"
He paused, and drew a small packet from the pocket of a covert-coat which
he carried over his arm.
"Here," he went on, "are some papers of his--a diary and one or two
letters. The rest of the things are at my hotel in town."
Arthur took the packet, and, still in the same dreamy, unreal way, opened
it. He turned to the last entry--dated six weeks back.
"Got out of bed at five, but nothing to be seen in the valley. I feel a
bit chippy this morning. If nothing turns up to-day shall begin to feel
uneasy. The men seem all right. They are plucky little fellows."
There was a self-consciousness about Jem Agar's diary, a selection of the
right word, which conveyed nothing to Arthur. But it fell into other
hands later on, where it was understood better.
General Michael was watching the undergraduate with the same critical
attention which he had brought to bear on the writer of the diary not two
months before.
"Did you see much of your step-brother?" he asked abruptly, feeling his
way towards his purpose.
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