“Whether you intentionally misled me as to your movements in South Africa?” “What on earth can it matter to you or any one else except myself where I went and where I did not go in South Africa?” “Do you say you did not meet me out there?” “Why should I say whether I did or did not? And why should you be so anxious about it?” “I am not anxious about it at all. No more so than yourself. But if you did meet me and now deny it, I have a right to ask your reasons.” “I met hundreds of men, of course--thousands indeed--and equally of course you may have been one of them.” “That is not meant as an evasion, I hope,” he exclaimed, losing his temper again. “Major Sampayo!” I cried indignantly. He gave a twirl to his moustaches and it looked as if he were going to quarrel in earnest. But he thought better of it. “I meant no offence, Mr. Donnington,” he muttered. “Then I will take none.” “But you will remember your remark that you never forget a face.” “I did not mean that I could identify at sight every man I met in the campaign both on our side and among the Boers. Of course there would have to be something in the circumstances of the meeting which would serve as a connecting link.” “And you do not remember me then?” he persisted. It was awkward to answer this without a direct lie, so I turned and had another steady look at him for perhaps half a minute and then shook my head. “Can you suggest anything likely to recall your features to me?” His eyes shifted uneasily under my scrutiny, and he vented a little sigh of relief as he replied: “Of course I cannot.” “We both appear to be in the same difficulty, then. Now that I look fixedly at your features, there is something about them that I seem to know; but very likely it is only due to the fact that I have seen you two or three times to-night. Sampayo. Sampayo,” I repeated, as if trying to recall the name, and then shook my head again as if giving the matter up. “I suppose we must take it that we have not met,” I said. “I can understand that,” I said with a smile. “You will excuse my curiosity, I trust, Mr. Donnington. It may have seemed somewhat exaggerated to you perhaps, but I am always anxious to meet any one who was out there when I was.” “I can understand that,” I said, with a smile. All the former uneasy suspicion leapt to life again in his eyes. “Why?” he asked, quickly and eagerly. “It is just the same with me,” I answered lightly. “It suggests a sort of comradeship, you know, chatting over the old experiences.” “Certainly, certainly,” he agreed. “I shall be glad to have an opportunity of exchanging experiences with you some day. Only we mustn’t begin, as we did just now, by firing broadsides at one another.” “No, no, of course not. I am quite ashamed of my heat.” “That’s all right, major. On which side were you in the war? Of course we’ve all buried the hatchet long ago.”