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 everything I say with common honour, as between man and man?"

"Why, yes, I hope so."

"I know you would. But for the sake of saying it, say it. I can trust you, can't I? Tell me now, can I trust you?"

Somers watched him. Was it any good making reservations and qualifications? The man was in earnest. And according to standards of commonplace honour, the so-called honour of man to man, Somers felt that he would trust Callcott, and that Callcott might trust him. So he said simply:

"Yes."

A light leaped into Jack's eyes.

"That means you trust me, of course?" he said.

"Yes," replied Somers.

"Done!" said Jack, rising to his feet and upsetting the chessmen. Somers also pushed his chair, and rose to his feet, thinking they were going across to the next house. But Jack came to him and flung an arm round his shoulder and pressed him close, trembling slightly, and saying nothing. Then he let go, and caught Somers by the hand.

"This is fate," he said, "and we'll follow it up." He seemed to cling to the other man's hand. And on his face was a strange light of purpose and of passion, a look at once exalted and dangerous.

"I'll soon bring the others to see it," he said.

"But you know I don't understand," said Somers, withdrawing his hand and taking off his spectacles.

"I know," said Jack. "But I'll let you know everything in a day or two. Perhaps you wouldn't mind if William James—if Jaz came here one evening—or you wouldn't mind having a talk with him over in my shack."

"I don't mind talking to anybody," said the bewildered Somers.

"Right you are."

They still sat for some time by the fire, silent; Jack was pondering. Then he looked up at Somers.

"You and me," he said in a quiet voice, "in a way we're mates and in a way we're not. In a way—it's different."

With which cryptic remark he left it. And in a few