These two had roomed together through their college days.

“Yes; it is the old Tennyson.  And yonder is the identical Swinburne you used to spout from, too.  Lord, Jack, it seems a century since I used to listen by the hour to The Triumph of Time and Dolores!”

“Ah, but you didn’t really care for them—­not even then.”  Charteris reached up, his back still turned, and moved a candlestick the fraction of an inch.  “There is something so disgustingly wholesome about you, Rudolph.  And it appears to be ineradicable.  I can’t imagine how I ever came to be fond of you.”

The colonel was twirling his pen, his eyes intent upon it.  “And yet—­we were fond of each other, weren’t we, Jack?”

“Why, I positively adored you.  You were such a strong and healthy animal.  Upon my word, I don’t believe I ever missed a single football game you played in.  In fact, I almost learned to understand the game on your account.  You see—­it was so good to watch you raging about with touzled hair, like the only original bull of Bashan, and the others tumbling like ninepins.  It used to make me quite inordinately proud.”

The colonel smoked.  “But, Lord! how proud I was when you got medals!”

“Yes—­I remember.”

“Even if I did bully you sometimes.  Remember how I used to twist your arm to make you write my Latin exercises, Jack?”

“I liked to have you do that,” Charteris said, simply.  “It hurt a great deal, but I liked it.”

He had come up behind the colonel, who was still seated.  “Yes, that was a long while ago,” said Charteris.  “It is rather terrible—­isn’t it?—­to reflect precisely how long ago it was.  Why, I shall be bald in a year or two from now.  But you have kept almost all your beautiful hair, Rudolph.”

Charteris touched the colonel’s head, stroking his hair ever so lightly once or twice.  It was in effect a caress.

The colonel was aware of the odor of myrrh which always accompanied Charteris and felt that the little man was trembling.

“Isn’t there—­anything you want to tell me, Jack?” the colonel said.  He sat quite still.

There was the tiniest pause.  The caressing finger-tips lifted from Musgrave’s head, but presently gave it one more brief and half-timid touch.

“Why, only au revoir, I believe.  I am leaving at a rather ungodly hour to-morrow and won’t see you, but I hope to return within the week.”

“I hope so, Jack.”

“And, after all, it is too late to be reading.  I shall go back to bed and take more trional.  And then, I dare say, I shall sleep.  So good-by, Rudolph.”

“Good-night, Jack.”

“Oh, yes—!  I meant good-night, of course.”

The colonel sighed; then he spoke abruptly: 

“No, just a moment, Jack.  I didn’t ask you to come here to-night; but since you have come, by chance, I am going to follow the promptings of that chance, and strike a blow for righteousness with soiled weapons.  Jack, do you remember suggesting that my father’s correspondence during the War might be of value, and that his desk ought to be overhauled?”