CHAPTER IIIA few days after these incidents, Montague was waiting for afriend who was to come to dinner at his hotel. He was sitting in the lobby reading a paper, and he noticed an elderly gentleman with a grey goatee and rather florid complexion who passed down the corridor before him. A minute or two later he happened to glance up, and he caught this gentleman’s eye.
The latter started, and a look of amazement came over his face. He came forward, saying, “I beg pardon, but is not this Allan Montague?”
“It is,” said Montague, looking at him in perplexity.
“You don’t rememberme, do you?” said the other.
“I must confess that I do not,” was the answer.
“I am Colonel Cole.”
But Montague only knitted his brows in greater perplexity. “Colonel Cole?” he repeated.
“You were too young to re
