Brentham had to leave, as you know, very hurriedly last September, and if the Arabs had succeeded in taking the town matters would have been ever so much worse than they are. He says if there turns out really to be any deficit in the cash due to the embezzlement of the Indian clerk—if he did embezzle—but _what_ has become of him? Was he killed?—he is willing to make it good out of his own pocket. (Rather hard on him as he could not help leaving this man in charge; but I may come in like a benevolent arbiter if the affair is serious.) The loss or disappearance of the office cipher is a serious business—very—. I don’t see what good it would be retrieving it from the Germans, as, if they _have_ had it at all in their possession, they have probably derived from it all the information they want! Whilst Brentham is over at Medina I want him to have an interview with the German commandant, Captain Wissmann, as he can convey to him a message from me. I hope Mrs. Bazzard continues well? She has certainly shown she can stand the climate. But we mustn’t try her _too_ far. Sincerely yours ... GODFREY DEWBURN. When this letter reached Spencer Bazzard he took it promptly to his wife, who was seated before her dressing-table rubbing a little of the "hair-restorer" into the very roots of her hair, which had an exasperating way of not starting gold from the skin-level. She said, keeping her eyes fixed on the glass, "Read it aloud." He did so. "Hooray," she exclaimed, with ordered joy so as not to interfere with the delicate operation—they were going out to dine that night with a German functionary—"Hooray! That means he’s scuppered. He’s going home, you bet, rather off colour. They’ve made him marry her to placate the missionaries. But he’ll never bother us again out here. Well, we’ll be civil to him in the clearing up." _From Captain Roger Brentham to Lady Silchester._ Mbweni, Unguja, _April_ 2, 1889. DEAR SIBYL,— I don’t think you have any realization of what I’ve been through lately or you’d have written to inquire, or condole, or encourage. I’ve had a regular "gaffe"—tell you more about it by and bye. And a wonderful journey in the interior worthy of a Royal Geographical Society’s medal—tell you more about _that_ too some day—and—don’t start—I’ve got married! You always predicted I should marry a "missionaryess." Well: I’ve done so. Yes, you were right, true Sibyl that you are. I’ve married the dear little girl—for so she seems to me—whom I escorted out to Unguja three years ago and whom I married myself to her young missionary husband, who was going to a station in the interior called Hangodi. There followed a tragic time. I dare say the newspapers will have told you all about it. She and I got locked up, so to speak, in the far interior and I never thought she, at any rate, would get to the coast alive.