The Argosy — page 340: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

The Ghost of ‘* Ours.” 319 saw Vandeleur and de Barnac busy with writing materials at a table, and he saw the Frenchman hold up a cheque against the light for a moment. They were speaking French; he didn’t understand them, and got up and left them. He was too seedy next morning to re- member much of what had passed. He supposed Ormsby never noticed his presence at all. All this was spun out by Smylie’s expla- nations and justifications to an inordinate length, but that was the purport. I asked permission to copy it there and then, and did so, while the others debated what use should be made of it. We sepa- rated at last, without quite seeing our way to do anything, except that Colonel Tremlett intended to ride over to Penderell to consult Miss Dacre. I made up my mind to be beforehand with him, and pocketing the precious document, started at once. I should be in reasonable time for a call, if I made haste. So to economise time I took what I fan- cied would -prove a short cut straight through the back slums of Yarnborough, into a region of factories, warehouses and small water- side dwellings ; finding myself at last, sure enough, in a direct line for Penderell, but a mile or so lower down the river than the last bridge. There was nothing for it but to make my way along the river- side to it, and turning to do so, I caught sight of a broad grey back in uniform great coat just beforeme. I recognised Sergeant Druitt, and was just on the point of calling to him, when the sight of his com- panion checked me. I followed them closely. They stopped and parted at the door of a small public house, and after one good look at the stranger’s face, I started after Druitt at full speed, and caught him at the next turning. “Who's that?” I asked, out of breath. Druitt looked surprised, but answered, innocently enough, ‘‘ An old friend of mine, sir. Bird, of the Artillery—that is, he has just been discharged. He is going to America in a few days.” * What’s he doing here ?” “He’s down here saying good-bye to his relations, sir. His uncle, I believe, a very old man, lives close by, and he’s staying at the Fisherman’s Rest.” “Where did you meet him?” I asked, with less eagerness. ‘Well, sir, we first became acquainted on board the troop-ship, going out to India, when I went out with a draft to join the Royal Manx, at Secunderabad.” “Secunderabad!” I gasped, feeling as if I had just ‘‘ cornered ” My man in an exciting game of blindman’s buff, and the next thing was to hold him tight and identify him, if he didn’t slip through my fingers first. ““What was he doing at the barracks the other night?” I asked, sharply. ‘‘ Z saw him.” Gomichboo cS) (E() m