In India he gazed upon the degradation of woman and the unspeakable bestiality of man till that vile and dusty hell had sickened him to the soul.
Back into Europe he drifted; and instantly and everywhere appeared the awful Yankee--shooting wells in Hungary, shooting craps in Monaco, digging antiques in Greece, digging tunnels in Servia,--everywhere the Yankee, drilling, bridging, constructing, exploring, pushing, arguing, quarrelling, insisting, telegraphing, gambling, touring, over-running older and better civilisations than his own crude Empire where he has nothing to learn from anybody but the Almighty--and then only when he condescends to ask for advice on Sunday.
And Clive, nevertheless, longed with a longing that made him sick, for "God's country" where all that is worst and best on earth still boils in the vast and seething cauldron of a continent in the making. There bubbles the elemental broth, dregs, scum, skimmings, residue, by-products, tailings, smoking corruption above the slowly forming and incorruptible matrix in its depths where lies imbedded, and ever growing, the Immam, the Hope of the World--gem indestructible, pearl beyond price. Difficilia quae pulchra.
And once, Clive had almost set out for home; and then, grimly, turned away toward the southern continent of the hemisphere.
In Lima he heard of an expedition fitting out to search for the lost Americans, Cromer and Page, and for the Hungarian Seljan. And that same evening he met Captain Dane.
They looked at each other very carefully, and then shook hands. Clive said: "If you want a handy man in camp, I'd like to go."
Later, looking over together some maps in Dane's rooms, the big blond soldier of fortune glanced up at the younger man, and saw a lean, bronzed visage clamped mute by a lean bronzed jaw; but he also saw two dark eyes fixed on him in the fierce silence of unuttered inquiry. After a moment Dane said very quietly:
"Yes, she was well, and I think happy, when I left New York.... How long is it since you have heard from her?"
"Three years," mused Dane, gazing into space out of his slitted eyes of arctic blue; "yes, that's some little time. Bailey.... She is well--I think I said that.... And very prosperous, and greatly admired ... and happy--I believe."