“No; only two or three days.” “And how,” with a jerk of his thumb in the direction of the major’s apartments, “do you find the old man?” “Well, I never knew until now, that his mind was rather--affected. He has not written to me for years, and I only got his address with difficulty.” “Yes, he prefers to lie low--as Mr. Jones. But ‘_rather_ affected,’ is putting it mildly.” “Do you think so?” considering Cardozo with a pair of hostile eyes. “You will think so too before long. Now don’t be vexed with me, my dear boy. No one is ever angry with Ferdy Cardozo, they know I am a good fellow, and that I mean well. Shall we go inside and see if there is anything to be had to eat?” “Certainly, I ought to have thought of it before.” “Oh, please don’t apologize, I’m quite at home. Fuzzil, you fat lazy swine,” to the now obsequious bearer, “get me something to eat, none of your dogs’ food--such as brain cutlets or Irish stew, and bring up some of _my_ wine. It’s very hot in here, awfully frousty,” opening a window. “The major hates me like poison, and when he hears I’m in the house he won’t come out, he will go to ground like a snake, but I shall be off to-morrow.” “Yes?” interrogatively. “Are you in the army?” continued Fernandez with half-closed eyes. “No, I am not in the regular army; I’m in the yeomanry.” “No profession then?” raising his arched brows in rather supercilious surprise. “No, not any.” His profession as heir to his Uncle Dan, would soon be a thing of the past. Mr. Cardozo’s surmise was perfectly correct. Major Jervis did not appear, he merely sent his salaams and dined in his own apartments, leaving his son and his heir to consume that meal _tête-à-tête_. It was a great improvement on the usual _menu_. Evidently Fuzzil had resources that he drew upon on worthy occasions. “It’s a fine moonlight night,” remarked Fernandez. “Let us go and smoke in front of the house, it’s better than being indoors, and I like to make the most of the hill air when I’m up, and we are out of the way of eavesdroppers.” In a few moments they were sitting on the low wall in front of the Pela Kothi. “Osman was a desperate loss,” began Fernandez as he struck a fuzee--“a desperate loss.” “So I gather from what I hear,” assented his companion. “That’s partly what brought me up. I have business round here, of course, though. I live in Calcutta. I like to keep my eye on the property, and I look after the major and manage his affairs as well as I can--I feel it my duty.” And he began to smoke. Was here yet another man, of no kin to Major Jervis, who was to put his own flesh and blood to shame? “I wish you would tell me something about my father--the last seven years are a sealed page to me.”