“I was in Singapore about six months ago,” I replied, “and I met some of them again.”

“What!  Had they drifted back to the East after all?”

“Two or three of them were taking what Dr. Matheson described as a Busman’s Holiday.”

At mention of Dr. Matheson’s name Adderley visibly started.

“So you know Matheson,” he murmured.  “I didn’t know you had ever met him.”

Plainly to hide his confusion he stood up, and crossing the room drew my attention to a rather fine silver bowl of early Persian ware.  He was displaying its peculiar virtues and showing a certain acquaintance with his subject when he was interrupted.  A door opened suddenly and a girl came in.  Adderley put down the bowl and turned rapidly as I rose from my seat.

It was the lady of Katong!

I recognized her at once, although she wore a very up-to-date gown.  While it did not suit her dark good looks so well as the native dress which she had worn at Singapore, yet it could not conceal the fact that in a barbaric way she was a very beautiful woman.  On finding a visitor in the room she became covered with confusion.

“Oh,” she said, speaking in Hindustani.  “Why did you not tell me there was someone here?”

Adderley’s reply was characteristically brutal.

“Get out,” he said.  “You fool.”

I turned to go, for I was conscious of an intense desire to attack my host.  But: 

“Don’t go, Knox, don’t go!” he cried.   “I am sorry, I am damned
sorry, I------”

He paused, and looked at me in a queer sort of appealing way.  The girl, her big eyes widely open, retreated again to the door, with curious lithe steps, characteristically Oriental.  The door regained, she paused for a moment and extended one small hand in Adderley’s direction.

“I hate you,” she said slowly, “hate you!  Hate you!”

She went out, quietly closing the door behind her.  Adderley turned to me with an embarrassed laugh.

“I know you think I am a brute and an outsider,” he said, “and perhaps I am.  Everybody says I am, so I suppose there must be something in it.  But if ever a man paid for his mistakes I have paid for mine, Knox.  Good God, I haven’t a friend in the world.”

“You probably don’t deserve one,” I retorted.

“I know I don’t, and that’s the tragedy of it,” he replied.  “You may not believe it, Knox; I don’t expect anybody to believe me; but for more than a year I have been walking on the edge of Hell.  Do you know where I have been since I saw you last?”

I shook my head in answer.

“I have been half round the world, Knox, trying to find peace.”

“You don’t know where to look for it,” I said.

“If only you knew,” he whispered.  “If only you knew,” and sank down upon the settee, ruffling his hair with his hands and looking the picture of haggard misery.  Seeing that I was still set upon departure: