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Updated: June 2, 2025
A servant announced "Monsieur Gribton," and a little grizzled man hobbled in, leaning heavily on a stick. He wore a short beard, and in his tanned face two clever grey eyes twinkled sedately. He shook hands gravely when Lewis introduced George, but his eyes immediately returned to the former's face. "You look a fit pair," he said.
He is the sort of man you'd turn round to look at if you once passed him in the street; and if you once saw him smile you'd begin to like him. It's the prettiest thing I've ever seen." "I expect I'll run across him somewhere," said Lewis, "and I want badly to know him. Would you mind giving me an introduction?" "Charmed!" said Gribton. "Shall I write it now?"
In the smoking-room Gribton fussed about coffee and cigars for many minutes ere he settled down. Then, when he could gaze around and see his two guests in deep armchairs, each smoking and comfortable, he returned to his business.
"There," said Gribton, his eyes now free from drowsiness, and clear and bright, "that's the road I fear." "But these three inches are unknown," said Lewis. "I have been myself as far as these hills." Gribton looked sharply up. "You don't know the place as I know it. I've never been so far, but I know the sheep-skinned devils who come across from Turkestan.
His lordship was out, but, if they were the English gentlemen who had the appointment with M. Gribton, Monsieur would be with them speedily. Lewis looked about the heavily furnished ante-room with its pale yellow walls and thick, green curtains, with the air of a man trying to recall a memory. "I came over here with John Lambert, when his father had the place. That was just after I left Oxford.
But if matters got into a tangle I would rather not be in his company. Thwaite is a gentlemanlike sort of fellow, but dull-very, while Gribton is the ordinary shrewd commercial man, very cautious and rather timid." "Did you ever happen to hear of a man called Marka? He might call himself Constantine Marka, or Arthur Marker, or the Baron Mark whatever happened to suit him."
"Do you know a man called Marker by any chance?" Lewis asked. Gribton looked curiously at the speaker. "Have you actually heard about him? Yes, I know him, but not very well, and I can't say I ever cared for him. However, he is easily the most popular man in Bardur, and I daresay is a very good fellow. But you don't call him Russian. I thought he was sort of half a Scotsman."
"What are Logan and Thwaite like?" Lewis asked. "Easy-going, good fellows. Believe in God and the British Government, and the inherent goodness of man. I am rather the other way, so they call me a cynic and an alarmist." "But what do you fear?" said George. "The place is well garrisoned." "I fear four inches in that map of unknown country," said Gribton shortly.
Now the good Gribton is coming home, and so he will have the place for a happy hunting-ground." Wratislaw was puffing his under-lip in deep thought. "It is a sweet business," he said. "But what can we do? Only wait?" "Yes, one could wait if Marka were the only disquieting feature. But what about Taghati and the Russian activity?
I expect you belong, Haystoun; and anyway I'll be there." He bowed them out with his staccato apologies, and the two returned to their hotel to dress. Two hours later they found Gribton warming his hands in the smoking-room of the Cercle, a fussy and garrulous gentleman, eager for his dinner. He pointed out such people as he knew, and was consumed with curiosity about the others.
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