got me out of bed much too soon. However, it is worth getting up the night before to see you back, old chap.”