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Chapter 1
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Ithoughtforaninstantortwo.“Right.I’lltrustyouforthenight.I’lllockyouintothisroomandkeepthekey.Justoneword,MrScudder.Ibelieveyou’restraight,butifsobeyouarenotIshouldwarnyouthatI’mahandymanwithagun.”
“Sure,”hesaid,jumpingupwithsomebriskness.“Ihaven’ttheprivilegeofyourname,sir,butletmetellyouthatyou’reawhiteman.I’llthankyoutolendmearazor.”
Itookhimintomybedroomandturnedhimloose.Inhalfanhour’stimeafigurecameoutthatIscarcelyrecognized.Onlyhisgimlety,hungryeyeswerethesame.Hewasshavedclean,hishairwaspartedinthemiddle,andhehadcuthiseyebrows.Further,hecarriedhimselfasifhehadbeendrilled,andwastheverymodel,eventothebrowncomplexion,ofsomeBritishofficerwhohadhadalongspellinIndia.Hehadamonocle,too,whichhestuckinhiseye,andeverytraceoftheAmericanhadgoneoutofhisspeech.
“Myhat!MrScudder—”Istammered.
“NotMrScudder,”hecorrected;“CaptainTheophilusDigby,ofthe40thGurkhas,presentlyhomeonleave.I’llthankyoutorememberthat,sir.”
Imadehimupabedinmysmoking-roomandsoughtmyowncouch,morecheerfulthanIhadbeenforthepastmonth.Thingsdidhappenoccasionally,eveninthisGod-forgottenmetropolis.
Iwokenextmorningtohearmyman,Paddock,makingthedeuceofarowatthesmoking-roomdoor.PaddockwasafellowIhaddoneagoodturntooutontheSelakwe,andIhadinspannedhimasmyservantassoonasIgottoEngland.
