In the soul of Calvert Carter arose a vague unrest. A voiceless summons bade him, with every April stir of wind, to shake off the tale of common things and match his manhood and keen intelligence in Nature's conflict, the battle of the male. Six years past had found him in Cuba. In that brief campaign against Spain, his entire military career, each day so crowded with anticipation or actual battle, had been laid the foundation for this wanderlieb; this growing appetite for excitement and hazard. Occasional trips to Europe and even forays after big game had failed to satisfy him. Without realizing it, his was the aboriginal's longing for war, – primitive savage against primitive savage, and – his life lacked a woman.
He paced about his library as in a cage.
.....
"Where are they? We have so much time to find them." The sarcasm was crushing. "They probably were lost or destroyed years ago." He concluded temporizingly, under the compelling eyes gazing coldly at him.
"Documents of that kind are never lost or destroyed," Josef announced dogmatically.
