"It's like this," he said. "You're dead. I want you to stay dead for a
little while--say six months to a year!"
Agar seated himself on the corner of the table, which creaked under the
weight of his spare muscular person, and then, true to his cloth, he
awaited further orders; true to his nature, he waited in silence.
After a short pause the other proceeded to explain.
"You frontier men," he said, "are closely watched; we know that. There
will be great rejoicing over there, in Northern Europe, over this mishap
to Stevenor, although, God knows, he was not a very dangerous man. Not so
dangerous as you, Agar. They will be delighted to hear that you are out
of the way. Stay out of the way for a year, and during that twelve months
you will be able to do more than you could get done in twelve years when
you were being watched by them."
"I see," answered Agar quietly. "Not dead, but gone--up country."
"Precisely so; where they certainly will not be on the look-out for you."
The bright black eyes were shining with suppressed excitement.
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