Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 1, 2025
At last the Hog's Back rose, and at a little inn, known for its comfort and its chef Hillyard's car was stopped. "Mrs. Croyle?" Hillyard asked at the office. "Her maid is here," said the girl clerk, and pointed. Hillyard turned to a girl, pretty and, by a few years, younger than Stella Croyle. "I have orders not to wake Mrs. Croyle until she rings," said the maid.
He reflected, and as the recollection came he turned slowly very white. "I?" he asked. "Yes," said Hardiman, leaning forward. But it was not at Hardiman that Escobar was looking. His eyes were fixed warily on Hillyard. He answered the question warily too, fragment by fragment, ready to stop, ready to take the words back, if a sign of recollection kindled in Hillyard's face.
"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?"
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.
"You have engaged your seat, monsieur," the porter asked, who was carrying Hillyard's kit-bag. "Yes," said Martin absently. He was thinking that on the boulevards the newsboys might now be crying a later edition of the papers than that which he held, an edition with still more details. He saw them surrounded in the darkened street by quiet, anxious groups.
Across the broad plain, meadowland and plough, flower-garden and fruit the train thundered down to the Pyrenees. Paris was far away now, and the sense of desolation at quitting it quite gone from Hillyard's breast. "Berlin ... Berne ... Paris ... Cerbère ... Barcelona ... Madrid." Here was one of the post-roads by which Germany reached the outer world. Others there were beyond doubt.
It was very dark, so that even with the vast blaze of stars overhead, Hillyard could hardly see the flutter of his shikari's white robe a few paces ahead of him. They passed a clump of bushes and immediately afterwards heard a great shuffling and lapping of water below them. The shikari stopped abruptly and seized the bridle of Hillyard's donkey.
He had been four days in London, and the engrossing menace of those days had quite thrust from his recollections the telegram which had, as he thought, befooled him. "The friend of mine is possibly Paul Bendish," he said stiffly. "Think that was the name. Graham's the man I am speaking of," and the sailor paused. "Commodore Graham," he added. Hillyard's indignation ebbed away.
"But you had persuaded them, even on that first venture. So," and now Hillyard smiled. "So we took your carts up in to the mountains." "We?" exclaimed José. He took a step forward, and gazed keenly into Martin Hillyard's face. Hillyard nodded. "I was one of your companions on that first night venture of yours thirteen years ago." "Claro!
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.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking