"What's your game ?" he said.

"You have come to tell me something, I suppose.

But why on earth couldn't you write it ?" "The written word is not always effectual," the other man said.
He put up a hand abruptly and stripped the ragged hair from his face, pushing back the heavy folds of the _chuddah_ that enveloped his head as he did so.

His features gleamed in the moonlight, lean and brown, unmistakably British.
"Monck!" said Dacre, in the tone of one verifying a suspicion.
"Yes--Monck." Grimly the other repeated the name.

"I've had considerable trouble in following you here.