“Nobody knows but me. I suppose I’d better tell you. Before my last short trip home, there was a rumor of fighting in Afghanistan. You remember, eight or nine British correspondents gathered there, including you and me. Cantrell and I were rather close; and old Abduraman, I think, trusted me more than any of the others, on account of my age and service. He was an insatiable listener, and a perfect, an improved, double-action pump. I think it was one of the elements of his greatness--the wily old diplomat. “Any way, I was closeted with him many times. You would come in at night after studying the strategic points of that devil’s land; no doubt, from Kabul to the Pass. For once in my life, I was content with office work. I mean Abduraman’s court and his _thoughts_. Then, too, I was much with Cantrell, who was a sort of secret-service chief in that district, as you well understand. From time to time the different agents would come in for a night--the men who do the dirty work for England.” Cardinegh’s eyes blazed again. With a few admirable sentences, Routledge steadied him and regained the continuity.... “It was a still night, hot as hell,” Cardinegh went on. “Kabul can be hot when the winds die down from the mountains--but you were there that night. You know. I was in Cantrell’s house. Three of the Nameless who serve England with their lives, and are satisfied with a cipher message or a whispered word of praise from some head of department----” “I’ve studied the secret service, Jerry,” Routledge ventured mildly. “It is interesting, but I’m more interested to know what happened.” “We all proceeded to relax. The devil in me would not be burned by the fieriest wines. Remember, Cantrell was a weak man, but sincere. The other three had been studying Afghanistan against towering odds. They knew more about the inner life of the Buffer State than any three white men, not excepting Cantrell and yourself, between Persia and British India. They were sure of Cantrell. As for old Jerry Cardinegh--why, they took me for granted. “Presently--it was very late--everybody but old Jerry had the bars down and soaked. Then I ventured to open the question of Colonel Hammond. It was an old story to Cantrell and to the three--not a new story to me, but a strange one. I was fascinated by the inside talk. Here were men who had kept the secret for years; the men--at least, two of them--who had helped to scatter the British troops of Colonel Hammond. “Suddenly Cantrell arose and staggered to his safe, glancing at the shut door and the open windows of the office. He fumbled with the knob for a long time before the big door swung open. Then with small keys which he found inside he got into the inner compartment and drew forth a fat envelope.