and he turned his drawn face, surmounted by a shock of grey hair, to the light.
I looked at him intently. Once before had I seen eyebrows that met over the nose in an inch-broad black band, but for the life of me I could not tell where.
"I don't know you," I said, handing him the whiskey. "What can I do for you."
He took a gulp of the spirit raw, and shivered in spite of the suffocating heat.
"I've come back," he repeated; "and I was the King of Kafiristan—me and Dravot—crowned kings we was! In this office we settled it—you setting there and giving us the books. I am Peachey Peachey—Taliaferro Carnehan, and you've been setting here ever since—O Lord!"
I was more than a little astonished and expressed my feelings accordingly.
"It's true," said Carnehan, with a dry cackle, nursing his feet which were wrapped in rags. "True as gospel. Kings we were, with crowns upon our heads—me and Dravot—poor Dan—oh, poor, poor Dan that would never take advice, not though I begged of him!"
"Take the whiskey," I said, "and take your own time. Tell me all you can recollect of everything from beginning to end. You got across the Border on your camels, Dravot dressed as a mad mullah and you his servant. Do you remember that?"
"I ain't mad—yet, but I shall be that way soon. Of course I remember. Keep looking at me, or may be my words will go all to pieces. Keep looking at me in my eyes and don't say anything."
I leaned forward and looked into his face as steadily as I could. He dropped one hand upon the table and I grasped it by the wrist. It was twisted like a bird's claw, and upon the back was a ragged, red, diamond-shaped scar.
"No, don't look there. Look at me," said Carnehan. "That comes afterwards, but for the Lord's sake don't distrack me.
