It was a night of May, and outside the mess-room at Wadi Halfa three officers were smoking on a grass knoll¹ above the Nile. The moon was at its full, and the strong light had robbed even the planets of their lustre². The smaller stars were not visible at all, and the sky washed of its dark colour, curved overhead, pearly-hued and luminous³. The three officers sat in their lounge chairs and smoked silently, while the bull-frogs croaked⁴ from an island in mid-river. At the bottom of the small steep cliff on which they sat the Nile, so sluggish⁵ was its flow, shone like a burnished⁶ mirror, and from the opposite bank the desert stretched away to infinite distances, a vast plain with scattered⁷ hummocks⁸, a plain white as a hoar frost on the surface of which the stones sparkled like jewels. Behind the three officers of the garrison⁹ the roof of the mess-room verandah threw a shadow on the ground; it seemed a solid piece of blackness.  
One of the three officers struck a match and held it to the end of his cigar. The flame lit up a troubled and anxious face.
 
"I hope that no harm has come to him," he said, as he threw the match away. "I wish that I could say I believed it."
 
The speaker was a man of middle age and the colonel of a Soudanese battalion¹⁰. He was answered by a man whose hair had gone grey, it is true. But grey hair is frequent in the Soudan, and his unlined face still showed that he was young. He was Lieutenant¹¹ Calder of the Engineers. Youth, however, in this instance had no optimism wherewith to challenge Colonel Dawson.
 
"He left Halfa eight weeks ago, eh?" he said gloomily.
 
"Eight weeks to-day," replied the colonel.
 
It was the third officer, a tall, spare, long-necked major of the Army Service Corps¹², who alone hazarded a cheerful prophecy.
 
"It's early days to conclude Durrance has got scuppered," said he. "One knows Durrance. Give him a camp-fire in the desert, and a couple of sheiks to sit round it with him, and he'll buck¹³ to them for a month and never feel bored at the end. While here there are letters, and there's an office, and there's a desk in the office and everything he loathes¹⁴ and can't do with. You'll see Durrance will turn up right enough, though he won't hurry about it."
 
"He is three weeks overdue¹⁵," objected the colonel, "and he's methodical after a fashion. I am afraid."
 
Major Walters pointed¹⁶ out his arm to the white empty desert across the river.
 
"If he had travelled that way, westward¹⁷, I might agree," he said. "But Durrance went east through the mountain country toward Berenice and the Red Sea. The tribes he went to visit were quiet, even in the worst times, when Osman Digna lay before Suakin."
 
The colonel, however, took no comfort from Walters's confidence. He tugged¹⁸ at his moustache and repeated, "He is three weeks overdue."
 
Lieutenant Calder knocked the ashes from his pipe and refilled it. He leaned forward in his chair as he pressed the tobacco down with his thumb, and he said slowly:—
 
"I wonder. It is just possible that some sort of trap was laid for Durrance. I am not sure. I never mentioned before what I knew, because until lately I did not suspect that it could have anything to do with his delay. But now I begin to wonder. You remember the night before he started?"
 
"Yes," said Dawson, and he hitched¹⁹ his chair a little nearer. Calder was the one man in Wadi Halfa who could claim something like intimacy²⁰ with Durrance. Despite their difference in rank there was no great disparity in age between the two men, and from the first when Calder had come inexperienced and fresh from England, but with a great ardour to acquire a comprehensive experience, Durrance in his reticent²¹ way had been at pains to show the newcomer considerable friendship. Calder, therefore, might be likely to know.
 
"I too remember that night," said Walters. "Durrance dined at the mess and went away early to prepare for his journey."
 
"His preparations were made already," said Calder. "He went away early, as you say. But he did not go to his quarters. He walked along the river-bank to Tewfikieh."
 
Wadi Halfa was the military station, Tewfikieh a little frontier town to the north separated from Halfa by a mile of river-bank. A few Greeks kept stores there, a few bare and dirty cafés faced the street between native cook-shops and tobacconists'; a noisy little town where the negro from the Dinka country jolted²² the fellah from the Delta²³, and the air was torn with many dialects; a thronged²⁵ little town, which yet lacked to European ears one distinctive²⁶ element of a throng²⁴. There was no ring of footsteps. The crowd walked on sand and for the most part with naked feet, so that if for a rare moment the sharp high cries and the perpetual voices ceased, the figures of men and women flitted by noiseless as ghosts. And even at night, when the streets were most crowded and the uproar²⁷ loudest, it seemed that underneath²⁸ the noise, and almost appreciable²⁹ to the ear, there lay a deep and brooding silence, the silence of deserts and the East.
 
"Durrance went down to Tewfikieh at ten o'clock that night," said Calder. "I went to his quarters at eleven. He had not returned. He was starting eastward³⁰ at four in the morning, and there was some detail of business on which I wished to speak to him before he went. So I waited for his return. He came in about a quarter of an hour afterwards and told me at once that I must be quick, since he was expecting a visitor. He spoke³¹ quickly and rather restlessly. He seemed to be labouring under some excitement. He barely listened to what I had to say, and he answered me at random³². It was quite evident that he was moved, and rather deeply moved, by some unusual feeling, though at the nature of the feeling I could not guess. For at one moment it seemed certainly to be anger, and the next moment he relaxed into a laugh, as though in spite of himself he was glad. However, he bundled me out, and as I went I heard him telling his servant to go to bed, because, though he expected a visitor, he would admit the visitor himself."
 
"Well!" said Dawson, "and who was the visitor?"
 
"I do not know," answered Calder. "The one thing I do know is that when Durrance's servant went to call him at four o'clock for his journey, he found Durrance still sitting on the verandah outside his quarters, as though he still expected his visitor. The visitor had not come."
 
"And Durrance left no message?"
 
"No. I was up myself before he started. I thought that he was puzzled and worried. I thought, too, that he meant to tell me what was the matter. I still think that he had that in his mind, but that he could not decide. For even after he had taken his seat upon his saddle and his camel had risen from the ground, he turned and looked down towards me. But he thought better of it, or worse, as the case may be. At all events, he did not speak. He struck the camel on the flank with his stick, and rode slowly past the post-office and out into the desert, with his head sunk upon his breast. I wonder whether he rode into a trap. Who could this visitor have been whom he meets in the street of Tewfikieh, and who must come so secretly to Wadi Halfa? What can have been his business with Durrance? Important business, troublesome business—so much is evident. And he did not come to transact³³ it. Was the whole thing a lure³⁴ to which we have not the clue? Like Colonel Dawson, I am afraid."
 
There was a silence after he had finished, which Major Walters was the first to break. He offered no argument—he simply expressed again his unalterable cheerfulness.
 
"I don't think Durrance has got scuppered," said he, as he rose from his chair.
 
"I know what I shall do," said the colonel. "I shall send out a strong search party in the morning."
 
And the next morning, as they sat at breakfast on the verandah, he at once proceeded to describe the force which he meant to despatch³⁵. Major Walters, too, it seemed, in spite of his hopeful prophecies, had pondered during the night over Calder's story, and he leaned across the table to Calder.
 
"Did you never inquire whom Durrance talked with at Tewfikieh on that night?" he asked.
 
"I did, and there's a point that puzzles me," said Calder. He was sitting with his back to the Nile and his face towards the glass doors of the mess-room, and he spoke to Walters, who was directly opposite. "I could not find that he talked to more than one person, and that one person could not by any likelihood have been the visitor he expected. Durrance stopped in front of a café where some strolling musicians, who had somehow wandered up to Tewfikieh, were playing and singing for their night's lodging³⁶. One of them, a Greek I was told, came outside into the street and took his hat round. Durrance threw a sovereign into the hat, the man turned to thank him, and they talked for a little time together;" and as he came to this point he raised his head. A look of recognition came into his face. He laid his hands upon the table-edge, and leaned forward with his feet drawn³⁷ back beneath his chair as though he was on the point of springing up. But he did not spring up. His look of recognition became one of bewilderment. He glanced round the table and saw that Colonel Dawson was helping³⁸ himself to cocoa, while Major Walters's eyes were on his plate. There were other officers of the garrison present, but not one had remarked his movement and its sudden arrest. Calder leaned back, and staring curiously³⁹ in front of him and over the major's shoulder, continued his story. "But I could never hear that Durrance spoke to any one else. He seemed, except that one knows to the contrary, merely to have strolled through the village and back again to Wadi Halfa."
 
"That doesn't help us much," said the major.
 
"And it's all you know?" asked the colonel.
 
"No, not quite all," returned Calder, slowly; "I know, for instance, that the man we are talking about is staring me straight in the face."
 
At once everybody at the table turned towards the mess-room.
 
"Durrance!" cried the colonel, springing up.
 
"When did you get back?" said the major.
 
Durrance, with the dust of his journey still powdered upon his clothes, and a face burnt to the colour of red brick, was standing⁴¹ in the doorway⁴², and listening with a remarkable⁴³ intentness to the voices of his fellow-officers. It was perhaps noticeable that Calder, who was Durrance's friend, neither rose from his chair nor offered any greeting. He still sat watching Durrance; he still remained curious and perplexed⁴⁴; but as Durrance descended⁴⁵ the three steps into the verandah there came a quick and troubled look of comprehension into his face.
 
"We expected you three weeks ago," said Dawson, as he pulled a chair away from an empty place at the table.
 
"The delay could not be helped," replied Durrance. He took the chair and drew it up.
 
"Does my story account for it?" asked Calder.
 
"Not a bit. It was the Greek musician I expected that night," he explained with a laugh. "I was curious to know what stroke of ill-luck had cast him out to play the zither for a night's lodging in a café at Tewfikieh. That was all," and he added slowly, in a softer voice, "Yes, that was all."
 
"Meanwhile you are forgetting your breakfast," said Dawson, as he rose. "What will you have?"
 
Calder leaned ever so slightly forward with his eyes quietly resting on Durrance. Durrance looked round the table, and then called the mess-waiter. "Moussa, get me something cold," said he, and the waiter went back into the mess-room. Calder nodded his head with a faint smile, as though he understood that here was a difficulty rather cleverly surmounted⁴⁶.
 
"There's tea, cocoa, and coffee," he said. "Help yourself, Durrance."
 
"Thanks," said Durrance. "I see, but I will get Moussa to bring me a brandy-and-soda, I think," and again Calder nodded his head.
 
Durrance ate his breakfast and drank his brandy-and-soda, and talked the while of his journey. He had travelled farther eastward than he had intended. He had found the Ababdeh Arabs quiet amongst their mountains. If they were not disposed to acknowledge allegiance to Egypt, on the other hand they paid no tribute to Mahommed Achmet. The weather had been good, ibex and antelope⁴⁷ plentiful⁴⁸. Durrance, on the whole, had reason to be content with his journey. And Calder sat and watched him, and disbelieved every word that he said. The other officers went about their duties; Calder remained behind, and waited until Durrance should finish. But it seemed that Durrance never would finish. He loitered over his breakfast, and when that was done he pushed his plate away and sat talking. There was no end to his questions as to what had passed at Wadi Halfa during the last eight weeks, no limit to his enthusiasm over the journey from which he had just returned. Finally, however, he stopped with a remarkable abruptness⁴⁹, and said, with some suspicion, to his companion:—
 
"You are taking life easily this morning."
 
"I have not eight weeks' arrears⁵⁰ of letters to clear off, as you have, Colonel," Calder returned with a laugh; and he saw Durrance's face cloud and his forehead contract.
 
"True," he said, after a pause. "I had forgotten my letters." And he rose from his seat at the table, mounted the steps, and passed into the mess-room.
 
Calder immediately sprang up, and with his eyes followed Durrance's movements. Durrance went to a nail which was fixed⁵² in the wall close to the glass doors and on a level with his head. From that nail he took down the key of his office, crossed the room, and went out through the farther door. That door he left open, and Calder could see him walk down the path between the bushes through the tiny garden in front of the mess, unlatch the gate, and cross the open space of sand towards his office. As soon as Durrance had disappeared Calder sat down again, and, resting his elbow............