“I understand, Captain Joyce,” said the general, “that you have allowed a very important prisoner to slip through your fingers.”

“I am sorry, sir.”

“No doubt.  But that will not mend matters.  Did you ascertain anything about him before you lost him?”

“No, sir.”

“How was that?”

“I could get nothing out of him, sir.”

“Did you try?”

“Yes, sir; I did what I could.”

“What did you do?”

“Well, sir, I threatened to use physical force.”

“What did he say?”

“He said nothing.”

“What was he like?”

“A tall man, sir.  Rather a desperate character, I should think.”

“Any way by which we could identify him?”

“A long black beard, sir.  Grey eyes.  And a nervous way of twitching his face.”

“Well, Captain Joyce,” said the general, in his stern, inflexible voice, “I cannot congratulate you upon your first exploit in the Egyptian army.  You are aware that every English officer in this force is a picked man.  I have the whole British army from which to draw.  It is necessary, therefore, that I should insist upon the very highest efficiency.  It would be unfair upon the others to pass over any obvious want of zeal or intelligence.  You are seconded from the Royal Mallows, I understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I have no doubt that your colonel will be glad to see you fulfilling your regimental duties again.”  Hilary Joyce’s heart was too heavy for words.  He was silent.  “I will let you know my final decision to-morrow morning.”  Joyce saluted and turned upon his heel.”

“You can sleep upon that, you beauty, and a good night’s rest may it give you!”

Joyce turned in bewilderment.  Where had those words been used before?  Who was it who had used them?  The general was standing erect.  Both he and the Chief of the Intelligence were laughing.  Joyce stared at the tall figure, the erect bearing, the inscrutable grey eyes.

“Good Lord!” he gasped.

“Well, well, Captain Joyce, we are quits!” said the general, holding out his hand.  “You gave me a bad ten minutes with that infernal red-hot horseshoe of yours.  I’ve done as much for you.  I don’t think we can spare you for the Royal Mallows just yet awhile.”

“But, sir; but—!”

“The fewer questions the better, perhaps.  But of course it must seem rather amazing.  I had a little private business with the Kabbabish.  It must be done in person.  I did it, and came to your post in my return.  I kept on winking at you as a sign that I wanted a word with you alone.”

“Yes, yes.  I begin to understand.”

“I couldn’t give it away before all those blacks, or where should I have been the next time I used my false beard and Arab dress?  You put me in a very awkward position.  But at last I had a word alone with your Egyptian officer, who managed my escape all right.”