By the Well of Tak He Was Buried
THE RETURN
"H-m-m! Might spend a night in many worse places than this!" said Arnold Drysdale to himself, as his host disappeared; leaving him alone in the great vaulted room, lit by the dancing flicker of a log-fire.
The portraits on the paneled walls were veiled by the shadowy darkness, but beyond the circle of radiance within which Drysdale sat could be seen the dim outline of the Bechstein grand, the huddle of chairs at the far end of the musie room, the pale glimmer of flowers in tall vases, and the clouded splendor of the gold brocade curtains drawn across the windows.
"Yes! It's a very easy way of earning five pounds!" went on Drysdale reflectively, lounging back in his chair and lighting a cigarette. "And what's more—I believe it's done the trick with Millicent," he chuckled complacently; "she thinks I'm no end of a hero to take on the wager and spend a night in the haunted room!" His lazy brown eyes half closed as he thought of Millicent Fayne—her youth, her loveliness, her dawning love for himself, and above all her wealth. "Nothing like a misspent youth for teaching a man the sort of woman he ought to marry," he concluded; "discrimination is better than innocence, and experience than much fine love!"
He looked round sharply as the far door of the room opened, and a man's tall figure showed for an instant against the lighted corridor without, before the door was closed again and the intruder approached.
"That you, Holbrook?" said Drysdale, thinking his host had returned to add a word of warning or advice. "Come back to see me hobnobbing with your spectral friend—eh?"
"It's not Holbrook! It's I . . . .Jim McCurdie!"
"Wha-a-a-t?" Drysdale sprang to his feet. "Why, where . . . how?"
"I wasn't sure if I could get here tonight, so I did not let Holbrook know I was coming—thought I'd just give you a surprize!"
"Surprize!" echoed Drysdale faintly, his hands clenched so that the knuckles gleamed, his cigarette dropping from suddenly relaxed lips to the rug at his feet.
Jim McCurdie sat down at the table, and looked across at his companion with a grin. "I heard you were at your old game of playing hero," he said, "and I thought it was a good opportunity of finding you alone. I've wanted this little chat with you for the last eight years!"
"Then you weren't . . . . you didn't . . . . you came back after all from that expedition?"
"Yes—I came back after all. We're pretty tough—we McCurdies—and there were several good reasons for my getting back. It's a bit too late for doing all I meant to do—but there's still one thing!"
A silence fell. The shadows in the big room seemed to thrust forward to peer and listen, as Drysdale sank into his chair and looked at his old rival opposite him—incredibly aged and altered from the gay, carefree youth
