Hundreds of years, they've traveled all
over the world, and been lost, and stolen, and hidden. My father's is
lost now, somewhere. Had it come back home to rest, my own life might
have been different. I say, Cowles, couldn't you do that for me? We've
nearly always had some last friend that would--we Gordons."
"I would do nothing for you as a favor," I answered.
"Then do it because it is right. I'd rather it should be you. You've a
wrist like steel, and a mind like steel when you set yourself to do a
thing."
"I say, old man," he went on, a trifle weary now, "you've won. I'm jolly
well accounted for, and it was fair. I hope they'll not bag you when you
try to get out of this. But won't you promise what I've asked? Won't you
promise?"
It is not for me to say whether or not I made a promise to Gordon Orme,
or to say whether or not things mediaeval or occult belong with us
to-day. Neither do I expect many to believe the strange truth about
Gordon Orme. I only say it is hard to deny those about to die.
"Orme," I said, "I wish you had laid out your life differently. You are
a wonderful man."
"The great games," he smiled--"sport, love, war!" Then his face
saddened.
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