eaten to-day."

"A long trek?" Dominey asked curiously.

"I have trekked far," was the quiet reply.

At dinner time, Von Ragastein was one more himself, immaculate in white
duck, with clean linen, shaved, and with little left of his fatigue.
There was something different in his manner, however, some change which
puzzled Dominey. He was at once more attentive to his guest, yet further
removed from him in spirit and sympathy. He kept the conversation with
curious insistence upon incidents of their school and college days, upon
the subject of Dominey's friends and relations, and the later episodes
of his life. Dominey felt himself all the time encouraged to talk about
his earlier life, and all the time he was conscious that for some reason
or other his host's closest and most minute attention was being given
to his slightest word. Champagne had been served and served freely, and
Dominey, up to the very gates of that one secret chamber, talked volubly
and without reserve. After the meal was over, their chairs were dragged
as before into the open. The silent orderly produced even larger cigars,
and Dominey found his glass filled once more with the wonderful brandy.
The doctor had left them to visit the native camp nearly a quarter of a
mile away, and the orderly was busy inside, clearing the table. Only the
black shapes of the servants were dimly visible as they twirled their
fans,--and overhead the gleaming stars. They were alone.

"I've been talking an awful lot of rot about myself," Dominey said.
"Tell me a little about your career now and your life in Germany before
you came out here?"