"We expected you three weeks ago," said Dawson, as he pulled a chair
away from an empty place at the table.
"The delay could not be helped," replied Durrance. He took the chair and
drew it up.
"Does my story account for it?" asked Calder.
"Not a bit. It was the Greek musician I expected that night," he
explained with a laugh. "I was curious to know what stroke of ill-luck
had cast him out to play the zither for a night's lodging in a cafe at
Tewfikieh. That was all," and he added slowly, in a softer voice, "Yes,
that was all."
"Meanwhile you are forgetting your breakfast," said Dawson, as he rose.
"What will you have?"
Calder leaned ever so slightly forward with his eyes quietly resting on
Durrance. Durrance looked round the table, and then called the
mess-waiter. "Moussa, get me something cold," said he, and the waiter
went back into the mess-room. Calder nodded his head with a faint smile,
as though he understood that here was a difficulty rather cleverly
surmounted.
"There's tea, cocoa, and coffee," he said. "Help yourself, Durrance."
"Thanks," said Durrance. "I see, but I will get Moussa to bring me a
brandy-and-soda, I think," and again Calder nodded his head.
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