two, furnished a running accompaniment to Anstruther's expensive
"personally conducted tour" into the intricacies of ecarte, led
on by the coolest safety player who ever fleeced a griffin. Truly
these were golden moments. The Major's cool steady eyes were sternly
fixed on his cards.

The self-imposed sentence of suicide of the afternoon was indefinitely
postponed when Alan Hawke amiably nodded as Anstruther at last
apologized for glancing at his watch. "I've a bit to do to get
ready for to-morrow, and we'll try one more hand and then I'll say
good-night."

"Well, I'll give you your revenge at any time, Anstruther! By
the way, what's your London address?" Hawke was complacently good
humored as he glanced at a visiting card whereon sundry comfortable
figures were roughly totted up.

"Junior United Service, always," carelessly said Anstruther. "They
keep run of me, for I'm off for the woods as soon as the shooting
season opens. Where will you be this winter?"

Major Hawke assumed a mysterious air, "That depends upon the Russian
and Chinese game--the Persian and Afghan intrigues! You see, I am
awaiting some ripening affairs in the F. O. I was called back on
account of my familiarity with the Pamirs, and there's a good bit
of Blue Book work that my knowledge of Penj Deh, and the whole
Himalayan line has helped out." The captain was a bit agnostic now.

"You were---" began Anson Anstruther, timidly, the old vague gossip
returning to haunt him. His ardor was cooling in view of the very