Blake could not tell what had suddenly roused his attention, but in former days he had developed his perceptive faculties by close night watching on the Indian frontier, where any relaxing of his vigilance might have cost his life.

Something, he thought, was moving in the bush, and he felt uneasy.
A stick cracked, and Harding called out as a shadowy figure appeared on the edge of the light.

Blake laughed, but his uneasiness did not desert him when he recognized Clarke.

The fellow was not to be trusted, and he had come upon them in a startling manner.
"I suppose you are surprised to see me," Clarke said, moving coolly forward and sitting down by the fire.
"We are," Harding answered briefly.
Benson's face wore a curious, strained expression, but he did not speak.
"Well," Clarke laughed, as he filled his pipe, "I dare say I made a rather dramatic entrance, falling upon you, so to speak, out of the dark." "I've a suspicion that you enjoy that kind of thing," Harding said.
"You're a man with the dramatic feeling; guess you find it useful now and then." Clarke's eyes twinkled, but it was not with wholesome humor.

His eyes were keen, but he looked old and forbidding as he sat with the smoke blowing about him and the ruddy firelight on his face.
"There's some truth in your remark, and I take it as a compliment; but my arrival's easily explained.