“Have a cigarette?” he asked, taking out his case. “No? Well, smoke your pipe. I can't understand how anyone but a horny-palated son of toil can smoke a pipe. By the way, what do you think a girl sent me by way of a present this morning?” “I don't know,” said Kent. “A hymn book?” “No; a cigarette holder--mouthpiece, you know. I wrote and told her it was very pretty and I would keep it in memory of her to my dying day; but as for using it, I should just as soon think of kissing her through a respirator.” “That was unkind,” said Kent, laughing in spite of himself, tickled at the idea. “Lord bless you, no,” replied Wither oracularly from the depths of his armchair. “It is wholesome to check this frenzy of profusion now and then. When a woman once begins to give she never knows where to stop. When she has exhausted her imagination she gives away herself. It's embarrassing sometimes, for one can't put half a dozen women away in a drawer with the rest of the odds and ends. Oh, no; a little fatherly repression does a world of good to the ingenuous and enthusiastic. I don't pretend to be moral, but I am not without kindly instincts.” He chuckled sardonically and began to turn over the pages of _Punch_. Kent smoked on in silence, cheered a little by the familiar chatter. “Teddy,” he said at last, “you seem to hear all the gossip about town; do you know anything about a man called Hammerdyke?” “Thornton Hammerdyke--man from Africa--explorer?” “Yes.” “Yes, rather. One of the greatest devils unhung,” replied Wither cheerfully. “What do you mean?” cried Kent in an agitated voice, starting forward and gripping the arms of his chair. “Take care what you are saying. It is a matter of life and death to--to somebody. What do you know about him? Tell me.” Wither arched his eyebrows in surprise, and became serious. Then his quick intuition supplied him with the reason for Kent's agitation. “I only spoke idle gossip,” he said, “and I have the misfortune to be hyperbolical at times. The man has had some dealings with our office and that is how I come to know anything about him. Don't you remember he got into a row for wholesale slaughter of niggers on one of his expeditions? He cleared himself all right, of course, by proving mutiny, self-defence, and that sort of thing.” “I remember the incident now,” said Kent. “It was in the papers.” “Well, his public character is cleared,” said Wither, “and he is a good deal of a lion these days; but fellows who have served with him take the niggers' side of the question, and wonder how he remained a day among them without being torn to pieces. That's all I know about him, which you see is not much. My dear old boy,” he continued earnestly as Kent sat silent, staring in front of him, “is that the reason why you are starting so suddenly? Is it all fixed up? No chance?” Kent nodded moodily.