I'm glad to be prepared though." "A charter!" Francis pulled himself together and looked curiously at the man who was still bending over him.
"Great Heavens!" he exclaimed, "why, you are Scarlett Trent, the man whom I met with poor Villiers in Bekwando years ago." Trent nodded.
"We waited for you," he said, "to witness our concession.

I thought that you would remember." "I thought," Francis said slowly, "that there was something familiar about you....

I remember it all now.

You were gambling with poor old Monty for his daughter's picture against a bottle of brandy." Trent winced a little.
"You have an excellent memory," he said drily.
Francis raised himself a little, and a fiercer note crept into his tone.
"It is coming back to me," he said.

"I remember more about you now, Scarlett Trent.