“You’re right. The job is not one I care for. You can go, and relieve the earth of your presence yourself.” “Don’t be afraid. Life is not so delightful as to make me cling to it. Yes; I’m down. Kick me again if you like.” “Go, while I can keep my hands off you, will you?” “Tell me where to find Colin Ross, and I will. He’s not at his old quarters, and I don’t think he would turn his back--even on me.” “You miserable hypocrite! At his old quarters? when you stood by to see him martyred in the palace square at Gamara! Don’t try to throw dust in my eyes. I know the whole story.” But the man sat up with a look of genuine horror. “On my honour, Keeling--good God! what can I swear by to make you believe me?--I know nothing of this. Tell me what you mean. When did it happen?” “Less than a year after you disappeared. Colin went to find you--rescue you----” In spite of himself, Colonel Keeling was moved by the terror on the man’s face. “He was denounced by your friend Mirza Fazl-ul-Hacq, imprisoned and tortured, then beheaded because he would not turn Mussulman and enter the Khan’s army. You were present, in command of the troops. You saw it all.” “That was not Colin. That was Whybrow. Now I know what you mean.” “Whybrow--whom you went to save?” “And did not. Yes. But where is Colin?” he broke out fiercely. “You say he arrived at Gamara, was imprisoned--you know this? It is not merely a rumour of Whybrow’s fate? Then he must be there now--in the dungeon where I saw Whybrow----” his voice fell. “No, no, he could not have lived so long--if all they say is true.” “How do you know what a man can bear and live? You despise me, and abuse me, but you have never had the choice given you between Islam and being eaten alive by rats in an infernal hole underground. That is where Colin is--and that’s what Fazl-ul-Hacq meant when he was dying. There was some order he wished to give, and did not want me to hear, but he couldn’t get it out--curse him! If Colin had died or been killed, I should have heard of it. And that is where I shall be if I can live to get back there.” “You mean to save him?” Colonel Keeling’s voice had taken a different tone. “There is no saving any one from the dungeons of Gamara. But I can die with him. Was there no one”--with sudden fierceness--“who had common humanity enough to put that fellow in irons, or send him home as a lunatic, instead of letting him come after me? He was bound to be a martyr, but to let him rush upon his death in that--that way!” He stopped in shuddering disgust, then laughed wildly. “And how has the world gone with you, Keeling? Got your promotion, I see, but not exempt from trouble any more than the rest of us! But what mild, milk-and-water, bread-and-butter lives you lead down here! You should come to Gamara to see what primitive human passions are like.” “Will you go?” asked Colonel Keeling, putting a strong constraint upon himself.