Pharos, the Egyptian (Horror Classic). Guy Boothby

down and inquire his business,' I said, at length. 'Tell him I am engaged to-night; but if he can make it convenient to call in the morning, I will see him.'

      "The man departed on his errand, and by the time he returned I had reached my dressing-room once more.

      "'He is very sorry, sir,' he began, as soon as he had closed the door, 'but he says he must get back to Bampton in time to catch the 8.15 express to London. He wouldn't tell me his business, but asked me to say that it is most important, and he would be deeply grateful if you could grant him an interview this evening.'

      "'In that case,' I said, 'I suppose I must see him. Did he tell you no more?'

      "'No, sir. Leastways, that wasn't exactly the way he put it. He said, sir, "If the gentleman won't see me otherwise, tell him I come to him from Mr. Cyril Forrester. Then I think he will change his mind."'

      "As the man, whoever he was, had predicted, this did make me change my mind. I immediately bade Jenkins return and inform him that I would be with him in a few moments. Accordingly, as soon as I had dressed, I left my room and descended to the study. The fire was burning brightly, and a reading-lamp stood upon the writing-table. The remainder of the room, however, was in shadow, but not sufficiently so to prevent my distinguishing a dark figure seated between the two bookcases. He rose as I entered, and bowed before me with a servility that, thank God! is scarcely English. When he spoke, though what he said was grammatically correct, his accent revealed the fact that he was not a native of our Isles.

      "'Sir William Betford, I believe,' he began, as I entered the room.

      "'That is my name,' I answered, at the same time turning up the lamp and lighting the candles upon the mantelpiece in order that I might see him better. 'My man tells me you desire an interview with me. He also mentioned that you have come from my old friend, Mr. Cyril Forrester, the artist, who is now abroad. Is this true?'

      "'Quite true,' he replied. 'I do come from Mr. Forrester.'

      "The candles were burning brightly by this time, and, as a result, I was able to see him more distinctly. He was of medium height, very thin, and wore a long overcoat of some dark material. His face was distinctly Asiatic in type, though the exact nationality I could not determine. Possibly he might have hailed from Siam.

      "'Having come from Mr. Forrester,' I said, when I had seated myself, 'you will be able to tell me his address, I have neither seen nor heard of or from him for more than a year past.'

      "'I regret exceedingly that it is impossible for me to give you the information you seek,' the man replied, civilly but firmly. 'My instructions were most explicit upon that point.'

      "'You come to me from him, and yet you are instructed not to tell me his address?' I said, with natural surprise. 'That is rather extraordinary, is it not? Remember, I am one of his oldest, and certainly one of his firmest, friends.'

      "'Nevertheless, I was instructed on no account to reveal his present residence to you,' the man replied.

      "'What, then, can your business be with me?' I asked, more nettled at his words than I cared to show.

      "'I have brought you a packet,' he said, 'which Mr. Forrester was most anxious I should personally deliver to your hands. There is a letter inside which he said would explain everything. I was also instructed to obtain from you a receipt, which I am to convey to him again.'

      "So saying, he dived his hand into the pocket of his greatcoat, and brought thence a roll, which he placed with some solemnity upon the table.

      "'There is the packet,' he said. 'Now if you will be kind enough to give me a note stating that you have received it, I will take my departure. It is most necessary that I should catch the express to London, and if I desire to do so, I have a sharp walk in front of me.'

      "'You shall have the receipt,' I answered; and, taking a sheet of notepaper from a drawer, I wrote the following letter:—

      "'The Grange, Bampton St. Mary,

       "'December 14, 18—.

      "'Dear Forrester: This evening I have been surprised by a visit from a man named——'

      "Here I paused and inquired the messenger's name, which I had, for the moment, forgotten.

      "'Honoré de Silva,' he replied.

      "'——from a man named Honoré de Silva, who has handed me a packet for which he desires this letter shall be a receipt. I have endeavoured to elicit your address from him, but on this point he is adamant. Is it kind to an old friend to let him hear from you, but at the same time to refuse to permit him to communicate with you? Why all this mystery? If you are in trouble, who would so gladly share it with you as your old friend? If you need help, who would so willingly give it? Are the years during which we have known each other to count for nothing? Trust me, and I think you are aware that I will not abuse your confidence.

      "Your affectionate friend,

      "'William Betford.'

      "Having blotted it, I placed the letter in an envelope, directed it to Cyril Forrester, Esq., and handed it to De Silva, who placed it carefully in an inner pocket and rose to take leave of me.

      "'Will nothing induce you to reveal your employer's present place of residence?' I said. 'I assure you I am most anxious to prove his friend.'

      "'I can easily believe that,' he answered. 'He has often spoken of you in terms of the warmest affection. If you could hear him, I am sure you would have no doubt on that score.'

      "I was much affected, as you may imagine, on hearing this, and his assertion emboldened me to risk yet another question.

      "'Upon one point, at least, you can set my mind at rest,' I said. 'Is Mr. Forrester happy?'

      "'He is a man who has done with happiness such as you mean, and will never know it again,' he answered solemnly.

      "'My poor old friend,' I said, half to myself and half to him. And then added, 'Is there no way in which I can help him?'

      "'None,' De Silva replied. 'But I can tell you no more, so I beg you will not ask me.'

      "'But you can surely answer one other question,' I continued, this time with what was almost a note of supplication in my voice. 'You can tell me whether, in your opinion, we, his friends, will see him again, or if he intends to spend the remainder of his life in exile?'

      "'That I can safely answer. No! You will never see him again. He will not return to this country, or to the people who have known him here.'

      "'Then may God help him and console him, for his trouble must be bitter indeed!'

      "'It is well-nigh insupportable,' said De Silva, with the same solemnity; and then, picking up his hat, bowed, and moved toward the door.

      "'I must risk one last question. Tell me if he will communicate with me again?'

      "'Never,' the other replied. 'He bade me tell you, should you ask, that you must henceforth consider him as one who is dead. You must not attempt to seek for him, but consign him to that oblivion in which only he can be at peace.'

      "Before I could say more he had opened the door and passed into the hall. A moment later I heard the front door close behind him, a step sounded on the gravel before my window, and I was left standing upon the hearthrug, staring at the packet upon the table. Then the gong sounded, and I thrust the roll into a drawer. Having securely locked the latter, I hastened to the drawing-room to meet my guests.

      "Needless to say, my demeanour during dinner was not marked with any great degree of gaiety. The interview with De Silva had upset me completely; and though I endeavoured to play the part of an attentive host, my attempt was far from being successful. I found my thoughts continually reverting to that curious interview in the study, and to the packet which had come into my possession in such a mysterious manner, the secret contained in which I had still to learn.

      "After dinner we adjourned to the billiard-room,