He handed a pocket book, some envelopes and a thin chain to the officer. On the end of the chain a pendant swung and glinted in the sunset. The officer examined it before looking at the papers. A thin strand of hair, brown hair, was tied round the link that held the frame in which an oval moonstone was set. On one side there was a minute engraving of an eye, on the other, one word, in Turkish, "Kismet." For a long moment, the young officer spoke no word as he held the stone in his hand. The sergeant waited. As they stood, the transport column filed past them, lorries and guns, and all the impedimenta of an army in retreat. The men were badly shod, their uniforms ragged. They were ill-fed and half rebellious, but the enemy were sweeping up behind and safety lay ahead; only the impulse for safety spurred their flagging spirits. "Where was the body?" asked the Turk, without apparent interest. "About twenty yards from the aeroplane, sir." "The other--there were two?" "Yes, sir, the pilot probably--the machine fired and there's little left." The end of the column was in sight now. The sergeant turned his horse as if to join the line, but his officer did not move. The last lorry lumbered by in a cloud of dust. "I will have a look at this machine, it may tell us something," said the officer, turning his horse. The sergeant followed. "No," he said, sharply. "You go on--I will overtake you in a few minutes." "Yes, sir." The man saluted and rode off after the cloud of dust. The lonely horseman waited. Quiet was settling down in the hills again. The next transport column would be an hour's march away yet; it would be dusk ere they arrived. Spurring his horse, he went back along the rutted road until the ravine with the crashed aeroplane at the bottom came into sight. Dismounting, he tethered his horse by the path and made his way slowly down the slope, still holding in his right hand the talisman taken from the dead Englishman. If what he feared was true it was a strange meeting after these many years. Kismet indeed! He had reached the bottom of the slope now, dusty and shaken by his swift descent. It was dusk already in the ravine and the level rays of the sunset were gilding the ridges of the hills above. He shivered in the cool shade, and the silence grew oppressive. The call of a jackal came from a thicket near by, a horrible, blood-chilling whine. He stumbled. The light would be gone if he did not hurry. He could see the object he sought, a small patch on the ground ahead; breaking into a run, he approached the naked body of the dead man. Those bandits had stripped him, and he lay stretched out, his set face turned to the sky. Two birds took sudden flight at the approach of the man, and rose with a whirr of large black wings, sinister and sickening to the sight in their repulsive portent.