Frank Sutton was sitting before a crackling wood fire, a book on his knees. He looked up with a smile as they entered. His experience had made a man of him--the fact had never struck Amber so forcibly as it did at that moment. His face was tanned and thin, he had lost the boyish roundness of cheek, and lost, too, the air of impatience which had distinguished him when Amber had first met him. “What news?” he asked. Amber stretched his hands to the blazing fire. “To-morrow the Colonial Office will ask Lambaire to locate his mine,” he said. “I fear my Lambaire will experience a difficulty.” “I think he will,” said the other dryly. “How long will he be given?” “A week, and if no explanation is made at the end of that time the Colonial Office will issue a statement casting doubt upon Lambaire’s bona fides.” “An unusual course,” said Sutton. “An unusual situation, my intrepid explorer,” rejoined Amber. Sutton grinned. “Don’t rot me,” he pleaded. “I feel I’m rather a pup.” Amber looked at him with a kindly eye. “We all pass through the furniture-gnawing stage,” he said. “Really, I think you’re a rather wonderful kid.” The boy coloured, for there was a note of sincerity in the other’s voice. “Where is your father?” Amber asked suddenly. “In the grounds with your friend; really, it was an inspiration to send our friend--what is his name--Musk?” “Peter--you must call him Peter,” said Amber. He rose and walked to the French window that opened on to the lawn. “Peter interests the governor no end,” Sutton went on. “He’s a perfect library of romance.” “Let us go out and meet them,” said Amber. They walked towards the little walled garden where the explorer found his recreation, and came upon the two unexpectedly. Peter with a stick was illustrating a story he was telling, and the bent man with the straggling beard and the seamed face stood by, nodding his head gravely at the other. “Sir Claude,” Peter was saying, “was holding the bridge here, so to speak, and Sir Reginald was crossin’ the moat there; the men-at-arms was a hurlin’ down stones from the battlements, and Lady Gwendoline, sword in hand, defended the White Tower. At that minute, when the heroic youth was a urgin’ his valiant archers forward, there arose a loud cry, ‘St. George and England!’--you understand me, Mr. Sutton? There was no idea that the King’s army was so close.” “Perfectly,” said the explorer, “perfectly, Mr.--er--perfectly. I remember a similar experience when we were attacking the Mashangonibis in ’88--I--I think I remember.” He passed his hand over his eyes wearily. “Father,” said Frank gently, “here is our friend Captain Grey.” The explorer turned sharply. “Captain Grey?” he half queried, and held out his hand. Some fugitive memory of Amber flickered across his mind. “Captain Grey; I’m afraid my son shot at you!” “It is of no account, sir,” said Amber.