Lying back in the wicker-chair, relaxed and weary, he opened the letter and began to read.
Ten minutes later, Tommy Denvers, racing in, also in polo-kit, stopped short upon the threshold and stared in shocked amazement as if some sudden horror had caught him by the throat.
"Great heavens above, Monck! What's the matter ?" he ejaculated.
Perhaps it was in part due to the green twilight of the room, but it seemed to him in that first startled moment that Monck's face had the look of a man who had received a deadly wound.

The impression passed almost immediately, but the memory of it was registered in his brain for all time.
Monck raised the tumbler to his lips and drank before replying, and as he did so his customary grave composure became apparent, making Tommy wonder if his senses had tricked him.

He looked at the lad with sombre eyes as he set down the glass.

His brother's letter was still gripped in his hand.
"Hullo, Tommy!" he said, a shadowy smile about his mouth.

"What are you in such a deuce of a hurry about ?" Tommy glanced down at the letters on the table and pounced upon the one that lay uppermost.