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 your chauffeur; yes, he tells me he is. So to-morrow morning you leave here nicely after breakfast; you lunch at El Kantara, a fine place; and long before dark you are in Batna, or, if you prefer, at Timgad, which is close by there. The next evening you are at Constantine, the next at Bône; then you must make another long day's drive and you will be at Tunis. Everywhere excellent roads, and it is all perfectly simple."

"Yes," Ogle said thoughtfully. "It seems so." With a hand still feeble and a little tremulous, he passed a kerchief over his forehead. "By the way, I was ill yesterday and last evening. I suppose my friends got off all right?"

"The lady and young gentleman who arrive with you? Madame Momoro? Oh, yes; I have purchased their tickets for them myself; they have first-class to Tunis. It was on the bill."

Ogle stared at him blankly and swallowed dry air. "You mean on—on my bill?"

"No, no!" The concierge laughed indulgently. "On their own bill that the young gentleman paid. They went to the train at two o'clock in the afternoon yesterday."

"I see," Ogle said. He paused; then asked: "And