They are foolish
blackguards, but amusing.
Yours most sincerely,
ARTHUR MARKER.
Lewis read the strange letter several times through, then passed it to
George. George read it with difficulty, not being accustomed to a
flowing frontier hand. "Jolly decent of him, I call it," was his
remark.
"I would give a lot to know what to make of it. The man is playing some
game, but what the deuce it is I can't fathom."
"I suppose we had better get up to that Forza place as soon as we can."
"I think not," said Lewis.
"The man's honest, surely?
"But he is also clever. Remember who he is. He may wish to get us out
of the way. I don't suppose that he can possibly fear us, but he may
want the coast clear from suspicious spectators. Besides, I don't see
the good of Forza. It is not the part of the hills I want to explore.
There can be no frontier danger there, and at the worst there can be
nothing more than a little tribal disturbance. Now what on earth would
Russia gain by moving the tribes there, except as a blind?"
"Still, you know, the man admits all that in his letter. And if the
people up there are going to be in trouble we ought to go and give them
notice."
"I'll take an hour to think over it, and then I'll go and see Thwaite.
He was to be back this morning."
Lewis spread the letter before him. It was a simple, friendly note,
giving him a chance of doing a good turn to friends.
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