a soft, empty hand. "You will do no good out here, you will only waste time and money, without results. Give up the quest, and return home!"
"No," and Mallender's eyes flashed. "What you say more than ever convinces me that the man who writes to you is a criminal, who goes in abject fear of his life, and is hiding from justice."
"Oh, very well, Captain Mallender, very well!" gobbled Mr. Fleming, and his tone was throaty and offended, "there is no more to be said—it is not our business to argue; we merely state facts. You say, you have no doubt that your relative is dead. You may also rest assured, that from the day it is made known to our client that you are determined to trace him—the allowance, as paid through our firm, will cease."
"Well, I'll take all risks,” declared this rash adventurer, “And there is one thing I can promise you. I intend to put the fear of death into your—er—correspondent! Some fellows come out to India for what they call Shikar'; this business is my shikar—instead of bison, tiger, or elephants—and mind you, it's not Uncle I am bent on tracking, but your unseen client, the murderous ruffian who impersonates him!" Then, rising after a somewhat prolonged and hostile silence:
"Gentlemen, I see you are not disposed to wish me luck, so I must do my best to worry through alone. I shall call on you before I leave the country, and I'll let you know if I have any success. All letters to the Bank of Madras will be forwarded."
An extraordinary snorting noise, and the waving of a fin-like hand, was the only adieu vouchsafed by Mr. Fleming, but his partner jerked himself out of his seat, and said:
"All right, Captain Mallender, and I make no doubt that if you persist in your 'shikar,' we shall be communicating with you at an early date."
"Oh, you mean about the money? So be it," and
