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of courage is only good nerves and experienceā ā€Šā ā€¦ Most courage is experience. Most people are a little scared at new thingsā ā€Šā ā€¦

You want a bigger heart to face danger which you go out to look for, and which doesnā€™t come to you in the ordinary way of business. Still, thatā€™s pretty much the same thingā ā€”good nerves and good health, and a natural liking for rows. You see, Dick, in all that game thereā€™s a lot of fun. Thereā€™s excitement and the fun of using your wits and skill, and you know that the bad bits canā€™t last long. When Arcoll sent me to Makapanā€™s kraal I didnā€™t altogether fancy the job, but at the worst it was three parts sport, and I got so excited that I never thought of the risk till it was overā ā€Šā ā€¦

But the big courage is the cold-blooded kind, the kind that never lets go even when youā€™re feeling empty inside, and your bloodā€™s thin, and thereā€™s no kind of fun or profit to be had, and the troubleā€™s not over in an hour or two but lasts for months and years. One of the men here was speaking about that kind, and he called it ā€œFortitude.ā€ I reckon fortitudeā€™s the biggest thing a man can haveā ā€”just to go on enduring when thereā€™s no guts or heart left in you. Billy had it when he trekked solitary from Garungoze to the Limpopo with fever and a broken arm just to show the Portugooses that he wouldnā€™t be downed by them. But the head man at the job was the Apostle Paulā ā€Šā ā€¦

Peter was writing for his own comfort, for fortitude was all that was left to him now. But his words came pretty straight to me, and I read them again and again, for I needed the lesson. Here was I losing heart just because I had failed in the first round and my pride had taken a knock. I felt honestly ashamed of myself, and that made me a far happier man. There could be no question of dropping the business, whatever its difficulties. I had a queer religious feeling that Ivery and I had our fortunes intertwined, and that no will of mine could keep us apart. I had faced him before the war and won; I had faced him again and lost; the third time or the twentieth time we would reach a final decision. The whole business had hitherto appeared to me a trifle unreal, at any rate my own connection with it. I had been docilely obeying orders, but my real self had been standing aside and watching my doings with a certain aloofness. But that hour in the Tube station had brought me into the serum, and I saw the affair not as Bullivantā€™s or even Blenkironā€™s, but as my own. Before I had been itching to get back to the Front; now I wanted to get on to Iveryā€™s trail, though it should take me through the nether pit. Peter was right; fortitude was the thing a man must possess if he would save his soul.

The hours passed, and, as I expected, there came no word from Macgillivray. I had some dinner sent up to me at seven oā€™clock, and about eight I was thinking of looking up Blenkiron. Just then came a telephone call asking me to go round to Sir Walter Bullivantā€™s house in Queen Anneā€™s Gate.

Ten minutes later I was ringing the bell, and the door was opened to me by the same impassive butler who had admitted me on that famous night three years before. Nothing had changed in the pleasant green-panelled hall; the alcove was the same as when I had watched from it the departure of the man who now called himself Ivery; the telephone book lay in the very place from which I had snatched it in order to ring up the First Sea Lord. And in the back room, where that night five anxious officials had conferred, I found Sir Walter and Blenkiron.

Both looked worried, the American feverishly so. He walked up and down the hearthrug, sucking an unlit black cigar.

ā€œSay, Dick,ā€ he said, ā€œthis is a bad business. It wasnā€™t no fault of yours. You did fine. It was usā ā€”me and Sir Walter and Mr. Macgillivray that were the quitters.ā€

ā€œAny news?ā€ I asked.

ā€œSo far the coverā€™s drawn blank,ā€ Sir Walter replied. ā€œIt was the devilā€™s own work that our friend looked your way today. Youā€™re pretty certain he saw that you recognized him?ā€

ā€œAbsolutely. As sure as that he knew I recognized him in your hall three years ago when he was swaggering as Lord Alloa.ā€

ā€œNo,ā€ said Blenkiron dolefully, ā€œthat little flicker of recognition is just the one thing you canā€™t be wrong about. Land alive! I wish Mr. Macgillivray would come.ā€

The bell rang, and the door opened, but it was not Macgillivray. It was a young girl in a white ball-gown, with a cluster of blue cornflowers at her breast. The sight of her fetched Sir Walter out of his chair so suddenly that he upset his coffee cup.

ā€œMary, my dear, how did you manage it? I didnā€™t expect you till the late train.ā€

ā€œI was in London, you see, and they telephoned on your telegram. Iā€™m staying with Aunt Doria, and I cut her theatre party. She thinks Iā€™m at the Shandwickā€™s dance, so I neednā€™t go home till morningā ā€Šā ā€¦ Good evening, General Hannay. You got over the Hill Difficulty.ā€

ā€œThe next stage is the Valley of Humiliation,ā€ I answered.

ā€œSo it would appear,ā€ she said gravely, and sat very quietly on the edge of Sir Walterā€™s chair with her small, cool hand upon his.

I had been picturing her in my recollection as very young and glimmering, a dancing, exquisite child. But now I revised that picture. The crystal freshness of morning was still there, but I saw how deep the waters were. It was the clean fineness and strength of her that entranced me. I didnā€™t even think of her as pretty, any more than

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