It was not Durrance's policy, however, to
notice his companion's agitation, and he went on quickly: "Something
happened to Feversham. It's more than five years ago now. He did
something, I suppose, or left something undone,--the secret, at all
events, has been closely kept,--and he dropped out, and his place knew
him no more. Now you are going back to the Soudan, Willoughby?"
"Yes," Willoughby answered, "in a week's time."
"Well, Harry Feversham is in the Soudan," said Durrance, leaning towards
his companion.
"You know that?" exclaimed Willoughby.
"Yes, for I came across him this Spring at Wadi Halfa," Durrance
continued. "He had fallen rather low," and he told Willoughby of their
meeting outside of the cafe of Tewfikieh. "It's strange, isn't it?--a
man whom one knew very well going under like that in a second,
disappearing before your eyes as it were, dropping plumb out of sight as
though down an oubliette in an old French castle. I want you to look out
for him, Willoughby, and do what you can to set him on his legs again.
Let me know if you chance on him. Harry Feversham was a friend of
mine--one of my few real friends."
"All right," said Willoughby, cheerfully.
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