"Thank you. I am obliged to you for your prompt response." The Colonel had risen. He led the way into the house through the open window at his back, and carefully closed the window behind his visitor. "I am fond of trees," he remarked, "but I distrust them. I prefer to hold this interview between walls. We have no occasion to fear the keyholes, for there is not a soul besides ourselves beneath this roof." He turned up the lamp as he spoke, and again peered closely at the stranger. By the brighter light in the room he observed the disfiguring scar more clearly. It ran a deep seam slantwise down the lower half of the face. At some time or other a bayonet had slashed the man's cheek open and laid the jawbone bare. "You've been in the Service?" he said. "Yes." The answer, brief, uncommunicative, almost curt, told the Colonel among other things that this man with the ugly scar and the strange unfathomable eyes would brook no catechism in regard to his private affairs. If he wanted his services, he must be prepared to take him on trust. He stared once again into the grey eyes and sat down. "Take a seat," he said. Then with a motion of his hand to the decanter of whisky that stood on the table between them: "Do you drink?" The stern mouth behind the heavy moustache relaxed slightly; its owner realised that a negative answer would have been welcomed by his host, who, though he drank himself in moderation, preferred in the present business the services of an abstainer. "On occasions--yes," he replied as he sat down. The Colonel pushed the decanter towards him and a glass. "Help yourself," he said briefly; and the stranger deliberately half filled the glass with spirit and added a dash of soda. His host watched him curiously, and, reversing the quantities, mixed himself a glass. "The business for which I shall require you, if we come to an understanding," he began, with a formality and stiffness which he had not displayed before, "needs absolute discretion as well as coolness and courage. I do not doubt for a moment," he added hastily, meeting the piercing gaze of the grey eyes, "that your discretion is equal to your courage. I have heard tales of the latter. They tell me fear is unknown to you. I have heard your courage spoken of in terms of the highest admiration." The grey eyes smiled suddenly. "I've heard a lot about that too," their owner said. "It's mostly from youngsters, though." "My informant was no youngster." "Ah! you mean Simmonds. His knowledge isn't first hand. He's been listening to the youngsters probably. It doesn't amount to much, a reputation like that." The Colonel sat back in his chair and sipped his whisky meditatively. "You disclaim then the reputation you have gained?" he said. The other shrugged his shoulders indifferently. "Does any man actually deserve the admiration accorded him?--or the discredit? Such things have their fashion."