been of the slightest, dating from some trivial services which
Durnovo had been able and very eager to render to the sportsman.

"I'm all right, thanks," replied Durnovo. "I only landed at
Liverpool yesterday. I'm home on business. I'm buying rifles and
stores."

Guy Oscard's honest face lighted up at once--the curse of Ishmael
was on him in its full force. He was destined to be a wanderer on
God's earth, and all things appertaining to the wild life of the
forests were music in his ears.

Durnovo was no mean diplomatist. He had learnt to know man, within
a white or coloured skin. The effect of his words was patent to
him.

"You remember the Simiacine?" he said abruptly.

"Yes."

"I've found it."

"The devil you have! Sit down."

Durnovo took the chair indicated.

"Yes, sir," he said, "I've got it. I've laid my hand on it at last.
I've always been on its track. That has been my little game all the
time. I did not tell you when we met out there, because I was
afraid I should never find it, and because I wanted to keep quiet