“Luttrell made a palaver, and his patent drop worked as well as anything in Pentonville, and every one went home cheered up and comfortable.  Luttrell’s a good man.”

Thus Hillyard took the train to Wadi Haifa in a chastened mood.  Obviously the message was of very little, if indeed of any, importance.  A man can hardly swing up to extravagant hopes without dropping to sarcastic self-reproaches on his flightiness and vanity.  He was not aware that the young aide-de-camp pushed aside some pressing work to make sure that he did go on the train; or that when the last carriage disappeared towards the great bridge, the aide-de-camp cried, “Well, that’s that,” like a man who has discharged one task at all events of the many left to his supervision.

One consequence of Hillyard’s new humility was that he now loitered on his journey.  He stayed a few days at Assouan and yet another few in Luxor, in spite of the heat, and reached Cairo in the beginning of June when the streets were thick with dust-storms and the Government had moved to Alexandria.  Hillyard was in two minds whether to go straight home, but in the end he wandered down to the summer seat of government.

If Khartum had been chilly to the enthusiast, Alexandria was chillier.  It was civil and polite to Hillyard and made him a member of the Club.  But it was concerned with the government of Egypt, and gently allowed Hillyard to perceive it.  Khartum had at all events stated “There is a cablegram.”  At Alexandria the statement became a question:  “Is there a cablegram?” In the end a weary and indifferent gentleman unearthed it.  He did not show it to Hillyard, but held it in his hand and looked over the top of it and across a roll-top desk at the inquirer.

“Yes, yes.  This seems to be what you are asking about.  It is for us, you know”—­this with a patient smile as Hillyard’s impatient hand reached out for it.  “Do you know a man called Bendish—­Paul Bendish?”

“Bendish?” cried Hillyard.  “He was my tutor at Oxford.”

“Ah!  Then it does clearly refer to you.  Bendish has a friend who needs your help in London.”

Hillyard stared.

“Do you mean to say that I was sent for from the borders of Abyssinia because Bendish has a friend in London who wants my help?”

The indifferent gentleman stroked his chin.

“It certainly looks like it, doesn’t it?  But I do hope that you didn’t cut your expedition short on that account.”  He looked remorsefully into Hillyard’s face.  “In any case, the rainy season was coming on, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, my expedition was really ended when the message reached me,” Hillyard was forced to admit.

“That’s good,” said the indifferent gentleman, brightening.  “You will see Bendish, of course, in England.  By what ship do you sail?  It’s not very pleasant here, is it?”

“I shall sail on the Himalaya in a week’s time.”

“Right!” said the official, and he nodded farewell and dipped his nose once more into his papers.