Author: F A M Webster
Date: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00
Description: Early 1930s colonial Kenya; something strange is happening in the undefined and disputed borderlands between Kenya and Abyssinia, with tales of "walking dead". When a headstrong young woman goes on safari in the region, life becomes complicated both for the Colonial Office in London, and the District Commissioner in Kenya.

SECOND WIND

F. A. M. Webster

1934

[The text for this edition is as published in the Australian Women's Weekly on 16 March 1935. It is probably the abridged "serial rights" edition]

Contents

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

Chapter 7 | Chapter 8

Chapter 9 | Chapter 10

Chapter 11 | Chapter 12

Chapter 13 | Chapter 14

Chapter 15 | Chapter 16

Chapter 17 | Chapter 18

Chapter 19 | Chapter 20

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Chapter 1

The Raiders

ALONG the bottom of the valley, between the slopes of the hills, a straggling mob of men and animals moved steadily northwards. The hot, still air was rent with discordant sounds; the lowing of cattle, the bleating of sheep, the occasional scream of an angry camel. Goats, lean and nimble footed, led the way. Donkeys, some of them ridden by fierce men with rifles slung across their shoulders, moved hither and thither. Over everything hung a cloud of thick, stifling dust.

The caravan was fully half a mile long, and in the middle of it. carefully guarded by armed men. shambled a number of dejected natives, men, women, and even small children. They were despondent, miserable creatures, and they had good reason for their dejection, for they were being marched into Abyssinia to be sold as slaves.

At the head of this little band of natives rode a white man. His wrists were bound behind him, his feet were roped together under the donkey's belly. He sat hunched up, his shoulders bowed, his head hanging forward.

Two days previously, while patrolling a section of the North-East Frontier of Kenya, with half a dozen men of the K.A.R., Lieutenant Victor Saumarez had" stumbled unexpectedly upon a party of Abyssinian slave raiders. From the amount of stock they were driving towards the frontier it was plain that their expedition had been a success, and it was no doubt this success, together with the fact that they had no Intention of parting with their spoil, that had prompted them to attack Saumarez's party.

While the stock was driven steadily northwards the K.A.R.'s were engaged by a large number of well-armed and well trained men. Outnumbered and caught at a disadvantage. Saumarez's position was hopeless from the start. Two of his men fell during the first three minutes of the engagement, and Saumarez had enough experience to know that his pith helmet made him a special mark for the Abyssinian riflemen. It was not long before their efforts were rewarded. A bullet passed through the topee, but fortunately it must have been slightly deflected by the tough material, for it struck Saumarez a glancing blow. The wound was not serious, but it was sufficient to render him unconscious.

On the second day after the fight Saumarez was transferred to the donkey which he now rode, but great care was taken to prevent him escaping. Not that he felt like it. His head ached vilely, he was thirsty and hungry, and the plodding of the donkey over the uneven ground tried his already depleted strength. When the raiders halted that evening beside a convenient water-hole, and he was released from the donkey, he flung himself on the ground and did not stir until the march was resumed in the early morning.

The long rest did him good, and he found that day's trek slightly less trying. For the first time since he was wounded he had the energy to speculate upon where he was being taken, and why. What did the raiders intend to do with him? It did not seem possible that they would dare to sell him into slavery. The capture of a white man and his forcible removal from his own territory was a serious matter. Why should they incriminate themselves further by taking him across the frontier? The future looked black, indeed, for at the time Saumarez's patrol met with disaster he knew there was not a British force within twenty miles. His chance of rescue was, therefore, exceedingly small.

DURING the march he questioned the guards who rode on either side, but they were plainly under orders not to speak, for they only grinned unpleasantly at him. It was not until late evening, when they camped near water, that a tall fellow with a lean, hatchet face and piercing dark eyes came close to Saumarez and looked at him, as if he was a curiosity. He had a Lebel rifle slung over his shoulders, together with a bandolier of cartridges. A Mauser automatic hung at his waist. A significant fact about these raiders was that they were well armed and well disciplined.

"Where are you taking me?" asked Saumarez in Swahili.

"You will know in good time," replied the Abyssinian shortly.

"Take care, Belia, lest he should fly at your throat," counselled one of the guards with a wide grin.

"If you will give me your word that you will not try to escape, I will have your bonds loosened," he said to Saumarez.

"I suppose you realise the seriousness of kidnapping a British officer on British territory and of firing on my patrol," said Saumarez, ignoring the offer. "Did you kill my men?"

Belia grinned, showing remarkably white teeth, and adjusted his rifle more comfortably.

"Who is to know where you have gone? Your men have been buried where they are not likely to be found. All signs of our skirmish have been removed, even the empty cartridge-cases have been picked up. No evidence that your patrol ever encountered us remains."

"Except me." said Saumarez. "You stand a very good chance of being taken to Addis Ababa in chains. Probably you will be hanged."

"No evidence except you," Belia murmured, fingering his lean chin. "Do not be too sure about hanging: the noose might be about someone else's neck."

Saumarez reckoned that besides the men, women and children, who must have numbered twenty, there were ten camels, fifty head of cattle, and about the same number of sheep and goats.

Soon after the nullah had been crossed the tell-tale smoke of a fire was seen ahead, and Belia directed the caravan towards it. Presently a small encampment came into sight composed of an old man with a dirty white beard, three younger fellows, four women and a number of camels and donkeys. Apparently the old man with the beard was known to Belia, for the raider welcomed him like a lost brother, and showed him the results of his expedition with evident pride. The old fellow was suitably impressed, and his remarks were complimentary until he saw Saumarez, with his bandaged head and his hands bound behind him, squatting disconsolately in the dust.

For some moments he stared at the prisoner in silence.

"Who is this white man?" he asked at length.

Belia, slightly disappointed that he had not been congratulated on his prowess as a fighter, embarked on a lengthy story of how he had collided with a strong armed force and slain them, all forty of them.

"Because of my superior military skill I only lost three men. After the fight, seeking to destroy all evidence, we buried our enemies—"

"All forty of them?" interrupted the old man sarcastically.

"There may not have been quite that number," Belia admitted. "But this white man was the only survivor. He had been stunned by a bullet, and we brought him with us lest he should identify us to his brethren."

"And what do you propose to do with him?"

Belia glanced at Saumarez and grinned mischievously.

"There was some talk of a hanging," he said, and quoted an Abyssinian phrase, the parallel to "Dead men tell no tales."

The old man snorted indignantly.

"Belia, thou art the greatest of fools!"

"Why?" asked the raider, who imagined he had been rather clever.

"Thou wilt surely go in chains to Addis Ababa and there hang."

As these were almost the exact words used by Saumarez, Belia felt acutely un-comfortable, for he was more than a little superstitious. He glowered at Saumarez and fingered his automatic suggestively.

"By taking this white man prisoner thou hast brought such a bees' nest about thine ears that it is likely thou wilt be stung to death."

"Ought I to have killed him, then? Because it is not yet too late."

A MOB of interested raiders had gathered round the group. At their leader's remarks they laughed.

"You forget, Abandoned One, that the white man's brethren slew Balcha," said one.

"Aye, and Gabra, and the hunter from Meyba," added an evil-looking specimen who lacked two front teeth. The men were referring to raids that had not been so successful as the last.

"Nevertheless," maintained the Abandoned One, "I say you have done wrong. You know well that the Emperor is opposed to raiding and poaching. Think you he will be pleased when he learns that you have captured an Englishman?"

Belia gave an ugly laugh.

"Obedience to the Emperor's commands grows less as the distance from the capital increases. .There are deeds done on the frontier that are never heard of in Addis Ababa."

"Remember, my brother, was killed by this man's soldiers!" cried a second Abyssinian. "Is it good for a man's honor that he should go unrevenged? Let us slit the white man's throat."

But the Abandoned One clung to his opinion

"Will it benefit your brother, who was well known as a thief, if you kill this man?" he asked, and added softly: "Or perhaps in your family it is considered honorable to slay an unarmed prisoner?"

"What I have I hold," retorted Belia, glowering.

The argument waxed and waned.

Saumarez felt tired and thirsty. His Body ached in every muscle, for the donkey on which he had sat all day had been saddleless. He had a blinding headache, the result of the bullet graze, and his mouth and lungs were full of dust. He was so miserable that he did not greatly care at that moment whether Belia murdered him or not. The murmur of the voices about him, the stifling heat, and the long march made him sleepy. His head slowly fell forward on to his chest and his eyes closed.

He was awakened by a hand gripping his arm, and he opened his eyes to find the old man with the beard bending over him.

"Come with me," he said. "For to-night you will be my guest."

Still half-dazed Saumarez scrambled to his feet.

"If you will share my poor meal," continued the old man, "I shall be honored. I do not altogether trust this prince of liars and king of braggarts that calls himself Belia. His temper is apt to make him do foolish things which afterwards he regrets."

The Abyssinian scowled and fingered his Mauser.

"Your tongue runs away with you," he snarled.

"Nay, I will control it so that I may sing at your funeral," retorted the old man pleasantly.

Belia stepped forward, thrusting out his lean, fierce face.

"Remember that your life is forfeit for my prisoner," he said. "If you do "not re-turn him to me in the morning, I myself will— " And he drew his hand suggestively across his throat. "Not for nothing will you be called the Abandoned One."

"The grasshopper has brains compared with thee," retorted the Abandoned One amiably, and, taking Saumarez by the arm, he pushed through the throng towards his own camp.

This was situated at some distance from that of the raiders, and the Abandoned One, without any explanation, proceeded to treat Saumarez as an honored guest. First he cut free Saumarez's hands and massaged his wrists until, after a painful interval, the circulation returned. Then he took him to a tent made of a queer mixture of skins and canvas, and summoning a girl, told her to bring water. Two large copper bowls were produced, and the Abandoned One. suggesting that Saumarez might like to bathe, left him.

So Saumarez splashed water over himself and felt considerably refreshed. But he wondered why the old man should show so much interest in him. When he had dressed he went out of the tent. The old fellow was waiting for him. Promptly he led him to the fire and set before him stewed goat chops. Saumarez had tasted nothing like that since his capture, and he had no difficulty in demolishing a big bowlful. The Abandoned One did not eat, but attended to the needs of his guest. The meal over, he produced a battered tin box from some recess in his garments and offered it to Saumarez, who saw to his amazement that it contained half a dozen cigarettes.

HE took one and by the light from the fire studied his curious host. Above the straggling white beard was set a blunt nose that bore evidence of having been badly broken. A pair of blue eyes regarded him shrewdly from beneath bushy white brows.

"Why did you argue with Belia in my favor?" asked Saumarez. "I am very grateful to you."

"It is nothing," replied the Abandoned One casually.

"What do you think he intends to do with me?"

"Belia is a fool, as I told him. He took you prisoner because he imagined in his reptile's brain that men would praise his bravery. Now he begins to realise that you are an encumbrance."

"That doesn't seem favorable to me," remarked Saumarez, feelingly. "Why did you oppose him?"

"Because I know that if his foolishness reaches the ears of the Emperor, his village, which is also my village, will suffer. Doubtless, Belia will take to the mountains, and unless we can produce him we shall be fined many head of cattle. There is also another reason."

"What is that?" asked Saumarez, as the other paused.

"You are a soldier?"

"Yes. I am an officer in the King's African Rifles."

"Many years ago I, too, was in the Queen's service."

"A native regiment?" asked Saumarez, in surprise.

"No. the Royal Sussex. I was a corporal."

Saumarez stared.

"Then you are, you must be—"

"Yes, I am a white man."

Saumarez was amazed and gazed stupidly at his host.

"It was soon after General Gordon's death," said the old man reminiscently. "I was taken prisoner and sold into Abyssinia as a slave. At first I was always seeking a way to escape, but after many months I knew that escape was impossible. For one thing I was always kept chained. See!"

He drew back his sleeves, and the scars on his wrists gleamed whitely in the fire-light.

"It is the same with my ankles. Otherwise I was treated fairly well, for I was of some value to my master. I made the best of a bad job, but it was not a pleasant life. There were occasional floggings, but I was invariably let off more lightly than the others, and In those days I was strong. So I was sold from master to master. After many years, seeing that I was resigned to the life, I was given a responsible position with my sixth employer. When he died I came to live in a village not far from here, where none knew me, although, because I have no relations, and am a stranger to them, they call me the Abandoned One."

Saumarez was dumbfounded.

"Do they know you are English?" he asked, for want of something better to say.

"Nay, they know only that I came from the interior with my goods. I am the oldest man here: that is why my opinion carries some weight with Belia. Besides, I have a woman of the village for my wife."

"Good Lord," muttered Saumarez.

The old man threw his cigarette-end into the fire, and stirred the embers with a stick.

"Now listen. Presently, when the moon has set and it is dark, I will take you where my wife is waiting with a fast Mehari camel. With that and two water-bottles, which I have, you will be able to cross the frontier again. I will give you directions so that you will be able to find your friends. It pays us on the frontier to know Just where the patrols are."

Saumarez felt more cheerful than he had been for the last five days.

"That's exceedingly good of you; I'm very grateful," he said, feeling the inadequacy of such words. "But you are coming, too?"

"Nay," the Abandoned One shook his head. "I remain here."

"But your life will be forfeited for mine," cried Saumarez. "Belia said—"

"Belia talks as his belly guides him." was the scornful reply. "He will be angry when he discovers you have escaped, and he will Speak wildly of killing me, but you heed not worry about that. Belia is far too full of words, and they must come out or he will burst."

"But I can't let you risk your life," protested Saumarez, although he knew full well that if the chance of escape came he would take it.

"If you will do as I say we shall both come through with whole skins. Remember, I am honored in Belia's village, where everyone knows he is a braggart. He would not dare to harm me."

"But—" began Saumarez, when the Abandoned One silenced him with a gesture.

"Take your orders from me. The moon will not set for three hours. Come to my tent, where there are some blankets, and sleep, for you will have to ride until dawn."

The old man would listen to no more arguments, so Saumarez suffered himself to be made comfortable in the tent of a seventy-year-old corporal of the Royal Sussex Regiment, who had lived the greater part of his life as a slave, and had finally settled down to enjoy his old age with an Abyssinian wife and a few head of cattle.

WHEN the moon set, the Abandoned One woke Saumarez and handed him two battered water bottles covered with worn felt that at some time or other had doubtless seen service in the army.

The old man did not hesitate about his route, but led Saumarez straight to a slight hollow in the ground where a shrouded figure squatted by a kneeling camel. At a word the figure shuffled off into the darkness, leaving the Abandoned One with the head-rope of the camel.

Once again Saumarez begged his host to accompany him; the old fellow only shook his head.

"But you are English; you don't want to remain among the Abyssinians all your life," Saumarez argued.

"I am more Abyssinian than English now," replied the Abandoned One. "I have lived among them nearly half a century. What is England to me now but a name? Here at least with my stock and my wife I am happy in a way that I could never be in England. Do not tempt me. I am truly the Abandoned One."

He gave Saumarez directions how to reach the frontier.

"When you cross the border, ride into the setting sun, and you will find your friends, but be sparing with your water, for it is scarce."

"Good-bye," said Saumarez, holding out his hand. "I am very grateful for all you've done for me, and I hope you'll get the best of that blackguard Bella. I'm sorry you won't come with me, but if you change your mind, ride in to the nearest British post and get in touch with me. I'll see you through."

"Good-bye and good luck," replied the Abandoned One. He shook hands, then stepping back a pace, he drew himself up and saluted. Gravely, Saumarez returned the salute.

Saumarez rode all through the night until the stars paled. Then he began to look about him for some place to lie up during the day, in case Belia took it into his head to come in pursuit. As the eastern sky turned from pearly grey to rose pink he found a narrow ravine that cut into the shoulder of a hill. There he halted, made his camel kneel with the gentle, insistent, "Oosha baba, oosha; adar-ya-yan" of the desert rider, and tethered it before falling into an uneasy doze in the shade of a rock.

The following night he went forward again, taking a winding course along the valleys. Twice he crossed low passes which he recognised from the Abandoned One's descriptions. During the day he hid in a cave, the Mehari camel tethered in a hollow close by. He kept an anxious look-out towards the north, but apparently Belia considered that he was well rid of the prisoner, who was plainly an encumbrance, for there were no signs of pursuit. The only life in the valley were some Grant's gazelle and topi grazing in the middle distance.

At sundown Saumarez moved off again. He had left the frontier some distance behind, and, in obedience to the Abandoned One's instructions, had turned westward. The territory through which he passed was uninhabited: no tribes would live so close to the border for fear of raids by the Abyssinians. According to the Abandoned One's directions there should be water close to the conical hill that rose on Saumarez's right, but he could find no signs of it. Gradually it dawned upon him that he had lost his way.

When the sun rose he dared not stop, and all through the blistering heat he rode westward, carefully preserving the last drops of his water. It was late afternoon before he came to a dry river bed, across which stretched several rocky bars. Saumarez dismounted and began digging in the sand and stones with his hands, for he had nothing else with which to dig, hacking at the harder portions with the heels of his boots. He knew that water collected behind such rock barriers if only he could dig deep enough to reach it.

He worked feverishly. The perspiration poured off him. He grew so exhausted that he was obliged to drink the last of the water in the bottle. His fingers became raw and bleeding. His heels ached with constant kicking. Particles of sand penetrated his clothes and filled his eyes, nose and mouth. He gasped for breath.

Three feet down a little water began to trickle into the hole. Saumarez waited until there was sufficient, and then scooped it into his mouth with his hands. The finest champagne he had ever drunk did not taste so good as those first few mouthfuls of brackish, and not over-clean, water.

WHEN he had taken the edge off his thirst. Saumarez lay down and waited for more water to collect in the hole. He must have fallen asleep, for suddenly he found the moon shining full in his eyes. He felt much refreshed, and decided to continue his journey. But an unpleasant shock awaited him. The camel had vanished!

It was no use searching for it in the dark, so he had another drink and lay down again. But when he looked in the morning there was no sign of his mount. Realising the uselessness of trying to trace it In such broken country, he filled up both water bottles and began to footslog westward.

But misfortune dogged Saumarez's foot-steps. Although he trudged ever westward he found no natives and no British forces. With the exception of various species of antelope the country was lifeless. He left the hills behind and commenced to cross a dry, sandy plain. Hour after hour he marched, his feet moving mechanically, his mind in a daze. The water in the second bottle grew less and less, while the other hung like lead from his aching shoulder. Yet he would not abandon it. At noon on the second day he swallowed the last drop of the flat, lukewarm liquid. Thereafter he had no clear idea of what happened. He remembered reeling along like a drunken man. his head sunk on his chest, watching his feet move forward until they assumed gigantic proportions.

"I am getting light-headed," he thought, and recollecting how and why he had emptied his second water bottle he laughed aloud, or thought he did. All that came from his parched throat and blistered lips was a harsh cackle. Towards evening an uneven piece of ground brought him down full length on his face. He struggled to rise, but the effort was toe much, and he became unconscious.

An hour later the flaming sun set in great masses of purple and black clouds that surged over the western hills. Saumarez came out of his coma to find the rain teeming down, yet it took his tired brain several minutes to realise that a change in the weather had saved him from an agonising death by thirst.

But though he had now no need to worry about water, the rain had turned the plain into a quagmire. When the sun rose the country steamed like a vapour-bath, and he plunged forward, sinking to his knees in thick, clinging mud. Gasping for breath he crawled up the slope on his hands and knees until, reaching firm ground among some bushes, he collapsed.

He woke up as the sun was setting, aware that his over-tired mind had been dreaming, and from some subconscious cell in his brain had come the sound of a bugle. He sat up, and saw with satisfaction that both water bottles depended from their straps. And then a sound broke the stillness, clear-cut and not far distant, the long, sustained note of a shrill military whistle.

With a hoarse cry Saumarez struggled to his feet and began a staggering run in the direction of the sound.

Captain Pearson, of the K.A.R., stared down the hillside in the direction indicated by the. native sentry.

"Seems in a hurry, whoever it is," he remarked, "and not too sure of his feet," he added, as the reeling figure fell flat. "Better go and see what he wants."

Five minutes later a wild-eyed, gaunt object stood swaying in front of him. It was plastered in yellow mud from head to foot, hatless; its khaki shirt and shorts in tattered ribbons, it had only one boot and a puttee trailed out behind. It's filthy, bleeding, festering fingers clutched a battered water bottle, and it rocked on its heels and made curious noises that were neither laughter nor tears.

"Who the deuce are you, and where have you come from?" demanded Captain Pearson.

The figure made a valiant effort to square its shoulders and salute.

"I'm Saumarez," it said, and staggering forward it laid its muddy head on the broad breast of Captain Pearson's clean bush blouse.

Chapter 2

Valerie

IN obedience to her signal John Cartwright crossed the lounge and took his seat on the settee beside Cynthia Wargrave. With a faint smile he held out first his cigarette-case, and then his lighter. Cynthia regarded him quizzically, her sleek dark head on one side.

"Well," she asked, "how does my old friend like being dragged from the dark recesses of his club Into the light of day?"

John Cartwright's smile broadened.

"It's very kind of you to ask me down here, Cynthia," he replied. "I seldom go out, you know."

Cartwright had arrived at the Wargraves' country house only half an hour before dinner, and this was the first opportunity he had had of a conversation with his hostess.

"I do know," replied Cynthia. "Charles told me that you were rapidly developing into a hermit, and only the most courageous dare approach you. That was why my letter to you was rather peremptory."

"Your brother was always given to exaggeration," said John.

"But no one sees anything of you nowadays. What change has taken place that you have become so retiring?"

Cartwright drew at his cigarette before replying. He had often asked himself that same question.

"I'm hanged if I know. Cynthia," he said at length. "I've wondered sometimes if I'm getting old."

"Fiddlesticks!" retorted Cynthia. "You're not forty-two yet."

"All the same, I think it must be old age creeping on. I seem to have lost my zest for life. Nothing holds any interest for me at all. I want to be left alone. You wouldn't have found me coming to a house-party like this for anybody but you, my dear."

"Thank you, John. Have you seen a doctor?"

"Yes. He said I was as sound as a bell physically, and he gave me a tonic, which had no effect. I've just got that beastly feeling that nothing matters very much."

"Poor old John, what a rotten state to be in! I think what you need is some new, vital thing In your life. Something to put fresh energy into you, to give you a shock. Have you ever been in love?"

John looked at her, and his tired, thin face broke into a smile.

"Yes, I know," said Cynthia, calmly, "but that's all over. I am a respectable married woman now, and you've far too much sense to say that because I married Harry you will never look at another woman."

"So you think falling in love would cure me?" asked John after a pause. "I don't know that it would."

Cynthia smiled, her eyes full of kindliness.

"You want a wife, John."

"Oh, no, certainly not. It's no good trying to find me an eligible girl, Cynthia. I know when people get married they find it so delightful and novel that they want all their friends to get married too, but that's not coming off with me."

The Wargraves' large house was packed to its utmost capacity with guests, and the long panelled lounge rang with chatter and laughter. Young people predominated. Indeed, John Cartwright, Harry Wargrave and two of his friends were the oldest present. A burst of laughter from the far end of the room made John look up.

"You know, sometimes I feel I've got beyond all that," he remarked, nodding in the direction of the noise. "The youth of to-day hasn't much time for old fogies like myself, and a great many of us haven't much time for them. We think them selfish, badly-mannered, and worse bred."

JOHN looked at the group gathered about the fireplace at the far end. There were half a dozen young men and four girls, but it was the central figure that attracted his gaze.

At the moment, encouraged by the raucous cries of her companions, she was engaged in executing some intricate step dance which seemed to consist of violently waggling the knees backwards and forwards while at the same time the feet, with toes turned inward, were alternately crossed one over the other. In this curious manner she progressed down the length of the room, escorted by her cheering companions. As a finale she executed a high kick to the level of her shoulder. One shoe flew off and sailed straight for Cynthia. There was a shout of laughter, but if John had not made a neat catch it would have struck her in the face.

As the girl limped across to claim her property John stood up.

"Sorry," she said, "that wasn't in the programme."

She took her shoe without a word of thanks to John, or an apology to her hostess, put it on and walked away.

John had received an impression of a dead white face with rather hard eyes, and red lips. He watched as the girl strode away, moving with an easy grace. She wore a frock of some powder-blue material that fitted her perfectly, what there was of it. Nearly three-quarters of her back was naked, and in the front there was just sufficient of it to preserve the decencies. It was, John realised, the most outstanding frock in the room, and was deliberately provocative, but it would have looked better in cabaret or on a film vamp.

"Who is that?" he asked of Cynthia, as he resumed his seat.

Cynthia, who was looking rather annoyed, frowned.

"Valerie Hayward," she replied shortly.

"Didn't her parents teach her any manners?" said John.

"She has none," Cynthia answered, briefly. For a minute or two she sat silent, a troubled look in her eyes.

"I'm really rather worried about Valerie,'' she said presently. "She's difficult, un-stable: one never knows what she is going to do next."

"She seems to me to be an unlicked young cub who would be all the better if she was put across somebody's knee and given a good smacking," retorted John rather angrily.

"You can't treat girls of twenty-two like that nowadays." Cynthia gave a rueful laugh. "And I'm not sure that Valerie's had a fair chance. You see, her father's death upset her dreadfully. His horse rolled on him when he was out with the Belvoir the Christmas Eve before last. His back was broken, and he died before they could move him. Valerie's mother had died when she was quite a child, and the loss of her father broke her heart."

"It seems to have mended quite well," remarked John, cynically, as he watched the girl fit a cigarette into a preposterous holder some nine inches long that matched the blue in her frock.

"The young recover quickly," said a male voice.

Cynthia looked up as her husband approached and sat down on the settee.

"I was just telling John about Valerie's father," she explained.

"H'm, Tom Hayward was asking for trouble," said Harry Wargrave. "He knew that mare of his had a bad habit of pecking at her jumps. He had had several falls with her, and in the end she killed him. But Valerie—" He shook his head. "Old Tom was one of the best," he added.

"So was Valerie until he was killed," maintained Cynthia. "But his death seemed to knock her off her balance, she inherited everything, of course, and she sold the estate as soon as she could and took a flat In town. She lives there alone except for a maid. I may be old-fashioned, but it doesn't seem to be quite the thing for a girl of her age."

"It certainly hasn't done her any good," said Harry. Well, I suppose she'll have to work out her own salvation. What about a little rubber of bridge, John? We'll adjourn to the smoking-room, and then this lot can make as much row as they like."

As John left the lounge with Wargrave and two other men, a loud, ugly laugh sounded. He looked back. It came from Valerie Hayward, and it had an unpleasant ring about it. John thought he had seldom met a girl whom he disliked so thoroughly.

IT was early the following morning before John made for his bedroom. He and Harry Wargrave had sat up long after the other guests had re-tired, yarning about old times. They had both been in France together with a Yeomanry regiment until in the summer of '16, when John had been shot through the shoulder. He came back to England, but he was not the type of man to stay there when his friends were in the thick of it. After his convalescence he applied to the Colonial Office for service with the King's African Rifles. He was with the 3rd Battalion of that famous regiment when they were cut up by the Germans at Nammacurru, on the Quilemaine River, in June, 1918. He came out of that unpleasant affair with a cleanly-drilled wound through the fleshy part of his thigh, and was, in consequence, placed in charge of a prisoner-of-war camp. Later he saw service against the Somalis, in Jubaland.

But it was chiefly about the bloody, muddy days on the Somme that he and Wargrave spoke until the stable clock, chiming two, brought them abruptly to their feet.

"I shall hear from Cynthia about this," remarked John, guiltily, as he followed his host up the wide staircase.

He had been given a room in one wing of the big house, and as he made his way by candle-light down the long corridor, he thought how silent and deserted the old place was. And then, at a turn in the passage, he saw that he was wrong: the house was not deserted.

A short distance away two figures stepped quickly apart. As he drew near : John saw that one was Valerie Hayward. She was dressed in a kimono, her bare feet in pale blue slippers. Her barbaric ear-rings had vanished. The softening light of the candle took away the contrast of her red lips against her powdered face: her hair glinted as if set with diamonds. She looked very young and almost beautiful. Her companion who, to do him justice, appeared embarrassed, was the tall sallow man with whom she had been dancing.

Feeling rather uncomfortable, John strode past. The man kept his back turned, but the girl stared hard at John. He caught the look in her eyes, annoyed, and slightly contemptuous. A faint smile hung about her sullen mouth.

But John passed without a word, and he was rather surprised when Valerie said, in a low voice:

"Good night, Mr. Cartwright."

"Good night," he said, shortly.

The following morning, while Cynthia was arranging some flowers in the lounge, he asked her who the sallow man was.

"Of course, you have not met him: he came late last night, after you and Harry had begun bridge. He is Major Saumarez. Perhaps you have heard of him. He was in the K.A.R. during the War."

"Oh? Saumarez?" John frowned. "Saumarez? By Jove, I wonder if he was the fellow who got collared by the Abyssinians. He got away all right, but there was some story attached to his escape. I've forgotten what it was for the moment."

"I believe he was a prisoner," said Cynthia. "I think he has business in Kenya: he's only home in England on odd occasions. He follows Valerie about a good deal." There was the faintest trace of anxiety in Cynthia's tone.

John glanced quickly at her.

"So do half a dozen other young men, if last night was any criterion. They were clustered round her in the lounge like flies round a honey-pot."

"I should hardly describe Valerie as a honey-pot," Cynthia remarked with a smile.

"No, that was not a good effort. But why are you anxious about Saumarez?"

"Am I? Well, in a way, I suppose I am. He's not quite Valerie's standard, but I must admit he's a great favorite with the feminine element wherever he goes. Harry tells me that it is rather the reverse with men. They never seem to take to him, and I've enough faith in Harry's judgment to feel just a trifle anxious about Valerie. I should hate to see her swept off her feet and married to the wrong man."

"I take it he's apt to talk about what he's done," John hazarded.

"Yes, that rather counts against him. He relates his successes, and people more than suspect that he plays to the gallery. That's one of the reasons why he has no male friends, but a host of acquaintances. Harry says he's unsound."

"Looks to me like a bit of a dago with those black eyes and hair, and that sallow skin."

"I believe there's Portuguese blood in his family a generation or so back, and Valerie's people had lived at Larchford for centuries until she sold the place. I was very angry with her about that. She— hullo. Valerie," she broke off. "How did you sleep?"

"Very well, thank you, Cynthia. And how is Mr. Cartwright this morning?"

"Quite fit thanks."

"Fit enough to come and see the rockery? It's rather famous, you know."

JOHN was surprised. He knew far more about the rockery than Valerie. Yet he accepted the invitation, and as they strolled off Cynthia watched with a faint smile.

"They make a good pair," she said to her husband, who had just come up.

"What, old John and Valerie! My sainted aunt! Valerie's just the sort John would loathe. Besides, you match-making hussy, he's too fond of his creature comforts, and too set in his habits, to think of marrying."

Cynthia smiled as she arranged some flowers in a vase.

Valerie and John walked in silence across the terrace and down the broad, flagged path that led to the rose-garden.

John, still pondering over the invitation, glanced at his companion. Valerie was wearing a frock of palest yellow. A large floppy hat protected her head from the sun.

"Are you interested in rockeries?" she asked, suddenly.

"Not particularly," said John.

"Nor am I. Let's go up to the woods." They turned right-handed and slowly ascended the slope, the top of which was crowned with stately elm and beech. Valerie, taking off her hat, stretched herself at full length on the soft grass.

"Were you talking to Cynthia about me?" she asked, abruptly.

"You were certainly mentioned," john replied, guardedly.

"And Victor?"

"Victor?"

"Major Saumarez."

"He was mentioned also," John admitted, wondering why he endured this cross-examination.

"I suppose, after our unexpected meeting in the corridor, you wanted to know all about us."

"If you think I was discussing your behaviour last night you're quite wrong," he said, sharply. "It was no concern of mine, although a great many people might have put a wrong construction on it."

"You may put what construction on it you like," Valerie retorted.

Her eyes were closed, her arms behind her head. John looked at her over-red lips that seemed to be mocking him, but did not reply. There was a silence.

"You don't like me, do you, John?" remarked Valerie at length. There was a hint of coquettishness in the way she used his first name.

John said nothing. He did not feel sure of his ground.

"You think I am bad-mannered, empty-headed, rude and selfish, don't you? Oh, you needn't be afraid of admitting it. I've been told exactly what I'm like more than once."

"Why did you invite me to come out here with you?" John asked, trying to steer out of personalities.

"Because I rather liked the look of you, and because I knew instinctively that you loathed me."

She turned over on her face, and cupping her chin in her hands, gazed into the depths of the wood.

"You strike me as a rather dependable fellow, John. Sensible. All these others, boys like Dicky Turner and the Cherub, imagine that when I go out with them I want to flirt: I get rather tired of being kissed by Tom, Dick, and Harry."

"Why let them?" suggested John.

"They only sulk if I don't. Besides, there's a saying: 'Try anything once'."

"It's a damn silly one."

Valerie smiled enigmatically.

"Oh, John, has the blood of youth cooled in your veins?"

John saw the sidelong look of the blue eyes. If one could only forget the make-up, a very pretty girl was lying there. He wondered if she was deliberately trying to add his scalp to her belt.

"I don't think you are their type. If you took me for a drive in your car you wouldn't expect me to pay my fare by allowing you to kiss me and hold my hand, and touch my knee every time you have occasion to change gear. I think you'd be rather a novelty, John."

Cartwright, who heartily loathed men who spoke of their amorous adventures, decided that Valerie belonged to the same category.

"Does Major Saumarez do that?" he asked.

"Major Saumarez is— in love with me," said Valerie. She hesitated over the words, as if she was not quite certain of the truth of her remark. "At least, I think he is. but there is a great difference between love and desire," she added.

"If that's what you think you should steer clear of him."

Valerie, her eyes on a distant elm, smiled. "Should I?" she asked. "Oh, John, I was quite right when I said you were sensible, but I was never very good at taking advice."

She rose, and stretching her arms wide, turned her face up to the sky. Then she looked down at him.

"I must go and see Victor," she added. "He's been waiting in the rockery for the past half-hour, so he won't be in a very pleasant frame of mind."

FOR several days he did not see her alone, nor did she seek his company. When she was not with Saumarez— and while she was in the house he was never far distant from her— she was usually out in one of the fast cars which Dicky Turner, the Cherub, and the other attendant young men each seemed to possess. It was usually in the early hours of the morning that she returned.

Towards the end of his stay he was awakened by a noise in the corridor. He listened. From the sounds that filtered through the door, somebody was having considerable difficulty in steering a straight course. John glanced at his wrist-watch. It was ten minutes past three.

The footsteps sounded unevenly for a moment. The panels of a door creaked, as if pressure had been applied to them. There was a soft, scraping noise, and then a thud.

"Damned young idiot," muttered John, as he got out of bed and grabbed a torch. "She'll wake everybody." He had no doubt who was responsible for the noise.

When he opened his door Valerie was lying propped against the wall near her own room. One leg was drawn up, the other stretched straight out. Her evening cloak was open; her fair head had fallen on one shoulder, her lower jaw sagged. John shook her.

"Get up, and don't make a row," he whispered, but the only reply was a grunt.

John opened the door of her room and switched on the light. Then, stooping down, he picked her up and laid her on the bed. As he bent over her he noticed that her breath smelt strongly of whisky. He made a disgusting grimace.

Searching the room he found a sponge on the washstand. Soaking it in the water-jug, he slapped it on her face. After the third application she opened her eyes.

"Sorry I went down," she muttered. "Rather hectic evenin'. Be all right presently. Vic's fault; he gave me too much."

"How are you feeling, Val?" asked a soft voice from the corridor.

John, who was standing behind the door, pulled it back and came face to face with Saumarez.

"What the devil—" began the latter.

"She'll be better presently," snapped John.

"Oh," said Saumarez, who was plainly disconcerted.

The two men glared at each other, John blocking the doorway, his mouth set like ft steel trap.

"I was going to help her, but she vanished while I was putting the car away," explained Saumarez.

"Next time you take a girl out see that she doesn't make a fool of herself," retorted John.

An ugly look came into Saumarez's eyes "When I want your advice I'll ask for it." he snapped.

"Good night," replied John, and, with a grin, he shut the door. He had a habit of grinning when there was a likelihood of trouble.

He made Valerie comfortable, pulling up the eiderdown, and left her.

He did not see her until the following afternoon, when she sought him out in the library. The make-up on her face accentuated her drawn features. She gazed at his rather defiantly as she sprawled In an arm-chair with a cigarette drooping from her sulky mouth.

"I was a bit tight last night," she said "What exactly happened?"

John explained how he had found her inert outside her room.

"Saumarez came to inquire after you, and I told him off," he added.

"I'm glad of that. Vic was a bit peeved. He tried to be funny, and I smacked his face and called him a filthy dago."

There was not a word of thanks to John for his help.

"I wondered why he left suddenly this morning."

"Did he?" Valerie moistened her lips and flung her half-smoked cigarette into the grate.

"Why don't you chuck this idiotic way of going on?" Cartwright ventured.

The next second two blazing blue eyes were turned on him.

"What the devil's it got to do with you?"

"What you really want is a good spanking," retorted John, quite unperturbed. "You're just an unlicked cub. Freedom has gone to your head, and you've not found your balance yet."

The defiant eyes stared at him. Then:

"If it interests you I am going away, clearing out altogether. I'm sick of this artificial life, tired of these stupid men always hanging about me. You're the only sensible one of the lot, John, the only one who hasn't tried to make love to me. That's why I treat you as a sort of Father Confessor."

"Where are you going?" John asked in surprise.

"Africa, Kenya." The answer was snapped out viciously. "I'm going out to shoot big game, but, in particular, I want to get a white rhino up in the north-east corner."

"What d'you know about white rhino?"

"Vic has told me about them. I got the idea of going to Africa from him." She glanced quickly at John as he sat there, chewing the stem of his pipe. "Why?"

"Cynthia told me Saumarez goes back to Kenya In three weeks' time," John said, slowly.

"If you think that's why I am going you must be a damn fool," cried Valerie, viciously.

Chapter 3

Interlude

THE Wargraves and John were completely taken aback by Valerie's decision. It meant the abandonment of a mode of life which she had followed for the last eighteen months and the dropping of her male friends, and for a long time neither Cynthia nor John really believed she would go.

On the other hand, John found himself growing more and more interested in the girl. Not that he was in any danger of falling in love with her; far from it. There were too many things about her that he disliked. But her character had as many facets as a diamond, and John instinctively felt that if one could only get under the hard defensive shell there was good stuff underneath.

So he took her under his wing, which is to say that she allowed him to accompany her about London and offer advice on such technical matters as guns and equipment.

John loved every moment of it. In helping Valerie to buy her kit he was reliving a phase of his own youth. Almost he could smell the sweat, taste the dust and see the hot shimmer of the sun beating down on the open plains, could hear the musical, sing-song voices of the natives he had loved, and envisage the peace of camp at the end of the long day's trek. All very attractive, of course, but dammit, he was a settled business man nowadays, no good remembering and regretting the East and the years of war. Meanwhile, there was still a lot he could do for Valerie's comfort and safety on her forthcoming safari.

Thereafter John took her to a range, whence she emerged with a bruised shoulder and a lump on her jaw. But because she was naturally obstinate she stuck to it. and became a good shot, although, as John pointed out, there is an immense difference between shooting at a moving target and facing a charging lion, with the knowledge that if you don't stop him with your second shot it is highly probable that his claws will literally strip the flesh off your bones, and you will enter camp feet first.

For once in her young life Valerie, whose self-confidence was enormous, began to doubt her ability to carry the thin? through, which was just what thecunning John had been working for. He had previously mentioned the fact that she would need a white hunter to accompany her. He would find out where the game was, boss up the porters, select camp sites, and generally run the whole show.

"Like everything else in this world, hunters can be divided into two classes: good and bad. I want you to have a first class one. I think the best thing I can do is to put you in touch with an old friend of mine."

"Whereabouts does he live?" asked Valerie indifferently. "Nairobi?"

"As a matter of fact," John said slowly, "it's not a he. It's a she."

"Oh," said Valerie, in a voice tinged with that defiance which John knew so well.

"She has a farm," he continued hastily, "but she does take out hunting parties. Of course, she may be away when you arrive, but if not she'll be able to put you in touch with the right man."

"What is her name?"

"Kate Langridge."

"Is she married?" asked Valerie, wrinkling her nose. Somehow, the name Kate sounded horribly Victorian to her, and she loathed anything which savoured of that magnificent age.

"No," said John, "she's not married."

Valerie became convinced that her visualisation of Miss Langridge was correct.

"But she's lived all, her life in Africa, and she's a mine of information. I'd rather have her with me in a tight corner than a good many men."

John's eyes grew suddenly wistful, and there was a note of admiration in his voice that made Valerie glance at him quickly. John caught the look and subsided.

"I'll write to her." he added lamely.

Valerie said nothing, not even "Thank you." An awkward silence followed.

"There's also someone else who might be able to help you if you go up to North-east Kenya. A lad named Conway Norton. He is the son of a great friend of mine who died of fever out there. I used to see a good deal of the youngster when he was at school here, and afterwards when he was at the Varsity. You see, I was a sort of guardian to him. nothing official, but his father was one of my best pals. He's a great fellow, bound to get on, one of the very best."

"I'll look him up," said Valerie, which is more than she said about Kate Langridge.

On an unpleasant, showery morning Valerie sailed from Southampton in the Corfe Castle bound for Mombasa by the East Coast route. John. Cynthia and Harry Wargrave, and numerous young men were present to see her off, so that she held quite a reception in the first-class saloon, which appealed to her vanity and annoyed John immensely; since, even among the other leave-taking parties the laughter and noise made them conspicuous.

As the Corfe Castle moved slowly away, John stood on the dock side with the Wargraves and watched her with something like envy in his heart. He had enjoyed the last three weeks, and although he would not admit it to anyone, he knew he would miss Valerie.

FOUR days after the Corfe Castle had sailed, John was lunching at his club with an old friend who had been with him during the fighting against the Somalis, and they were talking over old times.

"By the way, Trevor," said John, "I met a fellow the other day who was in a similar job. Saumarez was his name, with the rank of major."

"Was he the fellow who got his patrol cut up by slavers?" asked Trevor.

"I'm not sure. We weren't particularly friendly, and no one else seemed to know, but I thought he was."

"H'm," grunted Trevor, "Saumarez is a rummy customer. Plenty of money, plenty of acquaintances, but no friends. No one seems to know what he does."

"I thought he had business in Kenya. Does he farm?"

Trevor, who was by way of being a solicitor, thoughtfully tapped a cigarette on his thumbnail.

"That's the curious thing about him: no one knows exactly what he does. About eight or ten months ago, on behalf of a client, I had inquiries made about Major Saumarez. This client of mine had a rather attractive wife, who, for her part, seemed to find Saumarez attractive, too. There were all the makings of a first-class divorce case when fortunately the wife saw the red light, and I persuaded the husband that the whole affair was perfectly innocent, which I don't believe it was. However, the husband and wife are a loving couple once again; and the lady has learned her lesson. But Major Saumarez hasn't a very good reputation with the ladies. In this particular case things were facilitated by the fact that he found someone more attractive."

"Who was that?" asked John quickly.

Trevor glanced across the table and saw that his friend wore a curiously strained expression.

"Well, between ourselves, her name was Valerie Hayward."

John made no answer. Unpleasant thoughts passed through his brain. He remembered that Saumarez had left for Mombasa nearly a month ago, but a previous remark of Trevor's kept recurring to him: "...nor is he the sort of fellow who gives up his prey without a struggle." He did not trust Major Saumarez.

"What does Saumarez do in Kenya?" he asked presently.

"Curious thing, but no one seems to know. He lands at Mombasa and then vanishes. Occasionally he's seen at Nairobi, and he always stays at the best hotels, but as to his business, well, it was my job, as I said, to 'make inquiries' about him, and I found out absolutely nothing."

JOHN left his club in a very disturbed state of mind, but when he got to his office and thought matters over, it became obvious that he was making a mountain out of a molehill. In any case, he was comforted by the remembrance of the letter he had written to Kate Langridge.

He received a cable from Kate Langridge a week after Valerie had sailed. Kate would meet her in Nairobi.

Valerie, with no knowledge of this, arrived at Kilindini, which is the principal harbor of Mombasa, one blazing day when sea and sky vied with each ether in the density of their blueness that was accentuated by the great red oil tanks of Smith, Mackenzie's firm and the white pile of the custom-house and shipping offices on shore. With some difficulty she shook off three attentive young men whose most urgent desire was to show her round the town, and drove to the Manor Hotel. She decided to wait a day or two in Mombasa before taking the train at Nairobi.

That evening, however, a surprise awaited her. She was sitting in the lounge, idly glancing through an illustrated periodical and trying to decide whether she would write a letter to Cynthia or make a post-card do instead, when somebody addressed her.

"Pardon me, but are you Miss Hayward?" She looked up to find a short, spare man standing before her.

"Yes," she replied, "I am."

The man hooked a chair towards him with his foot and sat down. There was something curiously smooth and swift about his movements that attracted Valerie's notice.

"You'll pardon me butting in on you like this," he said, "but I was sent down to Mombasa to find you."

"To find me?" repeated Valerie in surprise. "Who sent you?"

The man grinned and his lean face broke into a thousand tiny wrinkles.

"I guess we'd better say it was a mutual friend, Miss Hayward. You see, I'm a hunter by profession, and seeing that you're going after big game—" He flung out a small brown hand.

"Oh, I understand! Miss Langridge sent you. Mr. Cartwright wrote to her and asked her to find me a reliable hunter."

"I guess that's about right," he said slowly. "I don't know Mr. Cartwright, but I do know Miss Langridge. My name is Clements, Tom Clements."

"I'm very pleased to welcome you. Won't you have a drink?" Mr. Clements accepted that one, and also had several more, while they discussed plans for Valerie's safari.

Clements persistently urged that she should come up to Nairobi and start as soon as possible.

"You see," he explained, "I happen to know there are two or three big safaris starting in a few weeks' time. That's why I suggest we start for Nairobi to-morrow morning."

"I see your point," said Valerie, "but I only wrote to Miss Langridge this afternoon saying that I should be in Nairobi in five days' time and would she meet me at the' New Stanley Hotel. I can't very well—"

"You needn't worry yourself about that, Miss Hayward. Miss Langridge won't get that letter for weeks. She's off on safari herself."

"Then how did she get Mr. Cartwright's letter?"

"She'd only just started, I guess, and her mail was sent after her by runner. That's how she got in touch with me. Everything's O.K., Miss Hayward. The best thing we can do is to get up to Nairobi to-morrow, get our porters, and clear out as soon as possible."

THEY discussed the details of the expedition until quite late. Just before the conference broke up, Clements produced a paper from his pocket.

"Just a formality, Miss Hayward. You see, we white hunters have to protect ourselves, and some people we take out try to do us down afterwards, so we most of us use this agreement. Shall we say that I entered your employ from to-day?"

The agreement was quite straightforward and Clements was a businesslike fellow. He charged eighty pounds a month for his services and all found, and a month's notice must be given by either party for the termination of the contract. Valerie signed, and he promptly undertook the task of transporting her and her belongings to Nairobi by the next day's train.

They set off for Nairobi the following day, and Valerie was installed at the New Stanley Hotel. Clements himself chose a more humble abode, and promptly became busy with the organisation of the safari. But he saw Valerie every day and asked her opinion on certain matters, although he did not always take it.

One evening they dined together and, to her surprise, Valerie found that Clements could be quite entertaining. He had lived all his life in Africa and he was a born raconteur.

They were taking their coffee in the lounge and Clements was telling the story' of an ill-fated elephant hunt during which his partner lost his life owing to a misfire, when Valerie became aware that a third person had joined them.

She was tall and thin as a rail. Her face was tanned the color of old saddle leather, and about her steady grey eyes were innumerable tiny wrinkles caused by constant staring into strong sunlight. Her hair, which was bobbed, parted like a man's and brushed off a broad forehead, had been bleached by the sun until it was as fair as to be almost white. She wore a frock which would have done equally well for afternoon tea or dinner, but in comparison with Valerie's backless creation it was dowdy. This did not appear to worry her, for she gave Valerie a long scrutiny and then remarked:

"You are Valerie Hayward, aren't you? I'm glad you've arrived safely. I'm Kate Langridge."

She held out a hand as bronzed and hard as a man's, and crushed Valerie's dainty, manicured fingers in a strong grip.

"So you did get my letter?" said Valerie. "Yes, but I didn't answer it because I reckoned I'd be in Nairobi before you. I thought you weren't coming up for a week or so."

Valerie was about to reply when she noticed Clements's face. His lower jaw had dropped and he was staring at Kate Langridge as if she was a ghost. Suddenly Valerie remembered.

"But Mr. Clements said you had gone on safari. That's why you had sent him down to assist me."

Kate, who had been standing to one side of Clements, dragged forward a chair.

"And who is Mr. Clements?" she asked. Valerie stared in amazement.

"Why, this gentleman," she replied, and glanced across the table.

Kate gave one look and then emitted what can only be described as a snort of disgust.

"Gentleman, did you say?" she remarked. "So you call yourself Clements now, do you? Why have you been using my name?"

Clements opened and shut his mouth like a fish. It was plain to Valerie something was amiss.

"But, Mr. Clements, you told me Miss Langridge had received Mr. Cartwright's letter, and as she was going on safari her-self she had sent you to act as hunter."

"I certainly got John's letter, but as for employing this object, not likely. I know too much about him. What's the great idea. Mr.— er— Clements?"

There was an uncomfortable silence.

"Well?" Kate Langridge rapped out the word like a pistol-shot and her large mouth set in a forbidding line.

"I wanted a job-badly," muttered Clements. His blue eyes fell under the stare of Kate's grey ones.

"And you picked on Miss Hayward? Why? How did you know she wanted a hunter?"

"I heard she was going to shoot big game and I wanted to get in first. And what's more, I have," he concluded defiantly.

"You see, I signed a contract," Valerie explained.

"Ah, I understand," remarked Kate Langridge.

"So you've come too late," sneered Clements, with an ugly look. But Kate was unmoved.

"On the contrary, I've come just in time. Let me see that contract."

Clements produced it. "You can't get away from that," he said confidently. "It's signed and witnessed."

Kate read it with a grim smile, while Valerie, rather bewildered by the sudden turn of events, wondered what was going to happen next. She was quickly enlightened.

"Tripe!" remarked Kate. Suddenly she folded the agreement and tore it across and flung the fragments on to the floor. "There's your contract. Now clear out."

"Here," cried Clements, jumping to his feet, "you can't get out of it that way. That's a legal document. I've been engaged on a monthly basis."

"Well, you're sacked now," retorted Kate calmly. "I'll allow no friend of mine to be entrusted to your tender mercies."

"I'll take it to court. I'll sue you! I'll claim a month's wages! You can't sack me like that just because you want the Job. I'll see-"

"You will be the last person to go into a court of law, Mr.— er— Clements, did you say your name was? Last time I had anything to do with you, you called yourself Ashford. That was on the Uganda border. There was a matter of some ivory."

Clements sat down slowly, his face a study.

"So it was you that pinched the ivory I buried," he whispered.

"Yes, and I handed it over to the Government. I have the receipt if you wish to see it. I'd have handed you over, too. only I didn't know until afterwards who had done the poaching."

Clements's eyes glinted dangerously. "You bitch," he hissed venomously.

The next instant there was a resounding crack as Kate Langridge's large hand smote him hard on the left ear.

"I've told you you're sacked," she said pleasantly. "Are you going, or shall I have to throw you out?"

"You wait," muttered Clements, getting to his feet. "I'll get even with you for this."

He scrambled out of the lounge, his hand to his crimson ear.

"Well, I think I deserve a drink after that," Kate remarked. "Boy! Whiskysoda." She turned to Valerie. "Sorry to cause all this disturbance, but I had to take a firm line with that shenzi."

Chapter 4

M'Kamba's Complaint.

CONWAY NORTON pushed from him the papers he was studying, and, with a "Phew!" of protest at the heat, rose from his chair and picked up his helmet. He slammed and locked the door of his office and then stepped out of the shade of the deep thatch on to the small square of stamped earth which he was pleased to call his "parade ground." The heat rose up and smote him like a blow, and he half-closed his eyes to the sun glare. He slouched across the square to a whitewashed bungalow with a heavily thatched roof that extended over the walls to form a shaded verandah on all four sides of the building.

Norton flung himself into a long chair and shouted one word:

"Sindu!"

"Yes, master," came a sleepy reply from the back premises.

Norton pitched his helmet on to a convenient table and closed his eyes, for the heat made him drowsy, until the patter of bare feet announced the tardy arrival of Sindu. Norton pulled a bunch of keys from his shorts and tossed them into Sindu's pink palms. The native opened a cupboard, and taking from it a whisky bottle, half-filled a tin mug with the tepid liquid. Adding a small amount of soda-water, he brought it to Norton, who drank it at a gulp, and then held out the mug to be replenished.

Sindu poured out a second tot, but observing that his master's eyes were shut, he promptly put the bottle to his own lips.

Kate and Valerie, coming through a gap in the low hills, in advance of their safari, saw the little station a bare half-mile ahead. Since she had dismissed Tom Clements in such unceremonious a fashion, Kate had realised that if she herself was not to be dismissed she would have to use the utmost caution in handling her employer. She remembered John Cartwright's injunction to "ride her on the snaffle" and smiled. If only her job was to be as easy as that she would have had nothing to fear.

For her part. Valerie was in two minds about Kate. On the one hand she disliked her for her knowledge and the efficiency which Valerie herself lacked. On the other Valerie was sufficiently sensible to realise that, as John Cartwright's especial charge, she would get far better service from Kate Langridge than any other white hunter whom she might employ. So she consented to take her with the safari, and thereafter Kate was extremely wary in her behaviour.

Kate was experienced and shrewd. When the first week had passed without any open quarrel with Valerie, she decided that unless anything unforeseen occurred there was no reason why the two of them should not get on together. Like John Cartwright, she believed that under Valerie's less pleasing and obvious traits there lay a strata of good, sound stuff, for the girl had courage and sense.

Since Kate had spent most of her life in Africa, she had naturally learned to use her eyes. As she and Valerie drew closer to the station she sensed that things were not as they should be. Although it was not yet half-past four in the afternoon an un-natural quiet hung over the place. No living thing, except a few chickens in a pen, scratching despondently in the dust, was to be seen. The Union Jack hung limply from the flagstaff, and Kate, who had been to N'Yobo before and knew Conway Norton, saw that the office door was shut and that there did not seem to be anyone in the police lines.

As the two women approached the main building, a dog, a cross between an Alsatian and an Airedale, rose up from the shade of the verandah and inspected them with silent curiosity. Deciding that they were well-disposed persons, he lay down again.

CONWAY NORTON lay asleep In a long chair on the flat arm of which rested an empty tin mug. His head had fallen forward on to his chest. Three days' stubble decorated his chin. His shirt and shorts were dirty, and the back of his collar was black with sweat.

Leaving Valerie on the verandah. Kate walked over to the sleeping man. It might be that he was on the verge of fever or else just recovering from an attack. She sniffed at the tin mug, noted that it had contained whisky, and then glanced round the room.

At that moment Conway Norton opened his eyes. The next instant he had sprung out of the chair. Then he laughed uncertainly.

"Kate! Of all people! What are you doing up here again?"

"I just walked in," Kate explained. "There was no one to say me nay. I thought perhaps you were down with fever."

"Those damn boys!" cried Norton, with an irritable note in his voice. "They're always dodging the column unless you're at their elbows. They should have let me know you were coming. What are you doing up here?" he repeated. "By Jove, it's good to see your old brown face again! I've seen nothing but blasted natives for months."

"Same old story— earning my living," replied Kate. "Come outside and meet my employer."

She went on to the verandah and Norton followed. He was aware of someone in shorts and stockings with their back to him making much of his dog, who, being an independent beast, was standing stock still with a distant look in his eyes, plainly disliking the whole business.

"Valerie, this is Mr. Conway Norton," said Kate.

Valerie turned and straightened herself. With her pale gold hair, for she had discarded her helmet, and her white silk shirt, she looked like a young boy. To Norton, who had not seen a white person for months, she looked like Venus herself. He suddenly became conscious of his unshaven chin and dirty clothes, and presently, muttering an excuse, he retired in search of a house-boy, whom he ordered to produce tea for his visitors, while he made himself more presentable.

When the safari came into the station Kate selected the camp site and checked up the loads. But her mind was not wholly occupied with her task. Half of it was concerned with Conway Norton. There were indications that things were not going too well with him. She knew the terrible, dragging monotony of life in a lonely post with only an occasional "tour" to relieve the dull; tedious round. She knew, too, that some men are incapable of withstanding the strain. It looked very much as if Conway Norton was one of those men.

A MORE serious matter was that he had probably neglected his work. She knew that the District Commissioner— Norton was only an Assistant D.C.— was a not very affable person, inclined to be fussy and pedantic over details. Like many people of similar character, the D.C. was harsh when he Intended only to be firm, and his judgments seldom erred on the side of leniency. If he suspected that Norton was not attending to his duties, he would probably make things unpleasant for the lad.

The arrival of the two women, however, seemed to have restored Norton's sense of proportion. He turned up to dinner that night decently attired, shaven, and with his hair brushed. Except that he looked a little unhealthy, he was once more the Conway Norton of nine months ago.

In spite of Valerie's assertion to John Cartwright that she was tired of young males, she found that Norton attracted her. Cartwright had often spoken to her about him, for he was almost a son to John, and she became a little tired of hearing his praises, but rather to her surprise she discovered she was beginning to like him.

The following morning, conscious that he had received a mental tonic, Norton rose with the sun and put in two hours at his office before breakfast, a thing he had neglected to do for many weeks. He was uncomfortably aware that his work was badly in arrears.

Although Valerie occupied a considerable portion of his thoughts, except during a brief midday meal, he saw little of her until five o'clock, when he suggested she might care to come out with a shot-gun and try for a small buck. She accepted and they set off, leaving Kate on the verandah in a long chair.

She lay back, staring into the distance as the sun drew near the western horizon, casting long shadows over the plain, and smoked cigarette after cigarette. Naturally, her thoughts turn towards John Cartwright. In his letters to her, for they had kept up a desultory correspondence, she had caught something of the distress that had settled on him. Yet when she had received the letter in which he had committed Valerie to her care that restless note had been missing. She wondered if Valerie was responsible for its absence.

"Poor old John," she murmured, "I expect he'd be much happier out here. I wonder he didn't bring the girl out himself, though I must say she's a bit of a handful."

Kate lit a fresh cigarette from the stump of the previous one, and looked across the plain. Then she sat up and stared. A tiny dust-cloud rose from the mouth of a narrow valley. Kate went indoors for the glasses. They showed a line of porters with loads on their heads, some askaris, and at the head of the procession a white man.

In a little while the white man crossed the square and raised his helmet as Kate left the veranda to greet him. He was a lean, spare man, with the face of an ascetic, and a greyish moustache above a small, thin-lipped mouth. He spoke in short staccato sentences, and his restless eyes were never still for one instant.

"Good evening. I am the D.C. for this district, and my name is Seaton. Is young Norton about?"

"He will be presently: he's gone out to try for a buck. My name is Kate Langridge."

"Ah! The Miss Langridge?" Seaton held out his hand. "Of course I've heard of you, but I've never had the pleasure, I might say the honor, of meeting you."

"Come and have a drink," replied Kate, smiling.

Seaton gave orders about his safari while Kate poured out a sundowner. They conversed on various subjects until Norton and Valerie appeared. The former's eye-brows went up when he saw who was sitting on the veranda next to Kate.

"By jove, sir, this is a surprise. No idea you were anywhere around."

"Not an unpleasant one, I hope," replied Seaton, his restless eyes flickering over both Valerie and Norton. "I was trekking past, and thought I'd look in to see how you were getting on."

THERE was a noticeable coolness in Seaton's manner towards Valerie. He thoroughly disapproved of girls going on safari, and he did not take long to voice his opinion. The veldt, he maintained, was no place for women, especially for those who were strangers to Africa.

"It's a hard life and a man's life, but the women should stay at home," he declared. "Women usurp too much of man's work."

This point was rather difficult to follow, but Valerie replied, sweetly:

"Nevertheless, women were welcome to do man's work during the war, weren't they?"

"Er— yes," Seaton admitted.

"You see, circumstances alter cases," said Valerie.

Seaton grunted and turned rather abruptly to Norton.

"By the way, have you. received any complaints from M'Kamba?" he asked.

Norton frowned. M'Kamba was a native chief who lived some three days' march to the north-east. He remembered vaguely hearing something from the fellow, but for the life of him he could not remember what it was. However, he was obliged to reply that he had had some communication.

"And what steps nave you taken?" Seaton asked, examining his cigarette-end with some care.

"As a matter of fact, I've not taken any. I did not consider the matter of sufficient importance, unless I received further information."

"I see."

There was a moment's silence. Seaton's thin mouth twitched under his moustache. He did not once look at Norton.

"M'Kamba has now reported direct to me, which shows that he at least thinks the matter is of some importance," he said in a hard voice. "Apparently he has approached you more than once on the subject."

Norton flushed. "Blast you," he thought, savagely, "it's just like you to tell me off in front of two women. You mean skunk." Indeed, both Valerie and Kate felt uncomfortable.

"Perhaps you would rather we left you if you wish to discuss official business," Kate suggested.

"No, no, there is no necessity for that," Seaton answered.

"What did M'Kamba say?" asked Norton, sourly.

"He had a curious story to tell. He is worried about the younger members of his tribe. Apparently too many of them leave their manyatas to seek employment which they are told is of a most lucrative kind. Some have been absent over a year, and others who return after a short time are, to use M'Kamba's own phrase, 'like dead men walkin'. They either can't or won't say where they have been: not a word. They lie about in the shade of their huts, sleeping. More than one has died."

"It's not sleeping sickness?" suggested Norton, who, now that his memory had been jogged, remembered hearing some similar story. "You know how natives exaggerate."

"Of course not!" Seaton snapped. "Do you think I hadn't considered that as a possible explanation? It's not a disease that is catching, if it is a disease at all, for no one in the manyatas has been afflicted with it: only those who have been away."

"Where do they work?"

"That's for you to find out. M'Kamba doesn't seem to know. He says merely they vanish and sometimes they return."

"Very well, I'll see into the matter at once," said Norton. He was furiously angry with Seaton whom, he felt, might at least have reprimanded him in private.

The same thought might have occurred to the Commissioner, for he turned to Kate.

"You'll excuse me mentioning this," he said, casually, "but I must trek at dawn to-morrow, so I have not much time."

It was plain now, that he Had made a detour to Norton's station merely for the purpose of dressing him down.

"You are remaining here, I presume?" added Seaton, not troubling to disguise the fact that he did not approve of their presence.

"Yes," said Valerie. "We may be here some time."

"And when you go," retorted Seaton, pointedly, "in which direction do you propose to move?"

"I'm not quite sure, but probably in a north-easterly direction, towards the Abyssinian and Italian frontiers."

Seaton, who was nettled at Valerie's disinterested tone, as she meant him to be, saw an opportunity to make himself unpleasant.

"Really?" he said, frigidly, "I'm afraid I can't allow you to go there. As manager of the safari, Miss Langridge, I must hold you responsible."

"I'm not the leader," replied Kate, promptly. "I am employed by Miss Hayward, and under her orders."

The Commissioner coughed importantly. "What is the object of your expedition?" he asked Valerie.

"Big game in general, and a white rhino in particular. I have all the necessary licences, if you would care to see them," she added sweetly.

Seaton flushed.

"I'm afraid it is quite out of the question," he rapped out. "In no circum-stances could I allow you to penetrate any further northward than this post."

Valerie stared at him, and her mouth set in a sullen line.

"Why?" she asked.

"Because that tract of country is not the place for a woman," snapped Seaton. "It is not properly under our jurisdiction, and there is always the danger of the safari being attacked by Abyssinian slavers. I should advise you to return to Nairobi and confine your expedition to Uganda or some more suitable place."

"Oh, would you?" retorted Valerie, angrily. "Well, I was never very good at taking advice."

Seaton's thin mouth under his stubbly moustache twitched.

"Surely," began Norton, "Miss Hayward is in good hands. If she confined herself—"

"I should be obliged," interrupted Seaton, bitingly, "if you would confine yourself to investigating the cause of M'Kamba's complaint."

Plainly he intended to be rude. Norton glared, but Seaton was his superior officer, and he could do nothing, although he would willingly have smashed his fist into that thin, sarcastic face.

"I leave it to you to see that Miss Hayward does not disobey my orders," Seaton added.

Valerie was on the point of making some remark when she felt Kate press her foot under the table.

"I think we might adjourn to the veranda," the elder woman remarked: "it is cooler there."

"Interfering old swine,' whispered Valerie, between set teeth. "I'll go north-east, if it's the last thing I do."

Chapter 5

A Sense of Proportion

IN duty bound Norton was obliged to be present at his superior officer's departure the next morning, and when Kate arrived at the breakfast-table he greeted her with a rueful smile.

" 'Morning. Has he of the iron hand left us?" she asked.

"He has, thank God. Miserable blighter, he gave me a hell of a telling-off before he went. Fancy choking off a fellow at five a.m.!"

"Well, you deserved it, Con. You've been letting things slide, you know."

"This place was getting me down," Norton growled.

"There are many worse."

"I've never been to them."

"No, but you may be sent if you don't pull yourself together."

"Oh, for the love of Mike, don't you start!" cried Norton, petulantly.

Thereafter the meal was continued in silence. When Valerie arrived Kate found that both of them studiously ignored her, but she was getting accustomed to that treatment, and it did not worry her unduly. The two younger people had eyes only for each other.

She left the table before they had finished, and putting on her terai, went out to see that all was well with the safari.

"Is everything all right?" she asked of M'nyogi, the headman.

"Yes, Bibi," replied the nmpara.

Kate attended to three porters who complained of pains in their brown stomachs, the result of over-eating, by administering strong doses of Epsom Salts, and put a dressing on the poisoned hand of a fourth. M'nyogi stood by, casting sidelong glances at his mistress. Kate, quite aware of this unusual interest in herself, waited until there were no other natives within hearing before she spoke.

"Well, M'nyogi, what's troubling you?"

There was a pause. Kate waited patiently.

"Is it true that when we leave this place we journey northward?" the headman asked at last.

"I can't tell you," replied Kate. "Why?"

M'nyogi looked down at his feet and up at the sky.

"Bibi," he said, nodding towards the porters, "those shenzis say that it is an evil country where many unpleasant things happen."

"Who has told them that?"

"They have been talking to the police boys. They say that in that country men disappear."

"They are fools," Kate retorted, sharply.

"But some of them come back," M'nyogi continued, with the cheerfulness of a gossip conveying bad tidings, "and they have lost their minds. They know not where they have been, and it is said they are like dead men walking. These shenzis are frightened that they too may become like that."

"They need have no fear: it cannot happen to them," said Kate, "for they have no minds to lose."

She walked away deep in thought, for she remembered the District Commissioner's remarks on the same subject. M'Kamba had used the exact words which M'nyogi had repeated to her five minutes ago. "They are like dead men walking."

Although she knew that natives are prone to exaggerate, it did seem distinctly possible that something curious might be taking place in the sparsely-inhabited country to the north. As Seaton had truly remarked, that enormous tract of land was not really subject to the Government's jurisdiction, which touched only the fringe of it. It would cost many thousands of pounds and a big increase in staff to administer the Triangle properly, and at the moment Nairobi considered the returns would not be worth the expenditure. Consequently it was a sort of no-man's-land, a paradise for bad men; Abyssinian ivory poachers and the like. There might easily be some foundation for this queer rumor, and Kate, turning things over in her mind, wondered if Norton had any further information on the subject. She decided, as she had to pass his office on her way to the house, that she would call in and ask him.

But she saw something that caused her to change her mind. As she passed the window of the office she glanced in to see if Norton was there. He was, and so was Valerie.

Norton was standing by her side: his expression was strained. As Kate passed she saw him snatch Valerie into his arms, so that she had scarcely time to remove her cigarette, before he was kissing her passionately on the mouth.

WHETHER Valerie resented this tribute to her attractiveness Kate did not know, for, deeming it no business of hers, she passed on to the bungalow on the other side of the "parade ground."

"At least," she murmured, as she removed the bolt from her rifle preparatory to cleaning it, "no one can accuse the younger generation of being slow off the mark."

It was not until the midday meal that she had a chance of discussing the rumor in which she was becoming so interested.

"As a matter of fact," Norton said, in answer to her request for further information, "a native came in this morning from M'Kamba again. Two more of his men have returned to their manyata in this curious blank state, and a third was found dead a few miles away, yet the two who survived never mentioned it."

"What an amazing thing!" Valerie cried. Norton flashed her one of his most charming smiles, and as Valerie had no eyes for anything but him, Kate concluded that she had not objected when he had kissed her.

Norton lit a cigarette thoughtfully.

"I'm beginning to think there may be something in it after all. Perhaps these fellows have got hold of some drug."

"Are you going to make a trip to M'Kamba's?" Kate asked, thinking that if so, she and Valerie might accompany him, thereby pleasing the latter without incurring too much wrath from Seaton.

"I don't think so. I'm rather inclined to hold my hand for a time and appear to take no interest, although I must warn M'Kamba, or Seaton'll be on my trail again. I think the best thing I can do ls to send out two or three spies to see if they can discover anything. If I arrived on the scene everything would close down at once, and I should learn nothing. However, let's put that aside for a moment. I've got a confession to make."

KATE glanced sharply from him to Valerie; for one instant she thought he was going to announce their engagement, but the girl's face showed that she was just as surprised as Kate.

"As a matter of fact," said Norton, "to-day is my birthday."

Both women at once congratulated him. "But we must celebrate!" Valerie cried. "This is an occasion."

"I thought we might," Norton admitted. "My birthday and the departure of Mr. Commissioner Seaton, damn him. Kate, will you boss up the kitchen and see if you can persuade Sindu to cease trying to poison us for to-night? As to drinks, I've no 'bubbly,' but there's plenty of whisky and some rum and a couple of bottles of brandy somewhere. If—"

"You leave the drinks to me," cried Valerie. "I'll see to the free buffet; with my expert hand I'll do the drinks," she sang. "Oh, boy! We'll make whoopee to-night.

It was astonishing what those two women did. Sindu, galvanised into unusual activity by Kate's withering stream of invective, produced for once in his life a suitably roasted chicken, inevitably the piece de resistance of any feast in the country districts of Africa. With her own hands, and drawing largely on the safari commissariat, Kate made appetising concoctions with dried irait, custard, and pastry, and when Norton entered the room, clad in evening dress that he had not seen for months, he was surprised to find the table tastefully decorated.

"By Jove," cried Norton, as Kate entered from her bedroom, "this is splendacious. I'd no idea you two could work miracles. How on earth did you do it?"

"Mainly by using a little ingenuity," replied Kate, with a smile. "There are cocktails on this side-table. What will you have?"

"Cocktails! My aunt, this is almost civilisation. It makes me hanker after the fleshpots again. What's in this bowl?" He began to lift the corner of a muslin cloth that covered it.

"Don't touch that!" cried Kate. "It's Valerie's own special brew, and it's not to be taken until after dinner. I don't know what it contains, but it's a sort of punch, and from the glimpses I caught when she was making it, we shall all be paralytic before morning."

"Kate, you're a good scout. And you look charming."

Kate, who knew that she could never look charming in the accepted sense of the word, for her tanned, weather-beaten skin and sun wrinkles about her eyes would be the despair of any beauty specialist, told him not to be a fool.

"And." she added, "a word of advice, Con. Don't lose your head over Valerie. She has looks and charm. I know, but there are many more girls in the world, and she is the first woman you've seen for months."

Norton laughed self-consciously, and was about to reply when the door of Valerie's bedroom opened, and she came into the living-room.

"Hullo, you two started on the drinks already?" she cried.

"Yes," said Kate, after one swift scrutiny, "hurry up, or Con will have scoffed the lot."

"If he scoffs all my punch he'll take no further interest in the proceedings." Valerie laughed as she raised her glass. "Bung-ho, troops." she added, elegantly.

Norton was staring at her so intently that he failed to make any response to the toast. He thought he had never seen anything so wonderful or so desirable in all his life. She was dressed in a sheath-like frock of pale yellow that was cut to accentuate the beautiful lines of her body. It would have aroused comment in a London ballroom: in the meagre surroundings Of Norton's bungalow it struck one like a blow.

That dinner was a great success; though there was no champagne or wine, the three celebrators made whisky serve the same purpose very well. After dinner small cups of hot. strong coffee were served, the taDle was cleared and pushed into Norton's bed-room out of the way, and the gramophone was put on. After Norton had danced once with Valerie and Kate, the famous punch was served out. Norton took one sip and gasped.

"My sainted aunt! What on earth have you put in it, Valerie?"

"That'd be telling," Valerie laughed. "Come on, Con, dance this with me."

Kate sipped the punch and then sniffed it suspiciously.

"About three glasses of this," she thought, "and I shall have to put Valerie to bed."

It was indeed potent, but it had the merit of inspiring hilarity. The three became exceedingly cheerful, and laughed over the most childish things. They danced with great violence and abandon, and Valerie, when with some difficulty she managed to raise her skirt about her silken knees, executed her famous dance which Jonn Cartwright had witnessed on the first evening of his stay with the Wargraves. She was accompanied by Norton on a native drum while Kate, who had a good contralto voice, sang a native song of which fortunately neither of them understood a word, for it was distressingly obscene.

Valerie collapsed, laughing and exhausted, in a chair, while Norton brought her a drink. Kate saw it as she strolled out on to the verandah for a breath of cool air.

"That's the sixth she's had," she murmured, "and I put her limit at three. The girl's got a head on her."

Kate walked the length of the verandah, turned, and came back. The gramophone had started again, and she glanced in at the window to see if the other two were dancing. They were not. They were standing in the middle of the room in each other's arms. Valerie was looking up into Norton's face, her lips were slightly parted, and her expression made Kate catch her breath. Appeal, emotion, love and desire were written there as plainly as on a printed page.

The elder woman swung abruptly on her heel and strode to the corner of the verandah again. She was forty, but she, too, had known these things.

IT was after midnight before they decided to call it a day and go to bed. By that time the punch had been finished. Norton was rather vaguely aware that he had drunk quite as much as was good for him, and had not Kate firmly steered him towards his own room he would have had some difficulty in finding it.

When Norton got into his room he sat for a minute upon the edge of his bed and tried to collect his wits. In this he was not very successful, so presently he got up and soused his head in a bowl of lukewarm water. After that he felt better, and getting into his pyjamas, he crept under the mosquito curtains and lay down on top of the bed. But he could not sleep, for the excitement of the evening was still on him. He tossed from side to side, thoughts, mainly of Valerie, singing through his brain. Eventually he must have dropped off into an uneasy doze.

He awoke swiftly, roused by that curious sense which men develop who live in the dangerous places of the earth. He lay perfectly still, while under half-shut lids he peered into the semi-darkness. Then he saw a vague figure standing just inside the curtained doorway. In a flash he had torn the mosquito curtain aside and leapt from the bed. Only then did he realise the identity of his visitor.

"Valerie! Is anything wrong?"

The girl laughed softly, and the delicious sound made Norton tremble.

"Nothing, except that I couldn't sleep. I came to see if you suffered from the same affliction."

"I was only dozing," said Norton. He stood irresolute, not quite certain what to do.

"Well, give me a cigarette," said Valerie. He held a match for her, and having lit her cigarette, she lay back on his pillow.

"It's very close, isn't it?" she said, casually.

Norton nodded, but did not speak. He was gazing at the slim form in the pale blue pyjamas, and thinking that he had never seen anything quite so beautiful.

Valerie, looking up at him from beneath her long lashes, could read him like an open book.

"When are you going to make inquiries into M'Kamba's case?" she asked.

"I don't know." Norton replied, shortly. He was surprised to find that he was trembling.

Valerie gave an exaggerated sigh.

"You don't seem very conversationally inclined. I'm sorry I interrupted your sleep. Perhaps I'd better go."

"No, don't go."

There was a long silence.

"Well," she remarked at last, "you're not a very bright lad. Where's all the vim and gaiety you had a few hours ago?"

"Valerie, ever since I kissed you like— like I did when we were dancing I haven't been able to,, get you out of my mind. I—"

"Have you tried?" asked Valerie, with a soft laugh.

"No. I— Valerie, darling, I love you."

He bent forward and kissed her; she did not move, and when he straightened himself she went on smoking as if nothing had happened. There was a silence. Norton gazed at her fiercely, his heart pounding against his ribs.

"Valerie," he whispered, "I love you. Will you marry me?"

A slow smile moved her lips.

"Do you mean that, or are you trying to deceive me?"

"Don't joke, Valerie, I can't stand it. I love you more than anything on earth. Darling, will you?"

He slipped an arm round her shoulders and leaned over her,. his face but a few inches from hers.

"I don't know," she said. "From what I've seen of marriage I don't think much of it. All the same, Con, I think I love you quite a little bit."

"Thank God," Norton whispered fervently.

He kissed her again, long and passionately and at last she quivered under the intensity of his embrace. Her warm body was pressed closely against his, and he could feel the rounded firmness of her young breasts. In the soft light of the moon she looked like a young nymph as she lay contentedly in his arms. Engulfed in the overpowering emotion of the moment, they were concerned only with their love for each other.

THEY were roused by a sudden rasping sound, the noise of curtain rings sliding sharply along a brass rod. Norton sprang to his feet. Valerie got up more slowly. In the doorway stood Kate Langridge. Her brown, tanned face was expressionless, and showed neither surprise nor disapproval.

"Con," she said, "there's some queer shauri going on. I heard the sentry challenge. Hadn't you better go and investigate?"

"Oh, hell," Norton muttered, angrily. He snatched up his mosquito boots and strode out of the room without glancing at either woman.

Valerie got off the bed and slowly followed him. She took one quick glance at Kate, and then dropped her eyes.

Presently he returned, feeling angry and uncomfortable.

"There's nothing doing," he said, sullenly. "Everything's quiet."

"It is now," replied Kate, pointedly. Norton flared up defiantly.

"What's it got to do with you?"

"Tell me that again when you've had six months' leave," she replied, "and I shall be more inclined to believe you. In the meantime, remember that a sense of proportion has saved many people from an incredible number of follies."

She turned on her heel, and the curtain swung into place behind her.

Chapter 6

Curiosity

BREAKFAST the following morning was a morose affair. When Kate entered the living-room Conway greeted her with an unpleasant stare and a curt nod, before hastily finishing his meal and returning to the office where he had been trying to work since shortly after dawn. Quite unperturbed by such manifest dislike on the part of one who barely twelve hours previously had described her as an "old sport," Kate sat down to a leisurely breakfast.

In ten minutes' time the curtain over Valerie's doorway was wrenched viciously aside and the girl herself entered.

"Good morning," remarked Kate, politely.

" 'Morning," was the brief response.

Kate glanced at her quickly. She looked pale under her tan, her face was a trifle drawn, and there were shadows under her eyes.

"The morning after," thought Kate, who felt perfectly fit herself.

She did not attempt any conversation, and finished her meal in silence. As Kate rose from the table to make her morning inspection of the camp and attend any sick porters, Valerie spoke suddenly without raising her eyes from the table.

"How soon can we leave this place? To-morrow morning?"

"If you wish it," replied Kate in some surprise.

"I do. Will you see about it?"

"Very well," said Kate.

She saw little of either her employer or Norton that day. Both were so anxious not to meet, that the latter did not move from his office, and Valerie had her meals served in her bedroom. This unpleasant atmosphere of half-shamed hostility did not worry the calm and sophisticated Kate; She had had experience of similar misunderstandings before, although never for quite the same reason, or with the same prelude.

The safari was due to start at dawn, but it was not until nearly nine o'clock that the porters swung up their loads and moved off.

Valerie hung about the camp, ostensibly watching the efficient Kate, but every few minutes her eyes would stray in the direction of Norton's office. But he gave no sign that he was aware of their impending departure until the very last minute when a police-boy arrived with a note hastily scribbled in pencil. If there was anything they wanted or anything he could do for them they had only to give orders to the bearer of the note, wrote Norton. He regretted he was too busy to atttnd personally to their needs.

The greater part of that day's trek was done in silence; and, since Valerie had given no orders, being occupied with other things, Kate, mindful of the District Commissioner's instructions, steered a south-easterly course. That night, after a fifteen-mile march, as they smoked their final cigarettes before turning in, Valerie said, suddenly:

"Kate, we'll turn northward to-morrow." Kate made no reply for a moment. She had anticipated this move on Valerie's part, but she had not the least idea how she could circumvent it.

"I don't think it's quite advisable," she temporised.

"Why?" The question was asked defiantly.

"You know what the D.C. said," Kate replied, and held up her hand to check Valerie's angry remark about Seaton, his works, and his ancestors.

"Damn him," said Valerie, viciously. "If there is any funny business why don't we go and see what it is?"

"You'd only get Con into trouble. Probably Seaton would break him."

"Serve him right," came the angry retort. There was a pause. Valerie flung her cigarette end into the fire and stared at the burning logs with brooding eyes. Kate kept silent. There are times when sympathy is out of place, when it only serves to rub the wound raw.

PRESENTLY, with a little shiver, Valerie sat back, but her eyes were still fixed on the fire.

"He said he loved me," she muttered. "Yet he practically cut me, and wouldn't bother to come und say good-bye to us. He was too busy." She gave a hard, scornful laugh.

Kate had certainly been puzzled by Norton's conduct; she could not say whether it was induced by shame, resentment, or disappointment.

"My dear," she said, "don't take it too seriously. Circumstances were rather too much for both of you. After eight glasses of punch, an evening of dancing, and a romantic moon, anyone would have loved you. Don't be too hard on Con. Do you care for him, or was it just physical reaction?"

There was a long pause.

"I don't know," said Valerie, slowly. "I only know I hate him now."

Kate decided it would be best to change the subject.

"Concerning this trek. You know there are plenty of other places where one can get a white rhino, the Lado enclave and the Bahr-el-Ghazal. Why not treat this as an apprentice trip?"

Valerie shook her head. "No. I'm going north-east."

"There'll be a hell of a row if Seaton finds out," Kate remarked calmly. "We shall get it in the neck."

"I don't care," Valerie retorted stubbornly. "The very fact that that despicable object forbade me to go makes me all the more determined. I'll take the responsibility."

"That's all very well, but you couldn't go if I took the porters off in the other direction," said Kate.

Valerie's mouth tightened and Kate prepared for a stinging remark. Then the lips relaxed and the girl smiled.

"But you wouldn't do that," she said softly.

"Wouldn't I? Why?"

"Because, like me, you are far more interested in the curious rumors and stories that have come from M'Kamba's manyata— if that's what you call a village out here— than you are in white rhino."

"I suppose I am," Kate admitted, rather surprised at the other's intuition.

"Then you'll come? We'll turn north-east to-morrow?"

Kate hesitated. Long years of Africa, that hardest of mistresses, had not quenched the fire of adventure that had caused her to land at Capetown many years ago with five pounds and a measure of common sense as her only assets. For herself she would have said "Yes." But the safety of Valerie and of the safari was her responsibility.

"Come on, Kate," Valerie urged softly.

"Damn it," thought Kate, "I must be getting old if I hesitate over the chance of an adventure. Five years ago I'd have gone like a shot."

"Are you scared?" Valerie asked.

Kate turned and stared. The girl, seeing the look in her eyes, added hastily: "I mean of the D.C., not what's up there." She nodded towards the north-east.

"No," Kate retorted shortly, "I'm not."

"Then you'll come?"

"All right, have it your own way. And if we get scuppered Seaton will be able to pick up the pieces and say: 'I told you so.' Knowing him, I'm certain that will cause him the keenest pleasure."

"Good old Kate," cried Valerie affectionately. "I knew you'd agree."

"I'm not sure it's quite sensible," Kate said, "but then, if the English had always been sensible, the Empire would have stopped at Brighton beach. For one thing, I expect there will be trouble with the porters."

She was right. On the following morning, no sooner did the safari turn north-east than much agitated discussion took place among the men.

"Take no notice," said Kate to Valerie, "and if they turn nasty, for Heaven's sake don't show you're nervous."

"I'm not," said Valerie indignantly.

And Kate knew she was speaking the truth. Refined manners might be lacking, but Valerie had courage.

Presently M'nyogi trotted up, apprehension plainly written on his face.

"Bibi, the men want to know where we are going?"

Kate gave a snort of disgust and glared at the unfortunate headman.

"Are they leading this safari or am I?" she demanded.

"Bibi, they fear you will lead them into the land where there are dead men walking," said M'nyogi uncomfortably.

"Tell them they are fools. Easy living has sapped their courage, and their heads are in their bellies."

Kate swung on her heel and, followed by Valerie, sauntered back along the trail. She did not hurry, but walked slowly, her hands thrust in the side-pockets of her bush blouse.

"Bibi," said M'nyogi, "they say they will go no farther."

Kate took no notice, but strolled up to the mob of debating natives. Her arrival was the signal for silence. For a full minute she stood and gazed at them, till they began to mutter and shift their feet uncomfortably.

"M'nyogi, once you told me these were wapagazi," remarked Kate.

"Indio, Bibi, that is so."

"They are not porters, they are cowards, curs, reptiles. See that they pick up their loads and march."

SHE turned away, but a sullen muttering arose from the men. A tall native, with broken front teeth and an unpleasant leer, came forward and spoke rapidly in Swahili. She listened to him for a moment before she interrupted him.

"Silence! I said you were cowards, curs, reptiles. You are not that, Pesambli, you are not even a dog. You are but a worm in the belly of a dog."

The native's eyes flashed. With an angry exclamation he sprang forward.

But Kate was prepared. She whipped her left arm from the pocket of her bush blouse and hit out. Her hard fist took the native on the solar plexus. He dropped at her feet, both hands clasped to his stomach, and lay like one dead. A murmur of surprise rose from the crowd.

"Is there anyone else in need of a rest?" Kate asked pleasantly.

No one came forward.

"Now," Kate continued, "let us have no more of this nonsense. I see among you men who have worked for me before. You, Korongo, and you, Majelua. Have I ever led you Into serious trouble or danger? Have you ever forfeited any pay, except it was your own fault?"

"No, Bibi."

"Then do as I say and not as this shenzi would have you do. Take no heed of these tales of dead men walking. I will see that no harm befalls you."

The men began to move away. Two of them came to pick up the helpless native who still lay at Kate's feet, but she waved them away.

"Let him lie," she said.

M'nyogi stirred the motionless pesambli with his foot.

"Bibi, that was a good blow," he chuckled. "His belly was full of words, but now it is empty."

"Are you going to leave him there?" asked Valerie.

"He'll come round soon and either catch us up or desert. I don't care a damn which he does," said Kate.

For two days the safari marched across a dry, sandy plain towards a low range of hills in the blue distance. A strong wind raised clouds of dust from the parched ground. Valerie grew restless and irritable; although, realising that there were far worse things to annoy one in Africa than dust, she strove to conceal her vexation. Kate observed this with an inward smile. The girl was improving. A month ago she would have given vent to her ill-temper in no uncertain manner.

Kate had decided to make for M'Kamba's manyata, since that seemed the most likely place at which to gain information. On the third day they passed out of the dry, sandy plain, and sought their way amongst low, rocky hills dotted with clumps of stunted scrub. The hills increased in height as the scrub increased in density. When at length they reached a shallow lake, they decided to make camp for that day.

While Kate and Valerie superintended the pitching of the tents, some of the porters scattered along the edge of the water to gather driftwood blown ashore by the wind for the fires. Their return was heralded by such an unusual amount of chatter even for natives that Kate came out of her tent to investigate the cause of the kelele.

IN the midst of the porters walked a tall native. He stared vacantly in front of him and took not the slightest notice of the questions rained on him. He looked very like a somnambulist, so mechanical were his movements. At the approach of their mistress the porters became silent.

Kate stared at the stranger with interest, for she at once guessed that by a stroke of luck they had found one of "the dead men walking."

"Who are you?" she asked sharply.

Twice the fellow tried to speak, but only at the third attempt did any word issue from his lips.

"M'Kamba's," he mumbled.

"Where d'you come from?" Kate demanded.

"M'Kamba's," was the dull reply.

And that was all she could get out of the man. To every question he answered: "M'Kamba's." She questioned the porters, who declared they had found him drinking from the lake half a mile from the camp.

Kate gave orders that he was to be well cared for, then, picking up her rifle, she proceeded in the direction indicated by the men, accompanied by Valerie.

"We seem to have walked right into the mystery," said, the girl. "What d'you think is the matter with him?"

"No idea," replied Kate shortly. "Keep your eyes open: we may be nearer the mystery than you think."

In silence they trudged along the shore of the lake, past the spot where the stranger had been discovered, and round he shoulder of a hill that jutted out into the water, forming a long, rocky point.

"What's that?" Kate asked.

Valerie peered through the waves of hot air that danced over the stones, for there were still three hours to go before sunset.

"It looks like something lying on the ground. An animal?" she replied hesi-tatingly.

"Looks to me like a body," retorted Kate "Come on." She began to run.

Very soon they could see that the object was a native. Kate got to him first and bent down, but it was plain that he was quite dead. There was no sign of a wound, but he was woefully thin.

"So there is something in these rumors, after all," Kate said slowly.

"Do you think it is a disease?" Valerie asked.

"I don't know. If it is, we have nothing to fear. Nobody at M'Kamba's has caught it. Only those who have been away."

"But where have they been?"

"That's what I'd like to know."

"There's something moving up there." Very cautiously Kate peered round the edge of the rock. "Look, eleven o'clock on that rock with the red stain. Got it?"

"I can't see anything," said Valerie, whose eyes were no match for Kate's.

"Wait. It's coming this way. I can't see whether it's a man or a buck. I think it's a buck, only it seems to be moving too slowly."

They waited in silence for a few minutes.

Then:

"It is a man!" Kate cried.

"I can see something moving," said Valerie.

"He's certain to see this native and then he'll come down to investigate. I think we'll retire to a more secluded spot."

"But aren't you going to speak to him?"

Kate smiled.

"Not until I've seen what he looks like." In a few minutes they were safely hid-den amongst a pile of rocks, able to observe the new arrival without exposing themselves. The man drew nearer, picking his way over the hillside with care. He carried a rifle at the trail. Presently he caught sight of the body lying by the water's edge. For a moment he stopped and stared, then he began to move forward in its direction.

"Good Lord! It's Tom Clements!" Kate whispered.

"Clements!" repeated Valerie in amazement. And then for some unfathomable reason she felt a twinge of fear.

"Now what on earth is he doing in this part of the world?" Kate murmured, taking no notice of the interruption. "I'll bet he's up to no good."

She watched him closely, for his movements now became very interesting. While still some distance from the body he stopped and subjected the surrounding countryside to an intense search, as if he half-expected somebody or something to be in hiding.

"If that man hasn't got a guilty conscience, I'll eat my terai," Kate murmured. "It's obvious he's expecting trouble."

Suddenly Clements sprang forward, bending low over the ground.

"Damn!" said Kate. "One of us must have left a spoor. Looks like Robinson Crusoe discovering Friday's footprint, doesn't he? Now what's he going to do?"

Chapter 7

North-East

"COME on," Kate whispered, "he's bound to find us if he once begins to search, so we'd better take the initiative."

She crept out of her hiding-place and leant against a rock, her rifle cradled in her folded arms. The movement was executed so quietly that Clements never heard a sound.

"Oi!" she said loudly.

Tom Clements spun around with the quickness of a leopard, his rifle half-raised.

"It's quite all right; don't be alarmed," Kate reassured him. "We've not come to arrest you— this time."

Clements opened and shut his mouth several times like a conversational goldfish while Valerie took her stand beside Kate.

"Come along." said Kate with a note of scorn in her voice. "Don't be nervous."

Clements' lips lifted in an unpleasing grin.

"Nervous? Of you?" He chuckled. "I should say so! What the hell are you doin' here?"

"What have you been up to?" Kate countered.

"Minding me own business," he said slowly.

"Signed any more contracts?" asked Kate.

Clements scowled, and looked so annoyed that Valerie could not help smiling, which made him all the more angry.

"I'll get even with you over that," he growled.

"I'm not worrying," replied Kate, and added suddenly: "Do you know anything about that dead native over there?"

"Funny you should ask," said Clements. "I thought you might be able to tell me something, seeing that you are hanging around here."

"D'you know where he comes from?"

"How should I know every bloomin native's home address? But I can tell you where he's gone to!"

"Well, you'll probably meet him eventually."

"Yep! I've heard Hell recommended for company; meet you there, perhaps."

"D'you think he belongs to M'Kamba's?" queried Kate, ignoring the innuendo.

"Where's that?"

"A manyata not far from here: thought you'd know it."

"I haven't been in this part long: I'm camping a couple o' miles away." He nodded over the hill. "Where are you?"

"Farther down the lake. I'm surprised you don't know anything about that poor devil."

"And why the hell should it surprise you?" demanded Clements.

"Because," Kate said slowly, "there's a native in our camp who said he'd left his pal out here. He was pretty far gone himself, but he said they'd both belonged to M'Kamba's and had been employed by you."

There was a moment's silence. Valerie and Kate watched the hunter carefully, the girl knew that the elder woman had set a trap, for the native they had rescued had been far too ill to do more than mutter: "M'Kamba's."

"Well, I'll be—" Clements exploded with an unpleasant oath. "Why the hell should I want to employ local labor? I travel light: I'm not so bloomin' well off that I can go on safari with strings o' porters and cases o' champagne. I haven't employed anyone." He gave a short laugh. "I should think you'd been long enough in Africa not to believe everything some black swab tells you."

"How is it that he came to mention your name?" said Kate, with the appearance of being genuinely puzzled.

"Dunno. Perhaps he picked it up at M'Kamba's."

"But you said just now you had never been to M'Kamba's."

"Damn and blast it, the ruddy runt had, hadn't he?" shouted Clements furiously.

"Don't get excited; you'll have apoplexy. And cut out some of the swear-words: there are ladies present."

"Ladies?" Clements sneered.

"Yes," Kate said encouragingly.

"They're a suspicious lot," Clements concluded lamely. "What are you doing up here, anyhow? It's a long way north."

"We're after white rhino, among other things," said Valerie.

"White rhino?" Clements repeated in surprise. "Strike me pink, did she tell you there was white rhino here?" He spat through the gap in his front teeth. "I'm surprised at you," he said to Kate. "With your experience, too."

"What's going on in your magnificent mind now?" Kate asked.

"There isn't no white rhino up here now. Bahr-el-Ghazal, yes. but for some reason or other they've moved from here."

"You seem to know this part of the country well." Kate remarked pointedly.

"Oh. I've rot been here before, but I met a fellow at Marsabit who'd just come down."

"A hunter?"

"No, he'd been prospecting."

"Then of course he'd be very interested in rhino," said Kate.

"Oh, well, have it your own way. Go and shoot what isn't there, and if you get scuppered by Abyssinians, don't blame me." He chuckled throatily. "You'd look fine as a slave, Kate. Damned if I wouldn't come and see you."

"Are you wanting another thick ear?" Kate asked calmly.

"I was only joking. But if you want white rhino, go to the Bahr-el-Ghazal. That's my advice, and I won't charge you for it."

"We should not dream of taking it," retorted Valerie, and Kate chuckled.

"No, you're just the sort o' bloomin'—" began Clements angrily, when Kate interrupted him.

"I should take care of your ear," she advised.

Clements subsided and glanced up at the sun, which now hung low in the west.

"Well, I'm off," he said. "I hope I shan't see you again, and don't destroy all the rhino."

"Good-bye," said Kate. "We'll tell the police where we last met you."

"And don't let any more natives die on your hands, or M'Kamba will be sending in more complaints." added Valerie.

CLEMENTS, who had turned away, wheeled suddenly and stared at her. For a second it seemed as though he were about to ask a question: then he changed his mind.

"Blast M'Kamba," he retorted. "I've got a clear conscience, anyway."

"I thought something was worrying you," said Kate cheerfully.

They watched him start up the hillside and then began their return to their own camp.

"If that crook's not up to some game, my name's not Kate Langridge," Kate declared. "That last remark of yours shook him up, Valerie. He dearly wanted to hear more about M'Kamba's complaint, but he daren't ask."

They walked on in silence for some time. As they came in sight of the camp Valerie said:

"I've been wondering, Kate. You know Clements met me in Mombasa? He knew then I was coming up to North-East Kenya. I don't know how he knew: we never bothered to get to the bottom of that. Then he was sacked. Yet weeks afterwards we find him up here. Doesn't that strike you as peculiar? And I've no doubt that if he had seen us first he'd have kept out of our way."

"Do you suggest that Clements is following you? Why should he want to do that?"

"I don't know," said Valerie in a puzzled voice.

"I reckon it's coincidence."

"But why is he up here now?"

"That's what I intend to find out. We'll soon cook Mr. Clements' goose for him. Nothing would please me better than to get him six months' jug."

Directly they reached camp Kate sent M'nyogi out, with instructions to find Clements, watch him, and report at dawn what had happened. But Kate was to be disappointed. As the rising sun turned the waters of the lake from grey to crimson the nmpara arrived with the news that the white man was not to be seen.

"After much searching, Bibi," said M'nyogi, "I found the ashes of his fire, but they were cold and the camp had been deserted a long time. There was no sign of the white man, nor did he appear, although I waited. Only one man had been there, but the ground was too stony to tell me where he had gone."

"Seems to me." Kate said to Valerie, "that Mr. Bloomin' Clements wasn't taking any chances. He thought he'd beat it while the going was good."

They reached M'Kamba's late that afternoon and camped a mile from the huts that formed the village. M'Kamba sent them chickens, eggs, and goats' milk, and they returned the compliment with several yards of cloth, a knife or two, and a small mirror.

The following day the two women visited the chief. M'Kamba was an elderly man whose grizzled hair was already turning grey. Deep lines were etched in his dark face, and as he greeted them, standing, his black eyes watched them keenly.

It was some time before Kate was able to introduce the subject which was the prime reason for their visit, but at the first mention of it M'Kamba's face clouded.

"I cannot tell you much, Bibi," he said. "I know that my young men disappear: they do not say where or why they are going. Perhaps they do not even know. One morning they will go out hunting, and maybe they never come back. Perhaps in a month or two one will wander into the manyata, but he cannot tell where he has been."

"Is their health good? Do they eat?" Kate asked.

"At first they seem starved, but later it is only their minds that seem affected. We have five in the village now. They are like dead men walking."

"What do you think it is?"

"I do not know," replied M'Kamba simply. "I do not understand. But my people are growing anxious. They say I should find out what is wrong, or else the Government should."

"When these men go, in which direction do they leave the village?"

"In no particular direction, Bibi. They may go north, south, east or west, the same when they return: they come in from any quarter."

Kate nodded.

"I found one of your men by a lake a day's march away, and I brought him back with me. I also found another, but he was dead."

"So I heard last night. I am grateful." M'Kamba replied with dignity. "It is two moons since those men vanished."

"Is there no way of telling in which direction they go?" Kate insisted.

"It is said, but it may be village tales, that they go there." And M'Kamba waved his hand towards the north-east. "But it is not wise to go there. It is a land of bad men-and other things."

"Nevertheless." said Valerie stubbornly when she and Kate got back to camp, "to the north-east we go. What did M'Katnba mean by 'bad men and other things'?"

"I think he meant that the Abyssinian frontier is rather less than a hundred miles away. Raiders come over and poach Ivory, and they're not above taking slaves if they get the chance."

The following day. having made arrangements with M'Kamba that any message Kate might send would be forwarded on to Norton, the safari once more set out towards the north-east.

Chapter 8

The Call

EVER since the day Valerie had sailed for Africa John Cartwright had felt as if there was something missing. For a time he wondered if he had fallen in love with her: he had never been in love in his life, but he understood that the affliction frequently affected people in that manner. Eventually he decided that he was not, but there was no doubt that he missed her tremendously.

Valerie was not the sort of girl to conduct a regular or lengthy correspondence. John received two letters and a number of post cards, and with those he had to be content. The last card had been dispatched from Nairobi, and merely gave the date on which the safari left for the north. Kate had been more explicit. She described her meeting with Valerie and her treatment of Tom Clements, at which John laughed aloud.

"Good old Kate." he murmured almost affectionately. "I can picture her doing it. I'll bet the fellow's ear stung for a week!" He chuckled again.

READING her letter made him feel rather more pleased with life, but he was uncomfortably aware that lately there was a tendency for him to grow morose and bad-tempered.

One afternoon, having reduced his typist almost to tears by his sarcastic comments on her knowledge of punctuation, and Immediately afterwards feeling ashamed at his lack of self-control, he took up his hat and stick and strode out of the office with-out a word to anyone.

"They'll all wonder where the hell I've got to," he muttered savagely, "well, let them wonder."

He marched along the crowded pavements, disdaining taxis and omnibuses? his Jaw set grimly, his eyes fixed in front of him. More than one person turned to stare at him, but he was quite unaware of the curiosity he aroused. He walked until, out of the corner of his eyes, he recognised something familiar. It was the shop where he had taken Valerie to buy her guns, and it was a good two miles from his office. Still in a sort of dream, he turned abruptly and entered.

It was not until he was standing at the glass-topped counter that he recovered his scattered senses. The assistant recognised him, and politely asked him what he required. John pulled himself together, conscious that he had come within an ace of making a fool of himself.

Half an hour later he stood once more on the pavement, feeling rather breathless and slightly scared at his curious behaviour. Inside the shop the gratified assistant was tying a label with John's name and address on it to the trigger-guard of a beautifully balanced .256 Mannlicher. John took a deep breath, wondered why he had spent forty pounds on something that would never be the slightest use to him, and hailed a taxi.

"Where to, sir?" asked the driver. John hesitated.

"Oh, the Zoological Gardens," he said.

He directed the driver to take him to the South gate, yet such was the perverse state of his mind that now he had got to the Gardens he had lost all interest in them. However, he entered and turned left-handed. He wandered idly along a railed enclosure, taking no notice of the people or animals, for his thoughts had now shifted to Kate Langridge. He recollected the hunting trips they had been on just after the War. His steps grew slower, until ultimately he stood still, occupied by his thoughts.

He walked on until presently he arrived at the sea-lions' pond. He stood staring at the antics of the creatures without any particular degree of interest, for, as he told himself, they did not come from any part of the world with which he was acquainted. Now, if he had seen the dorsal fin of a shark, such as he had observed dozens of times cutting through the blue waters of the Indian Ocean, that would have been an entirely different matter. But on the last occasion of his visit to the Zoo he had sedulously avoided the cages and paddocks of the African fauna, for they awoke in him memories which, ever since Valerie had sailed, had been plaguing him relentlessly, although he would admit it to no one.

But Nature is a funny old thing, Africa a persistent old hussy, and there are still the blind gods who shape our destinies. For while John was regarding the sea lions with a moody, sullen stare, wondering how they liked their captivity after the freedom of the seas and the long, deserted beaches where man seldom came, some wandering breath of wind brought to his nostrils a faint familiar fragrance that plucked instantly at his heart-strings.

It reminded him of the scent of the tasselled hibiscus along the golden road from Kilindini to Old Mombasa. There was the tang of mangoes in it, too, and something of the fragrance of bougainvillea and jacaranda combined: but most of all it reminded him of Valerie, for it was the scent she always used.

Perfume and sound! Valerie and Africa! Good God, wasn't a man a flaming fool to stay in England when the sun was going down over the veldt, the smoke from the camp-fires was rising vertically in the still air, and the scent of roast buck was drifting across from the cook's quarters?

"Oh, God!" muttered John, and there was a catch In his voice, and he swallowed hard.

Something inside him was strung up tightly. With compressed lips he swung round and strode away.

The next week-end John thrust himself on the Wargraves, who were only too pleased to have him, for they had seen nothing of him since Valerie's departure. Cynthia was rather disturbed at the change that had taken place in her old friend. He seemed drawn about the cheeks, and he had lost his color. There were moments, too, when he appeared to be so occupied with his own thoughts that conversation was plainly a nuisance.

"D'you think the old chap's in love with Valerie?" Harry Wargrave suggested, when his wife mentioned it to him as they were going to bed on the night of John's arrival. "She's the last person I thought old John would have fallen for, but he did seem interested in her."

"I don't know," said Cynthia, as she pulled the bed-clothes round her slim shoulders. "I can't make him out, but there's something wrong somewhere."

"Has he said anything to you about her?"

"Only what you heard at dinner," Harry Wargrave grunted.

"He didn't seem very interested then. D'you think he's up against it? Hard up, or done something not quite the thing?"

Cynthia laughed softly.

"Old John's as straight as a gun-barrel."

"Well, is it a woman?"

"Harry, you're a fool. John's not the sort to get tangled up with any woman."

"Well, I give it up," said her husband, whose imagination was not his strong point.

"Don't worry your head, darling, I'll find out."

"Find out? How?"

On the point of switching out the light he turned and regarded his wife suspiciously. Her dark head was buried amid the bed-clothes, and only one eye was visible. With that Cynthia winked.

"A woman's intuition," she murmured. Her husband snorted indignantly.

"It was your intuition that made me a 'pony' down on Ascot," he retorted.

But Cynthia was apparently asleep, and failed to hear.

John loafed about the estate, restless, moody, not wishing to be alone, yet at the same time avoiding company. When, on the Sunday evening. Cynthia dragged her unwilling husband to the little, square towered Norman church that stood on the edge of the village, with the intention of bringing the vicar back to dinner, John, with the exception of the servants, had the place to himself.

He walked up the slope to the edge of the wood where he had had his first conversation with Valerie, but the spot did not suit his mood. He returned to the library and browsed among the shelves for some-thing to read which would appeal to him. After some search he found it; a slim brown volume, "The Poems of Brian Brooke," and he carried it to a rustic seat on the terrace.

An hour had passed, when suddenly the faint aroma of wood smoke stole across the garden. There is nothing like wood-smoke to bring back memories. At the first hint
of it John sat forward in his chair, the book of poems open on his knee. He never heard Cynthia's light step as she came and stood beside him. He was thousands of miles away as the words that came from his lips proved, for he was repeating a verse of one of the poems he had just read:

For now I'm off on the warpath trail, and
the sky in front is black,

For I hear the songs of the winds that wail
and I know that I'll not come back.

The lion will grunt and the jackal bark
and the zebra will screech with fear,

The fisi will prowl in the lonely dark, and

Korongo will not be here.

"Poor devil, he was right," John murmured, for Brian Brooke, whom the natives called Korongo, had been killed in France.

Cynthia laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. "But you can go back, John," she said, in a low voice. John did not start, did not move a muscle, he did not even reply.

"Why don't you?" Cynthia went on, softly. "You're a rich man, my dear, and you'll never be happy anywhere else but In Africa. I've known that for a long time."

This was not strictly true; she had known it for ninety-five seconds. John said nothing, but stared across the lawn, the scent of wood-smoke still in his nostrils.

"Even If I am wrong, call it a holiday. You can always return to England if you find that your imagination has led you to over-rate Africa in the years between. Try it, John, maybe it will give you that peace of mind for which you have been searching so long."

"Maybe it would," John said, softly.

Chapter 9

The Triangle

EUSTACE STOCKS, in common with several million other members of the human race, had four fingers on each hand, but, and in this respect he differed from all but several thousand of his fellow men, seven of these stubby fingers were securely embedded each in a financial pie of the first order. Mr. Stocks was an astute financier of the best type, which does not serve terms of imprisonment for entangling obscure items in its balance-sheets, nor issuing forged share-certificates. He was cautious, and possessed of remarkable foresight. At the moment he was regarding the little finger of his left hand with some thought, for a week previously he had been invited to insert it in a pie of dubious consistency. The ornamentations on the crust were so alluring that the cautious Stocks had paused before breaking it.

Eustace Stocks bent and unbent his little finger thoughtfully. Presently he rose slowly from his chair— he never hurried over anything— and took a taxi to his club, which also happened to include John Cartwright among its members. Stocks selected a chair in the smoking-room, and prepared to wait. To a man who moved so slowly yet so surely, waiting was no handicap, and presently his patience was rewarded. John Cartwright entered the room, as the financier knew he would. It was his business to know things, and his knowledge did not often fail him. Had it done so he would have been considerably less prosperous.

Stocks approached Cartwright with a faint twinkle in his eye.

" 'Morning. John, how are the figures?" he asked, alluding to Cartwright's profession.

John smiled and dug a forefinger gently into the region round the fourth button of Stocks's waistcoat.

"I don't notice yours is getting any less," he retorted.

He liked Stocks, who was a jovial fellow except where money was concerned: that subject he treated almost with reverence. He had an inexhaustible fund of racy stories, which he related with considerable verve and mimicry.

Taking John's arm in a friendly grip, he led him to the library.

"It's no good," John remonstrated, "you told me that yarn about the girl and the bicycle last time."

Stocks made a gesture with his plump hand.

"I didn't bring you here to tell you stories," he said, and turning to the book-shelves, withdrew an atlas. This he opened at a map showing Southern Abyssinia, Northern Kenya, and the inside boundary of Italian Somaliland.

"You've been to Kenya, John; d'you know anything about that part of the country?" And he put his finger on the utmost north-east corner of Kenya.

"Good Lord!" exclaimed John, in surprise.

"What's the matter?" Stocks asked quickly.

"I know two people who've gone up there, or thereabouts: two women."

Stocks made a gesture of impatience, and John smiled: he already knew the financier's opinion of the female sex.

"Tell me what you know about the country."

"I've never actually been in that corner, but I've been on the fringe," began John, and proceeded to dispense his knowledge of tribes, climate, topography, and mineralogy, which he had gleaned several years ago, during his service with the King's African Rifles.

STOCKS sat almost somnolent in an armchair regarding the little finger of his left hand. Not until John had finished did he speak.

"Thank you," he said. "I wanted information because I have been asked to finance a certain undertaking in that part of the country. It's an attractive proposition, but I don't quite see myself as a second Rhodes financing expeditions into unknown territory. Still, I don't know."

He waggled his little finger reflectively, and then said:

"I understand you are returning to Kenya very soon?"

"Do you?" countered John. "Who told you that?"

"Harry Wargrave."

"The suggestion has been made, but I'm not certain— yet."

"Any ties here?"

"No, not really. Only my partner, but I don't think he'd miss me. I don't do much as it is." John said, a trifle bitterly.

"It would be a good holiday for you. Why not go?"

"What are you getting at?" John demanded, suddenly. "You've got something up your sleeve, you plausible schemer."

Stocks' eyes twinkled.

"I don't want to influence you," he replied, "but if you do go out, and want something to occupy your time, I've no doubt we could come to some arrangement by which you could visit that tract of country we have been discussing in the capacity of adviser to me."

John was silent for some time, thinking. First of all Cynthia had advised him to go: now Stocks was offering him a reason for going. Yet John could not get rid of the idea that it was mere weakness to chuck up his job to satisfy his craving for Africa.

"I don't know," he said, at last. "I can't say what I'll do."

Stocks glanced at him, and, shutting the atlas, replaced it on the shelf.

"If you do go, let me know," he said. "Meanwhile, many thanks for the information." He did not press John, for he realised that such a course would only strengthen his resolve not to go. Stocks knew how to wait.

John left the club in a disturbed frame of mind: it began to look as if the gods had conspired to get him out of England. On the other hand, Stocks dismissed the matter entirely from his thoughts, and concerned himself from half-past three until eleven o'clock with the Government and the country.

Strensaye frequently asked Stocks to come in for a final nightcap after the House had risen; and the two men would discuss such matters as interested them at the moment.

"The Lord preserve me from persistent, earnest, and inquiring persons," groaned Strensaye, as they entered his comfortable library. "The member for Twofold is the bane of my life. When I die, which will probably be in an asylum, if that persevering individual is allowed to have his way, 'Twofold' will be found engraved on my heart. Help yourself to a drink, Eustace, and bring me one, a large one."

Strensaye flung himself into an arm-chair and lit a cigar, with the care of a man who appreciates life's luxuries. For a time he watched the glowing end. Then he sipped his whisky-and-soda, and said:

"Eustace, there's a map-case on the right-hand side of that bottom shelf over there. You might find me a map of Kenya."

"Kenya?" repeated Stocks, repressing a start of surprise.

"Yes. Between the thirty-fifth and forty-fifth degree of longitude for preference, and as large as possible."

While Stocks searched, Strensaye blew smoke-rings and lazily watched them floating in the still air. Presently his friend drew a large sheet from the case and spread it on the table. Strensaye joined him, and the two men stood side by side, bending over the map.

"There," said Strensaye, resting a long finger on a square immediately north of the equator.

The financier said nothing. The spot on which Strensaye's finger rested was the tract of country about which Stocks had spoken to John Cartwright ten hours previously.

"THE British Empire today," Strensaye continued, "is like a man suffering from— ah— chicken-pox. He won't be any the worse for it, so long as the irritating spots are not scratched. And that," he jabbed his finger on the map again, "that triangle bounded by the Abyssinian frontier, the Italian Somaliland frontier, and a line drawn from, say, the southern end of Lake Stefanie to the point where the Lak Dera river crosses the Italian frontier, is one of the irritation spots. The trouble is that someone won't stop scratching it, and if we're not careful they'll leave a permanent scar." He drew at his cigar and stared moodily at the map.

"That slice of unknown territory is making my life a misery. Our reports run clear up to the line Stefanie-Lak Dera, but north of that we know nothing until we reach British Somaliland, except, of course, such things as our representative in Addis Ababa is allowed to learn. Meanwhile, what is going on in the Triangle, as I have come to call it? Who is scratching that spot?"

Stocks kept silent: he knew that it was often possible to get more information by remaining dumb than by asking questions. Moreover, he was thinking of the scheme he . had been asked to finance.

Rather irritably Lord Strensaye pitched his half-smoked cigar into the hearth. A worried expression had settled on his thin, lined face.

"There are rumors, Eustace, of trouble up in the Triangle. I don't know whether someone is trying to exploit the place, although God knows what there is to be exploited in that Heaven-forgotten corner of the globe—"

He broke off, staring at the map again. Stocks's face was devoid of expression.

"There's a fellow of ours up at Logh, on the Juba river in Italian Somaliland," continued the Foreign Secretary, indicating the spot on the map. "He has sent in a rambling sort of report about slave-raiding. Of course, we know that the Abyssinians do cross the frontier and poach ivory, and thieve, and that they take slaves if they get the chance; their country is still more or less in a state of medievalism in spite of its railways and aeroplanes. We prevent them when we can, but it's impossible to have men all along the frontier: the Administration wouldn't stand the cost. We get along as best as we are able. But this man at Logh says the Italians are like cats on hot bricks about their side of the Triangle. Our own people, too, in particular a district commissioner named Seaton, are uneasy all along the Northern Frontier. 'Pon my soul, Eustace," Strensaye broke out in exasperation, "the Northern Frontier of Kenya and the threat of trouble there is becoming just as much a bugbear to this administration as the North-west Frontier of India and the aspirations of Russia were a source of anxiety to my predecessor in office thirty years ago!"

"Ah!" said Stocks, softly, and stroked his clean-shaven chin.

"That's a highly intelligent comment," remarked his friend.

Stocks smiled.

"Some fifteen or more years ago there was a country in Europe which wise men were striving to modernise," he began. "Unfortunately the country and ninety-nine per cent, of its inhabitants were still living more or less in the middle-ages. The net result was revolution, chaos, and confusion. At the end of 1928 an enlightend but unwise ruler attempted to introduce modern reforms into a country sunk in medievalism. The net result was again revolution, chaos, and confusion. The second upheaval was greatly assisted by the infiltration of a new political belief from the first country."

"H'm," grunted Lord Strensaye, "Russia and Afghanistan, eh?"

"Abyssinia is still in the melting-pot of progress, which is an excellent breeding ground for the Bolshevik bacillus, a splendid place to stir up trouble for the Italians and ourselves," said Stocks. "Still, I suppose we can only wait and hope for the best."

"I don't know that we can," retorted Strensaye. "It's all very well waiting when you know what to expect, but we don't. I don't like these rumors that some white man is trying to exploit the Triangle."

Once more Stocks's face became blank. "We must not forget," the other continued, "that the Abyssinians still regard that square inch of country— it's roughly 15,000 square miles in extent— as belonging to them, and that Italy has never acknowledged our sovereignty over it, although we color it red in our school atlases. If someone is making trouble there as you suggest, Eustace, I believe that any overt act by Abyssinia or ourselves might easily be utilised by Italy as an excuse to appeal to the League of Nations for a mandate to administrate the territory."

"One might almost hope that Italy might get her mandate, and wish her joy of an unpleasant job," mused Stocks.

"Certainly not," snapped his lordship, quickly.

"Dog with a bone," thought Stocks.

"We lost more than enough after the war," Strensaye continued, "when Belgium got Ruanda, one of the richest mineral provinces in the continent. All because a British subaltern couldn't decide what he ought to do."

HE ran his thin fingers through his grey hair and paced up and down the library.

"What the devil is going on in that triangle of utter desert?" he cried, almost desperately. "If the Abyssinians are raiding we are bound to protect the tribes and their goods. If a white man is exploiting what appears to be the unexploitable it may easily be someone whom the Italians have put up in the hope of creating an international row. In that case we ought to circumvent him before he can do any damage, but we should have to do it quietly. It may also be what you suggested, Eustace." He fingered his stubbly moustache irritably.

"Cut the cackle and get to the 'osses," observed Stocks. "What d'you intend to do?"

"I think we ought to send out a man. Somebody unofficial, but sufficiently clever and absolutely trustworthy. Someone, naturally, who would never be suspected of being on Government service, and who fully understood we should disown him if he got into trouble. Of course, he must be familiar with the country."

"In the circumstances, what you really want is a candidate for a Suicide Club."

"Say rather a modern crusader who is out of love with life."

Stocks pursed his lips.

"I believe I know a man who might suit your purpose. I was talking recently with a fellow named John Cartwright, who served with the 6th King's African Rifles against the Somalis at one stage of the war. I don't think he has actually been inside the Triangle, but he seems to know the surrounding country like a billiards marker knows the back of his left hand. There's another thing, too. He mentioned a prophecy made many years ago by a Masai, who was a paramount chief. I think he said his name was M'batian or something like it. This Johnny said the English would advance across Africa until they met a people stronger than themselves who would drive them into the sea."

"Didn't the Boers say they were going to do that?"

"Yes, but this chap Cartwright explained that the Masai are very ignorant about everything with which they do not actually come into contact, and they believe M'batian referred to the Pygmies, but Cartwright said our only serious opponents were likely to be the Abyssinians. Incidentally, Cartwright speaks Arabic and Swahili fluently."

Lord Strensaye finished off his whisky-and-soda, and studied the bottom of his glass.

"D'you think he'd go?" he asked presently.

"I'm not sure." Eustace wrinkled his brows and then remembered his conversation with Harry Wargrave. "But I think we can fix things so that he will. He has a queer sort of conscience, and he may feel he's letting his partner down."

John Cartwright was not altogether surprised when Eustace Stocks was shown into his office the following morning. Stocks came to the point at once.

"You remember me talking to you yesterday, John, about the north-east corner of Kenya? Well, I was with Lord Strensaye last night, and he is very anxious about what is going on there. He suspects trouble."

JOHN'S eyes strayed to a letter which lay on the desk in front of him.

"That's curious," he said. "What sort of trouble?"

"No one knows. Er— he said something about a white man trying to exploit the country, but you needn't mention that I was asked to finance a scheme out there. There may be a connection, or there may not. but it's better not to get business and politics mixed. Anyway, Strensaye wants to have a yarn with you."

So later in the day John presented him-self at Lord Strensaye's house, feeling slightly nervous in the presence of the famous statesman. But Strensaye was renowned for putting people at their ease. Having provided John with a comfortable chair, a drink, and a cigar, he drew from him the reluctant admission that he would like to return to Africa.

"I can well understand your longing to go back, Mr. Cartwright," Strensaye said, pleasantly, "for I myself was Acting Governor of British East for a time during the war, and so, perhaps, I share your love for the Dark Mistress who treats men so badly yet still compels their lasting affections. In any case, I count myself fortunate in being able to afford you the opportunity of returning to the country."

"That's— you're very kind," said John, in surprise. Stocks had said nothing about this.

"Well, let's get down to business," smiled the Cabinet Minister. "I'm firmly anchored in England now, but I spent the best years of my life In Africa."

"Of course!" cried John. "You were the man who did that famous trek from Uganda to the coast years before the war."

"Yes, I hadn't got a handle to my name then. I know something of your knowledge of the country, and I share your view that the Abyssinians are more likely to prove the unknown force of old M'batian's prophecy than are the Pygmies."

Cartwright could not suppress an exclamation of surprise, for he knew nothing of the substance of Stocks's conversation with Lord Strensaye.

"In fact," continued the Minister, "you may still hear people in Nairobi talking of 'Strensaye's Folly,' for it was an article of faith during my brief administration that the Northern Frontier ought to be properly guarded, although it never has been. I think there is less danger of the Abyssinians coming down the Omo River, via Gamo, than that they would cross the desert west of the Juba, though I'm told that's impossible."

He bent over the map already spread on the table.

"Look, there is the Triangle, without a single detail filled in. Can you add to our knowledge?"

"I've been as far as the low hills north of the Barbarto and east of Bardera," John replied.

"As far as that? I doubt if half a dozen white men have been as far. The tribes there are a long way from the influence of Nairobi. Are they as ruthless as reports say?"

"They're absolute devils, untamed and untrustworthy. And I'll tell you another thing, Lord Strensaye. You mentioned that the desert west of the Juba was impassable. I'm not so sure that it is the impenetrable place it's generally supposed to be. I've an idea there's a road there somewhere down which the slave-raiders come."

"That's the road I want you to find," replied Strensaye quietly. "Then, and only then, shall I feel easier for the safety of the Northern Frontier. That is, if you are willing to go out and chance your luck. Once you leave this room you must remember that you have never met me, and if you get into trouble you must expect no assistance other than would be afforded to an ordinary traveller."

John stared at the Minister.

"Good Lord! Are you offering me a Secret Service job?"

"Were you ever happier than when you were a soldier?" Strensaye countered. "I'm giving you the chance to get back into harness in the service of your country. But the matter is urgent, and I must have your answer at once.

"If you decide to go," Strensaye continued as John still hesitated, "you must understand that the Government would accept no responsibility if you went into Abyssinia or Italian Somaliland, and got caught. You would have to pose as an indiscreet adventurer in search of commercial gain. That, of course, puts a less pleasant aspect on it, doesn't it?"

He made the last remark in a way that intimated to John that, if he funked the task, here was an opportunity to withdraw gracefully.

But John remembered Cynthia Wargrave's words: "You've never been afraid of anything yet."

"I'll go," he said almost rudely.

Lord Strensaye smiled. There are many methods of getting one's own way, but sometimes it is better not to take the most obvious one.

Chapter 10

Mr Commissioner Seaton Again

UPON the eve of his departure from London, John received a letter from Kate Langridge, written before she left Conway Norton's station for M'Kamba's manyata, which made him feel glad that he had decided to accept Lord Strensaye's offer. For Kate, who did not believe in mincing matters, wrote plainly that Conway Norton was on the down-grade, and that if someone did not take him in hand very soon there was every chance of him ruining not only his career, but his whole life. This letter caused John some uneasiness, for he was very attached to young Norton, and he well knew that a lonely life in Africa is by no means so simple as it sounds.

Kate also hinted that there were curious things happening to the northward, that natives spoke fearfully of "dead men walking," but whether this was mere hyperbole she could not say. At that time, of course, she had not met the two natives and Tom Clements by the lake-side.

These items of news made John Cartwright all the more anxious to reach Kenya. Cynthia Wargrave and her husband saw him off from Croydon aerodrome— ordinary steamer and train were too slow for John now that he had made up his mind— and there was an affectionate smile on the former's lips as the air-liner took off.

"Valerie doesn't know what's coming to her," Harry Wargrave remarked cryptically.

"It'll be the making of John," said his wife. "He's like a man who has just started on a long-distance race. Everything's rotten, life's not worth while, he feels absolutely done, but Africa will give him his second wind and he'll be a different fellow altogether."

In less than three weeks John landed at Kismayu in Italian Somaliland, and at once travelled across country to Kenya. He made for the customs station of Wajir, seventy miles from the frontier.

He did not intend to remain there very long, for he was anxious to get to Norton's station as soon as possible, but there were certain things he had to attend to, and it was imperative that he should remain a few days.

One hot morning he was watching the arrival of a string of camels with a gleam of pleasure in his eye, when he became aware of a native standing before him.

"Bwana!" cried the native with suppressed excitement.

John glanced at him. Then a delighted grin spread over his lean face.

"Jubatarra! By all that's holy: I might have guessed you'd turn up again, you old devil!"

Jubatarra showed two rows of white teeth in one vast smile.

"Yes, Bwana, it is Jubatarra. So the Bwana has come back even after all these years."

John's grin faded swiftly.

"Yes, I have come back," he said, and changed the subject abruptly. "What are you doing here? You used to get jobs as a gun-bearer."

"Sometimes, Bwana, but I find it hard to get such work now. The firms in Nairobi prefer to employ younger men, who can speak English."

John nodded. Jubatarra was clothed chiefly in an old and ragged blanket. Certainly he did not look prosperous; on the other hand, John knew that a more capable, trustworthy, and courageous gun bearer would be difficult to And, for Jubatarra had been in the King's African Rifles, and had accompanied John into more than one tight corner. He was as true as steel, and utterly without fear.

"They don't know a good man when they see one," said John. "What are you doing in Wajir?"

Jubatarra hesitated.

"Looking for work," he muttered, his eyes on the ground. Then he looked up, saw that John was watching him, and grinned nervously. John did not pursue the inquiry.

"How would you like to come on safari with me again?" he asked.

"Bwana!" Jubatarra's eyes lit up; he grinned widely; he looked very like a dog that has been invited to take a walk with its master.

"Good." said John, knowing he would not get a better servant if he searched Africa.

IN due course, John, accompanied by Jubatarra and a few porters, for he was travelling light, arrived at Norton's station. He had not warned the boy of his arrival, preferring after Kate's letter to take him by surprise. Norton welcomed him in a rather curious manner. It was plain to John that Norton had changed a great deal from the cheery youth who had come from Cambridge full of plans for the future. He had lost most of that aggressively healthy appearance; he looked worn, and at times, when he thought John was not looking, almost haggard.

John was surprised at the size of the sun-downer which Norton took on their first evening together, but he made no remark, not even when Norton filled his glass for the fourth time. But it did make him take a quick survey of the room, for when a man takes four sundowners of the size of Norton's the natural corollary is that he is getting slack in his habits. It was plain to John's observant eye that the place had been roughly tidied, as if Norton had been warned of his coming. But that was not possible. While John was pondering over the query, Norton explained it, almost as if he had been reading John's thoughts.

"The D.C.'s coming to-morrow." he said shortly. "Sent me a chit over to-day."

"Oh," said John, "a decent fellow? Do I know him?"

"I hope not; he's the reverse of decent. Seaton is his name. He and I mix like oil and water. He's an unmitigated swab." Norton spoke almost viciously.

"He was damn rude to Valerie when she and Kate were here," he added.

John, who had already had a strictly censored account of the visit of the two women, now asked for further information. But Norton could not tell him very much, beyond the fact that after they had left the station they had journeyed north-east.

"Seaton told them not to go, and ordered me to stop 'em, but what the devil could I do? Once they left the station they could do as they pleased. I do know, however, that they reached a manyata called M'Kamba's, because M'Kamba himself sent me word with that letter that Kate wrote you."

John nodded. The letter to which Norton referred, together with a short note from Valerie, had been written by Kate after she had left M'Kamba's, and had eventually found its way down to Norton's station. Before it could be forwarded, however, John himself had arrived. There were several things in that missive that gave John food for thought. Kate told of the discovery of the sick and dead natives by the side of the lake, and of the meeting with Tom Clements. She said bluntly that she and Valerie were bent on solving the mystery.

After the evening meal John again tackled his host on the subject.

"Con," he said, "what's the meaning of all these stories about 'dead men walking,' or are they just native yarns? Is there anything queer going on up in that part of the country?"

Norton lit a cigarette and laughed shortly. "I'm damned if I know," he said, "that is, I can't put any interpretation on to the yarns, but I am pretty sure there's something behind it all. That's obvious. Look at the men Kate found."

"But isn't it part of your job to find out?"

"Yes," Norton replied slowly, "but I believe Seaton's on the same lay. He wants me to do the dirty work and then he'll step in and take the credit. That's why he's paying me a visit to-morrow. Just to sniff round. But there'll be nothing doing. Mr. Seaton can do his own dirty work, damn him."

"But what is the trouble?" John persisted. "Is it natives? Someone trying to start a jehad? They're Moslem up there, aren't they?"

Norton shook his head.

"I wish I knew," he said. He went to a drawer and took out a rough map drawn in waterproof ink. "There, that's the Triangle, as you call it; not a bad name, either. You see, it is bounded by the Abyssinian and Italian frontiers, and on this map is marked all the information I've been able to gather. It's not much: most of the paper is blank. There's only a mountain or two, a few rivers of doubtful accuracy, and a lake or so."

"How did you get this information?" asked John, puffing at his pipe and poring over the map with interest. Except for one or two additional details, it was as blank as the one Lord Strensaye had shown him.

"From natives mostly. I don't think any white man has ever been there: on the fringes of the Triangle, yes, but not in the centre."

There was more animation than usual in Norton's voice, and John looked up quickly. A curious change had come over the younger man. His slackness had fallen from him, his mouth had grown firm and determined, his face was keen and resolute, and the quick vitality of his eyes was in sharp contrast to their former dull, lack-lustre stare.

John understood: he would have been the same himself. Norton found his solitary and uneventful existence monotonous, wherefore his job had ceased to have any interest for him. But anything unusual, exciting or adventurous held an immense attraction.

"The Triangle," Norton repeated, staring at the rough map, a momentary gleam of fire in his eyes. "I'd like to go there, like to find out really what is going on, like to explore.

"Perhaps you could get leave," John suggested.

"Leave for good, I reckon," Norton retorted. "I suppose you are going up there?"

LATE the following afternoon Seaton arrived. Prom the first John did not like the look of him; he had an unpleasantly thin, sarcastic mouth, and it was plain that there was no love lost between him and Norton. It was not long before the trouble started.

After dinner Seaton inquired what had happened to Kate and Valerie.

"Oh, they left a few days after you," replied Norton.

"Where did they go to from here?"

"So far as I know, they started off in a south-easterly direction, but later they turned north and they were last heard of at M'Kamba's."

Seaton raised his eyebrows.

"But I thought I made it quite plain that I absolutely prohibited that tract of country."

Norton shrugged his shoulders.

"And if my memory serves me, I gave you orders to stop them. Is that not so?"

"How could I stop them?" Norton demanded.

"That is immaterial: I gave the orders, and I expected them to be carried out. You seem to have been slack in your duties, Norton."

John saw the boy's mouth twitch ominously. He could not blame him. It was not so much what the D.C. said, but his unpleasant, sneering manner.

"This is not the first time I have had cause to complain," Seaton added.

"If you can tell me how to control the movements of two women twenty miles away I shall be obliged," Norton retorted.

"I think you forget yourself, Mr. Norton," the D.C. said coldly.

Norton jumped to his feet.

"Forget myself?" he exclaimed angrily. "It's a damn lucky thing for you I don't!" And he strode out of the room.

John rose and caught up with him at the door of the office.

"Steady, old man," he advised. "Best thing is to say nothing. Ignore the perisher."

"The sneering swine," cried the furious Norton. "A couple of thick ears would do him good!"

"Well, don't let him get your goat: that's what he's after. Keep calm, and you'll annoy him more than by flying off the handle."

"Oh, all right," growled Norton, "but you can entertain him for the rest of the evening. I've had enough."

Having quietened Norton down, John returned to the D.C.

"That young man is lacking in manners," he complained as soon as John entered.

"Don't judge him too hardly," replied John. "He doesn't have an easy time of it up here."

"But that's just what he does have. He's no need to go trekking all over the country like I do."

"He'd prefer that to sitting still in one place."

The three men breakfasted separately the following morning. First Norton, then John, while Seaton was last. After he had finished his meal, John went over to Norton's office to smoke a cigarette.

"How's the swab this morning?" Norton asked.

"Got a liver, I think," John replied. "Glared at me as if I was a felon. He got quite shirty with me last night."

"You're going north-east?"

"Yes. Keep mum about it. I'm going after Kate and Valerie. Not that I'm nervous about them, but— well—" He hesitated, trying to find a convincing reason other than the real one. "It's unexplored ground, and it will be good to be under the sun and stars again."

"Yes, you're lucky." Norton shot him a quick, searching glance, as if wondering at the real reason of his expedition.

THERE was a strained silence for a moment. John sat on the edge of the table and examined the end of his cigarette.

"Have you ever heard of a Major Saumarez in Kenya?" he asked suddenly. "Stays in Nairobi occasionally."

Norton frowned.

"Curiously enough, I did meet a man of that name once, but it wasn't in Nairobi. Tall, dark, good-looking fellow?"

"Sounds like him. Where did you come across him?" John quivered with well-feigned indifference.

"Oh, it was before I came up here. I was on some job near Sergoit, not far from Eldoret, and this fellow was staying at the local hotel with two other men. By Jove, they were some lads. They'd all three been officers during the War, but they were tough customers. Drank whisky like a cat drinks milk, but they always seemed perfectly sober."

"What was he doing at Sergoit?"

"No idea. I left the day after the shooting show. Why? Do you know him?"

"I've come across him once or twice, and heard about him from various people. He's rather a man of mystery No one seems to know what he does. Seems to be a sort of Jekyll and Hyde. Quite well known at home; but no one knows anything about him out here."

"What does he do at home?"

John began "to fill a pipe.

"The last thing I heard about him was that he had sold a diamond. I met a Hebrew, a quite good fellow, who's a big noise in Hatton Garden. He'd bought this diamond off Saumarez, who said that he had bought it from a friend some time ago, but that at the moment he was pressed for ready cash and he wanted to realise on it. My Hebrew friend offered him three hundred, and he took it. It was a fine diamond and my friend had made a good bargain, so good that he began to get suspicious. You know what Jews are like where money is concerned: straight as a gun-barrel, most of them, but keen as mustard. He made inquiries about Saumarez, and it seems that Saumarez had sold quite a number of diamonds. Oh, there was no funny business. The stones were perfectly good, but no one could find out where he got them from. As he usually sold at bargain prices, the dealers didn't bother to ask too many questions."

"Are you suggesting that Saumarez is exporting diamonds illegally?" asked Norton. "He's taking a chance, isn't he? Besides, there are no diamonds in Kenya."

"He's a mysterious customer," said John. "And they'll tell you in South Africa that the I.D.B. is still a pretty active bird."

He got off the table and strolled towards a mirror, into the inside edge of the frame of which were stuck numerous pieces of paper.

"What the deuce are all these?" he demanded.

Norton gave an unpleasant laugh.

"They're mainly reprimands, tickings off, and illuminating advice from His Highness Lord Seaton. He sends 'em over by runner whenever he feels particularly peevish. Some day I'll have 'em mounted and framed as an example of deplorable bad manners."

"So that is the way you treat my correspondence," came a sneering voice from the open doorway.

Both men looked round. Seaton entered the office with an unpleasant glint in his eyes. He was furiously angry.

"Do you think that is the way to treat my chits to you?" he demanded. "It looks to me very like insolence and insubordination."

Norton caught John's eye, and, with an effort, controlled his rising temper.

"I don't treat official correspondence that way." he said gently, in the manner of one explaining a problem to a child. "I took it that they were personal notes, not official, and I put them there so that they would always be in front of me as reminders. Of course," he added, "if you say they are official, I'll file 'em."

Seaton's eyelids flickered and he dug his teeth into his top lip.

"I should have thought that you would have reserved so prominent a position for a certain lady's communications," he sneered.

Norton rose to his feet.

"What the hell d'you mean?" he demanded.

"From certain information I have received," said Seaton in his thin, cold voice, "it seems that shortly before the departure of Miss Hayward's safari you took the opportunity of having what I can only describe as a drunken orgy. Had it not been for Miss Langridge, it would not have stopped at that."

Norton's mouth shut like a steel trap: his fists closed. Had not John stepped in front of him, he would have struck Seaton's sneering face.

"Steady, Con," said John.

"You mangy cur!" cried Norton. "You've been putting natives to spy on me. Well, that's finished it. The bloody station's yours. Run it or ruin it how you like. I'm clearing out."

Seaton drew himself up primly.

"One of the essential qualifications of a native administrator," he said mincingly, "is that he should be able to control his temper. I would also like to point out that there is a certain procedure to be observed when a man wishes to leave the Service. You must send in your resignation in writing to me, and I will forward it to the proper quarter. Then you will wait here until your relief arrives. You cannot leave here at a moment's notice."

"Can't I?" retorted Norton. "You just watch!"

He went out and slammed the door.

Chapter 11

The Desolate Valley.

HIGH above the granite hills the blazing sun poured down from a sky of stainless blue. The parched countryside simmered in the heat. In all that arid land no living creature moved, except where four human figures picked their way cautiously down the hillside towards the valley.

Hundreds of feet above them, poised motionless in the unflecked heavens, a vulture watched them with a careful eye, and when they vanished over the edge of a narrow ravine, it swooped earthwards and sideways, the better to keep them under observation. Unaware that they were the objects of so much interest, the four humans proceeded on their way towards the valley. Kate Langridge, who led the party, scanned the landscape eagerly for any sign that would indicate the whereabouts of water, the object of their search. Her lean brown face was coated in dust through which ran tiny rivulets of sweat. Her hands were wet and clammy. Valerie, who walked a little behind her. was in a worse state, for with her brief experience of Africa she was not accustomed to shade temperatures that rose into the hundreds. She literally gasped for air, and it did not comfort her to remember that Kate had warned her to remain with the safari on the hills above, and that it was only her own obstinacy, and a determination to emulate Kate, that had brought her to her present state of discomfort.

Towards the north a shoulder of the hill came down and cut off their view. To the south the valley widened into a small, stony plain. Kate halted and. shading her eyes with a brown hand, peered across at the further edge of the valley. Valerie and the two gun-bearers obediently came to a halt behind her. No sound disturbed the silence until a small pebble rattled down the hill a few yards to their right.

Kate eyed the mouth of the ravine from which they had emerged, wondering if it was worth while setting the porters to dig in the sand in the hope of finding water. But it did not look a very hopeful spot, and she decided to push further up the valley, round the shoulder of the hill. Valerie mopped her face, now devoid of every vestige of make-up and tanned a wholesome brown, and thought almost deliriously of frothing glasses of shandy-gaff. She did not speak to Kate, for the effort of talking was too great.

Suddenly Kate stood motionless, staring down at something a few yards ahead Valerie came abreast, curious to know what claimed her companion's interest. All she could see was a small patch of animal drop-pings.

"Donkey." said Kate briefly. She walked up to the droppings, looked at it intently, and touched it with her foot. For an instant her eyes flicked swiftly round the hills. Then she spoke rapidly to the gun bearers, so rapidly that Valerie could not catch what was said. The men handed over the rifles and spread out, one to the right and the other to the left.

"We'll wait here." Kate said to Valerie.

The girl made no objection- she was thankful for the rest and too tired even to ask for an explanation. Kate did not offer one. Valerie sat down, but promptly got up again, for the rocks were too hot to serve as seats for any length of time.

"Try this way," Kate suggested with a smile. She herself was squatting native fashion on her heels, her rifle across her thighs.

"That's all very well," said Valerie, "but my knees won't stand the strain." She
compromised by kneeling and sitting on her heels. The two gun-bearers had faded into the middle distance. The silence in the valley was unbroken.

BUT Kate seemed very restless. Her head and eyes were never still, and more than once she changed her position. On the other hand. Valerie had difficulty in keeping her eyes open at all. But she did not complain. She had improved immensely from the sullen, conceited Valerie whom John Cartwright had known at the Wargraves. Gone was the masterful, headstrong girl, so careless of other people's feelings, so intolerant of advice. Under the insidious influence of Africa the less pleasing traits had fallen from her. In her present surroundings, quick learner though she was, she could not but realise that without Kate's guidance she was helpless. At first, jealous of her own independence, this knowledge galled her, and she tried to keep the elder woman at a distance. But Kate had that infinite patience acquired by most people who have lived close to Nature, and, like Eustace Stocks, she knew how to wait.

After they had left M'Kamba's manyata their route had lain through difficult country. Here the Gallas were not too friendly towards strangers, for they lived in constant fear of Abyssinian slave-raids, which took their men from the manyatas and returned them like walking corpses, and now they seemed to suspect a new sort of danger from the advent of the white women's safari. Then it had been Kate's knowledge, experience and indefatigable patience that had brought them safely through more than one ugly situation into the desert beyond. The example of Kate's patient courage in difficult circumstances had finally killed Valerie's conceit She was obliged to admit to herself that, com-pared with this lean, tanned woman, who smoked endless cigarettes and ran the safari with firm-handed efficiency, she was a useless tenderfoot. So, while Kate, awake and watchful, peered through the quivering air, Valerie dozed uneasily.

She was roused by Kate's hand on her arm.

"Come on, he's found it," Kate said a trifle anxiously.

"Found what?" asked Valerie, struggling to her feet.

"You'll see," replied Kate cryptically. She strode over the uneven ground to where, a quarter of a mile away, her gun-bearer stood with uplifted hand. Valerie followed, trying to shake off the sleepiness that enveloped her.

They found the native waiting by the edge of a strip of greyish sand as long as a cricket pitch, on which stood a number of the dry, brittle bushes, similar to those dotted all over the valley. These particular shrubs, however, were broken down, and many looked as if they had been eaten. With a wave of his brown hand, the gun-bearer drew their attention from the bushes to the strip of sand. This was as rough as if it had been dug up with a spade, but here and there even Valerie's untrained eye could discern the mark of a small hoof, and also some larger, splayed imprints which she did not recognise The native pointed towards the north and spoke rapidly to Kate, who nodded. Suddenly Valerie realised that something unusual had occurred.

"What's happened?" she asked.

"A caravan has passed here." replied Kate, with a touch of anxiety in her voice, "and not so very long ago. If we follow their trail we shall probably come to water, but we shall have to be careful, for it would not be wise to let them see us." She did not add what was already in her mind: that the caravan was in all probability a party of Abyssinians returning from a successful raid upon the unfortunate Gallas further south. If this was so, and the raiders were encumbered with stock, they could only be moving slowly, and it should be no difficult matter to catch up with them.

Now and then they came across the trail of the caravan, showing that they were still proceeding in the right direction: in-deed there was no other unless they climbed one of the ranges that ran on either side. Kate ascended to the top of a small bluff and scanned the valley ahead, searching for a dust cloud which would inevitably betray the caravan. But the valley lay still and lifeless under the scorching sun: only the waves of heat danced above the burning rocks. It was as she came down from the bluff that she found the second trail, three pairs of nailed boots plainly imprinted upon a patch of soft sand.

This caused her to think furiously. She knew that many raiding parties contained well-equipped riflemen, and it was quite possible that there were some men in this caravan who wore boots, but from the position of the pile of rocks, with regard to the probable route of the caravan, it seemed unlikely that the booted men were any-thing to do with it.

KATE tried to trace the route taken by the three pairs of boots, but after a little while she lost the track on rocky ground, and could not And it again. Besides, they had not the time to spend on unprofitable speculation, when the need for water was so pressing.

Ten minutes later something moving be-hind a rock just on the edge of her range of vision made Kate rise to her feet. Ever since she had discovered the droppings from the donkey and the tracks of the caravan, she had been uneasy and suspicious. She stole forward, her rifle at the ready. But she had not gone two yards before a harsh voice behind her commanded her, in Swahili, to stop. She turned slowly— when you suspect that armed men are about it is wise not to move too quickly, lest you should be misunderstood— and faced a ragged fellow with a hawk-like face and dark, threatening eyes that glared at her along the barrel of a rifle.

The two gun-bearers sprang to their feet in alarm, but a threatening sweep of the man's levelled rifle silenced their excited chatter, and they stood staring dumbly at him. Valerie got up more slowly, showing no sign of the uneasiness she felt, and came towards Kate.

"What do you want, and where have you come from?" Kate demanded of the man with the rifle. Behind him, some thirty yards away, a similar ruffian peered round the side of a boulder.

The man Kate had addressed leered at her unpleasantly.

"I want your rifle," he growled, "and I want to know what are you doing here?"

"Looking for water," said Kate, briefly, ignoring his request for her weapon.

But the man was not to be put off.

"Your rifle," he repeated, "and that one there." He indicated Valerie's with a nod of his greasy head. "And don't forget that my finger is light on the trigger. Life is of no great, value in this part of the country." He leered again unpleasantly. "But I think you will have to accompany us. Women always had an attraction for me."

There was no mistaking his meaning. Valerie suddenly felt very sick. Kate regarded him with a stony glare.

"You forget you are on British territory," she said.

"What do I care about the British?" the fellow retorted. "Come, hurry up with that rifle."

With a shrug of her shoulders Kate walked forward, holding the weapon towards him butt first. As, he stretched out his hand to grasp it, she stepped sideways slightly, bringing him between her and the second man who still peered round the side of the boulder. When the Abyssinian's fingers touched the butt, Kate, without the slightest hesitation, kicked him hard in the stomach. He doubled up, groaning, and after a second or two, fell to the ground. But even before that Kate had flung her rifle to her shoulder, and taken a snap shot at the man behind the boulder, who had been too amazed at the swiftness of events to do more than gape with astonishment. A howl of pain told her that she had at least hit the target.

"Quick!" she cried, and grabbing Valerie, who was quite as astonished as the writhing Abyssinian, she dragged her round to the other side of the rock. The gun-bearers followed of their own accord, and with alacrity.

But Kate did not halt there. Keeping the large rocks between them and their assailants, she managed, with extraordinary skill, to gain a good quarter of a mile before the whine of a bullet and a distant report warned them they had been seen. Kate decided to split the party, and told the gun-bearers to get back and warn the safari, which had been left in charge of M'nyogi, as best they could. At the moment she did not know how many Abyssinians were attacking them, and it would be as well for the nmpara to have things prepared for emergencies.

Kate's first wish was to put the greatest distance possible between herself and the Abyssinians. Her quick eye told her that as soon as they could get out of the valley on to the higher ground of the hills, they would have an advantage. The best plan, she decided, was to make for one of the innumerable ravines, and, using that as cover, climb the hillside. To this end she ordered Valerie to go on ahead while she attended to any unwary Abyssinian who might be foolish enough to expose himself.

"I'm stopping with you." said Valerie. "I'm not going to have any of this heroic rearguard business. I may not be much use, but I'm not going to run away."

"You're going to do as you're told," snapped Kate. "Don't argue. I know what I'm doing. Make for that ravine with the clump of bushes near the entrance, and don't expose yourself. I don't want to have to carry you."

For a second the two women stared at each other. Then Valerie dropped her eyes.

"All right," she said, humbly. "Thanks. Don't be long."

KATE gave a grim smile as the khaki-clad form of the younger girl crept off between the boulders. Six weeks or more ago Valerie would have insisted pig-headedly on remaining with her. It was something to have instilled a certain amount of sense and discipline into her in that short time.

But Kate had other and more important things to attend to than the fluctuations of Valerie's character. Lying on the hot stones she pulled back the safety-catch of her rifle and peered in the direction from which the shots had come. Through the quivering waves of heat she saw two black heads worming their way towards her. She was tempted to fire, but that would disclose her position, and first of all she wanted to discover the number of the attackers and exactly where they were. She kept a careful watch on each side, and it was as well she did, for presently she saw on her left hand a figure, belly flat to earth, crawling round the rocks three hundred yards away. The man was plainly trying to outflank her. Slowly raising her rifle, she pressed the trigger. It was a miss, but it sent the fellow scurrying to cover. Immediately there were a number of reports from in front of her, but the Abyssinians were firing at random, and none of the bullets came near her.

Kate waited. Then on her right hand, a dark face was edged cautiously round the side of a rock. But the man obviously had not the least idea where she was, for he was looking well away behind her. Kate
made no mistake about this shot. The bullet took him neatly in the centre of his forehead. His head dropped forward and he lay motionless.

But the second shot had betrayed her position to the attackers In front. Half a dozen reports rang out, and bullets spattered on the rocks a bare yard to her left. This was too close to be comfortable, and she decided to move.

Very carefully she wormed her way backwards, stopping once to take a quick shot at an incautious Abyssinian, which made him duck violently. A hundred yards behind her the ground sloped downwards, and until the attackers reached the top of the slope anything on the further side would be dead ground. Kate looked back. Valerie was close to the mouth of the ravine, but the top of the slope was an excellent place to make a stand with the object of preventing the Abyssinians from pressing their attack too closely. Kate was reasonably sure by this time that the party was too small to rush her without suffering heavy casualties, and she thought that they were probably stragglers from the main raiding party.

She settled down behind a convenient rock, and waited. But the Abyssinians had learnt caution, or perhaps Kate's good use of cover had baffled them, and they did not know where she was. Whatever the cause they were a considerable time coming up, and Kate began to wish that she had made straight for the ravine and not waited.

The fact that they had attracted no Are must have given the men working towards Kate's flanks a false notion of security, for they began to expose themselves recklessly. She waited until she had picked up the three men on her front again, and then suddenly let them have five rounds rapidly. To the best of her belief she scored two hits. A man on her right threw himself into the air and fell over backwards, and immediately In front of her one staggered to his feet, ran a few yards, and then went head-over-heels, like a shot rabbit.

"Not too bad," Kate muttered to herself. "It ought to warn them that it's dangerous to come too close."

But she had not been so clever as she thought. One Abyssinian, a better stalker than his companions, had worked his way to the edge of the slope some distance away on Kate's right. What she imagined was dead ground was covered by his rifle. He fired at her and missed. But once Kate had started to run she dare not stop. A second shot went wide. The Abyssinian, realising that he need fear no retaliation, steadied himself, and his third shot took Kate through the left forearm. She fell, spreadeagled among the rocks, but the next instant she had picked herself up, and. gaining the entrance to the ravine, rejoined Valerie.

THE blood streamed off Kate's fingers, and the wound burned like a hot iron, but what concerned her much more was the immediate and terrible realisation that the ravine was nothing less than a trap, a cul-de-sac. There was no way out, for the sides were too sheer to climb, and in several places there was a distinct over-hang at the top. Retreat from the ravine was impossible, for at least one rifle was covering the entrance.

Things began to look black. Kate bit her lips, while Valerie tried to tie up her arm. Being an old campaigner, Kate realised that the Abyssinians would leave some of their party to guard the ravine entrance while the remainder made their way to the top, from which point they would have Kate and Valerie completely at their mercy. There was but one spot which offered them any chance of survival. On the right side of the ravine, about half-way up, an over-hang of rock protected them from attack from above, and an out-flung buttress shielded them from the head of the gorge. If they could get into that corner they would have only the opposite cliff-edge and the entrance to defend. Quickly they made their way towards it. and under Kate's direction, Valerie pulled a few rocks into position to form a rough breast-work.

"It seems a great pity," remarked Valerie, with an attempt at cheerfulness, "that I omitted to bring the picnic basket."

In spite of the pain she was suffering Kate flashed her a smile of admiration. She knew that it was the first time the girl had been under fire, and not every-one takes it so calmly. Perhaps Valerie did not realise the seriousness of the situation, but Kate was under no illusion. Their only hope lay in the two gun-bearers reaching the camp and M'nyogi having enough grey matter and courage to organise a rescue party. Failing that, the only alternative was to fight their way out, in which case the odds were about ten to one against them getting through.

For an hour, during which time they had the leisure to appreciate the appalling heat of the ravine, they were left unmolested. Then a stealthy figure showed for an instant at the entrance, disappearing before Kate could fire. Twenty minutes later a small stone was dislodged from the top of the cliff above them and fell into the ravine, but because of the over-hang it missed them.

"They're overhead," remarked Kate, "but I don't think they've spotted us yet."

"How long would it be before M'nyogi could get here?" asked Valerie.

"About another three hours at the earliest."

After that the conversation languished. Presently two men appeared among the rocks on the top of the ravine immediately opposite. Kate did not hesitate. She took careful aim and fired. One Abyssinian slid over the edge of the cliff and fell with a sickening thud on to the boulders below. But the shot gave away their position. Three bullets splattered on the rocks about them as they crouched under cover. For five minutes a desultory fire was kept up. Then it ceased. Puzzled, Kate made a careful investigation. Not an Abyssinian was to be seen.

Then a man at the entrance shouted, a second replied from the cliff-top above them, and a third answered from the rocks opposite. In a flash Kate understood. The Abyssinians had surrounded them, and were content to starve them out.

This was made apparent when a voice came from the cliffs above them:

"Leave your rifles behind, and come out, and we will not shoot," it said.

There was no reply. But the invitation was made at intervals, until it began to get on the nerves of Kate and Valerie.

The hours dragged slowly by. Periodically came the summons to surrender, but Kate never troubled to reply. Once, lulled into a false sense of security by the silence, a man raised his head from behind a rock and promptly received a bullet through the brain from the watchful Kate.

And then from behind and above them a shot rang out, followed by several others to rapid succession. Something whirled through the air. It was an Abyssinian. He hit the rocks a few yards in front of the breast-work, almost bouncing with the force of his fall, and then lay still, his head a red pulp. Valerie was promptly sick.

Kate, rifle in hand, lay behind her rock, watchful, yet puzzled. What was happening? She was soon to know. In less than five minutes the last of the Abyssinians, who had been taken completely by surprise, was shot through the stomach.

"Hullo, there?" came a voice to English from above. "Are you all right?"

"Yes," replied Kate. "Who are you? What's happened?"

"It's quite safe to come out," said the
unknown. "We've scuppered the lot. We're coming down into the ravine.'

Kate and Valerie scrambled out of their tiny fort and made for the entrance, thankful and amazed at their deliverance, and wondering who their rescuers could be. As they emerged into the open, two white men came to meet them. With the low sun behind them their features were indistinguishable under the wide-brimmed helmets.

Then the leading man lifted his topee in greeting. Valerie stared, open-mouthed.

"Hullo. Valerie, how's things?" asked Victor Saumarez.

TOM CLEMENTS shifted the quid of tobacco from his left cheek to his right and expectorated a thin stream of brown liquid on to the ground.

"If you ask my opinion," he volunteered, "the boss has made the biggest mistake of his life by bringing them wimmen here. What d'you think, Mac?"

MacFee fingered his beard for a moment before replying. '

"Aye," he said at length, "I'm in agreement with ye, Tom. Weemen have their place, nae doot, but this isna one of them."

"I dare say the boss did feel he ought to rescue 'em," Tom Clements continued, "but he should have sent 'em back to their own safari, and told 'em to clear out. When I met 'em down by the lake on the other side o' M'Kamba's some weeks back, like I told you, I warned 'em what to expect up here. But that long-faced bitch, Kate, laughed. She knew bettern' me. Well, she knows a ruddy sight more now."

He spat again, contemptuously.

"T'other lass looks after her weel," said MacFee.

"She's a peach, she is," Clements answered, and licked his lips appreciatively. "You know, the boss sent me down to meet her at Mombasa and fetch her back here, and I'd got everything nicely fixed up when that— that—"

"I know," said MacFee. "Go on."

"She stepped in an' twisted me out of it. Well, the boss has got his piece up here now, more by luck than anything else."

"The devil aye looks after his ain," said MacFee, morosely.

"I reckon the boss'll know what to do with her now he's got her, but there'll be trouble, you watch.

Valerie had left the room where Kate lay unconscious in the grip of fever, and come to the door of the bungalow for a breath of cooler air. It so happened that the two men did not notice her, and she overheard the last part of the conversation. The color mounted swiftly to her face as she turned back and re-entered Kate's room.

So that was why Clements had met her as soon as she had landed. It was plain now that Saumarez had made an attempt at what almost amounted to abduction. Valerie felt a hot surge of anger which, however, quickly subsided. She considered the situation. The outlook was a little better than when she and Kate had been trapped by the Abyssinians in the ravine, but not much, for without porters or food they were dependent on Saumarez. About her own personal safety, she did not worry. She considered that as she had already dealt with Victor Saumarez in England she would have no difficulty in dealing with him here, and when Kate recovered, which should be soon, they could rejoin their safari. Nevertheless, Valerie guessed that a lot of unpleasantness would be avoided If she remained with Kate in her room.

It was not very pleasant for her, cooped up in the stuffy .bungalow, with Kate racked with fever, moaning and tossing on the bed. The days dragged by drearily enough, and Valerie noticed that there were never more than two men in the bungalow at the same time. This made her curious, and presently she discovered that at certain times one of the men would ascend the hillside behind the bungalow, vanishing from sight behind a rugged boulder, and invariably some ten minutes later a second man would come down to the house.

Chapter 12

Into the Fire

VALERIE wondered what these curious movements could mean, but since Saumarez had not volunteered any information, she did not care to ask him. She felt that the less she had to do with him the better, but meetings were sometimes unavoidable. Then she knew that he never ceased to watch; and, sometimes, the look in his dark eyes made her shiver inwardly.

The tension in the bungalow, therefore, steadily increased, until one morning, five days after Kate and Valerie had arrived, there took place an incident, the repercussions of which were felt for some time. Valerie was alone with Kate. MacFee had just vanished up the hillside, whither Tom. Clements had preceded him four hours previously. Saumarez was eating a solitary breakfast on the stoep.

One of the things about the bungalow that had aroused Valerie's curiosity waa that there were no native servants. The three men did everything themselves, even their own cooking, so when Valerie heard the sound of a native's voice she sat up and listened. The voice continued for some time, in spite of the fact that three times Saumarez interrupted the speaker. Valerie could not catch the words, but she could tell from his tone that Saumarez was growing angry.

The native spoke again very quickly. There came a scraping sound as Saumarez pushed back his chair. The next instant the air was rent by a shrill scream.

Valerie got up from her chair and rushed out on to the stoep. Saumarez was standing in the sunlight, his right arm raised above his head, and clenched in his hand was a whip made of hippopotamus hide. At his feet, her wrinkled face distorted with pain, lay an old native woman.

Valerie dashed forward.

"You brute!" she cried. "Drop that whip at once!"

Saumarez did not seem to hear her, and took no notice until she caught his wrist just as the whip was descending again. Then he turned with a snarl, his olive features distorted with rage.

"Get out!" he said thickly. "Go back to the bungalow. This is no business of yours."

"Put that whip down!" cried Valerie, her blue eyes blazing. "D'you hear?"

For a moment Saumarez struggled to free his wrist from the girl's grasp, but she refused to release it. She was amazed at the expression on his face. His lips were drawn back to show his teeth, and the whites of his eyes were bloodshot. They stared at each other tensely for several seconds, while the woman on the ground groaned in pain, then with a short laugh Saumarez surrendered the whip.

"The old hag deserved what she got," he said, callously. "She would not go away when I told her to."

Valerie made no reply, but flinging the whip on to the stoep, she turned to the native woman. As she bent down she felt a stickiness on the palms of her hands, and looking at them, she saw they were stained with blood that had come of the handle of the whip. And then she saw the cause. On the left side of the native's head there was a red wound from which the blood ran down her face. In his rage Saumarez must have struck her with the heavy butt of the whip Valerie glanced up at him, her face white with anger.

"You coward!" she cried, and Saumarez scowled.

Valerie turned the old woman over, for she had fallen forward on to her face in a stupor. She groaned again, moved her hands feebly, and opened her eyes. For a moment she looked vacantly about her. Then her gaze fell on Saumarez.

"Nussu-nussu, mbwa, half-caste dog!" she screamed. "I die. You have killed me when I came to talk peaceably with you. But I shall be revenged. My snake shall be with you, and your heart's desire shall be taken from you at the hour of hoped-for fulfilment."

SHE sank back against Valerie, and in two minutes she was dead. Saumarez gave a short laugh and turned away. But there was no doubt that the old woman's curse had disturbed him. Apart from that, her reference to him as a nussu-nussu, or half-caste, had made him even more furious than he had been when she had come to warn him that the attitude of the surrounding tribes of Gallas, restive because of the troubles that had descended on them in the shape of Abyssinian raids and loss of stock through sickness, was growing more and more threatening each day. Meek and submissive as they usually were, showing only the feeblest of resistance against raiders, the Gallas were begin-ning to believe that the three white men encamped in that desolate region were the direct cause of the disasters that had befallen them.

Valerie returned to Kate's bedside sick and angry. The elder woman, who had shown considerable improvement during the last twenty-four hours, although her wounded arm still caused some anxiety, noticed how white and drawn Valerie appeared.

"Don't devote so much of your time to me," she whispered, "or you'll be knocking yourself up. Go to your own room and rest."

Valerie shook her head. The last thing she wanted was to be alone. Although Saumarez had rescued them from the Abyssinian, she did not trust him; and since this morning's incident she hated him. When Kate had been tossing to and fro in the grip of delirium Valerie had suddenly realised how much she had depended on the elder woman. She had felt very solitary and defenceless then, which was unusual for one with so much self-confidence. Now that Kate was rational again Valerie felt that once more she would soon be able to share her troubles.

"No, I'm quite all right," she said. "I'll stay with you until you're strong again. That won't be long now."

"You're very good," murmured Kate. She felt weak and wretched, and far too tired at the moment to argue. Lying on her back she stared up at the bulging ceiling cloth, while Valerie busied herself about the room, trying to take her mind off the dead native woman lying within a few yards of the stoep. Presently, seeing that Kate was still awake, she said:

"Kate, what does it mean when a native talks about his snake?"

Kate frowned, and tried to bring her mind to bear on the subject.

"Why, with many natives the snake is the— well— the emblem of the spirit. They think that when they die their spirit turns Into a snake. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, I heard MacFee talking about it the other day," Valerie prevaricated, not deeming it wise to tell Kate what had recently happened.

And Kate was not interested. She was still too weak to converse for long, and when Valerie bent over her a few minutes later she had drifted off to sleep again.

During the next week Valerie avoided the men, especially Saumarez, as far as was possible. The latter, indeed, made no attempt to converse with her, and even gave up coming to inquire after Kate. This duty devolved upon MacFee, for Tom Clements had no cause to love the invalid, and never evinced any interest in her condition.

Except for a slight return of the fever, which fortunately abated after a few hours, Kate continued to progress. She was as tough as whipcord, and neither malaria nor a bullet-wound was a novelty to her.

"My dear," she said one day, "you've been a very excellent nurse, and I'm more than grateful to you, but you must be careful or you'll be knocked up yourself. Now go to your own room to-night and get a proper rest. You don't sleep properly if you stay with me, and there's nothing I shall want."

Kate was recovering so well that Valerie was able to take her meals in the living room, but there were never more than two men present; the third had always vanished round that mysterious shoulder of hill above the bungalow. When Valerie entered the room for supper that same night she was aware that the conversation had abruptly ceased, but she observed the worried expression on the faces of Saumarez and MacFee.

"Ah, welcome back to the fold!" cried Saumarez, rising and placing a chair for her.

"It's good news that the patient can be left," remarked MacFee in his dour manner.

HE did not stay long, and, to Valerie's annoyance, she was left alone with Saumarez. But although she could feel his eyes resting on her almost the whole time, he kept the conversation in normal channels, even though Valerie answered only in monosyllables. At intervals she subjected him to a swift scrutiny. The dead native had called him "Nussu-nussu," a half-caste, and Valerie remembered that she herself in England had called him a Dago. Certainly he looked the part. The African sun had darkened his already olive-tinted face, but she saw now that there was a slight tinging in his nails, and the whites of his eyes were not as white as they should be.

Saumarez lit a cigarette, his dark eyes regarding her thoughtfully.

"You know. Valerie, you've altered," he said. "In England, when we stayed at the Wargraves, we were good pals. We had most amusing times together. D'you remember that dance you used to do?"

Valerie remembered only too well. It had annoyed John Cartwright, but she would have given all she possessed in the world to have had John with her at that moment. She did not answer Saumarez.

"What's happened to you, old girl?" he asked.

Coming round the corner of the table he put his hands on her shoulders, but she rose quickly to her feet, and stepped away from him.

"I'm sorry; things are different," she said, uncertainly.

"Different? How can they be different?" He stared at her for a moment, but she avoided his gaze. "D'you mean since that old fool of a woman died? What does one native less matter in a land where there are millions? Besides, she had to be taught manners, and it was quite accidental that I hit her."

"Was it accidental that you continued to hit her when she was on the ground?" cried Valerie, angrily.

"By Jove!" Saumarez cried, admiringly. "You look beautiful when you are angry."

He took a deep breath and stepped towards her.

"Darling! Can't we be friends? Can't we? I love you. I've loved you ever since I met you in England. Now we are alone here, just the two of us, couldn't you love me a little?"

"Love!" she cried. "Love you? You who strike down defenceless women? You murderer! Don't come near me! Don't touch me! You sent that man Clements to Mombasa to lead me up here. Oh, you needn't deny it. I heard him say so himself. But for an accident I should never have seen you. I wish to God I never had."

"But you're here now, and you can't get away!" cried Saumarez, almost gloatingly.

"And you're going to pay for using those hard words to me."

Before she could move he sprang forward and seized her in his arms. Valerie saw his dark blazing eyes above her, and felt his strong body against her own. She struggled frantically.

"Let go! Let me go, you filthy half-caste," she cried.

As suddenly as he had caught her he released her.

"You called me that!" he whispered.

Valerie could see that he was shaking with anger, and almost she expected him to strike her. His face was livid. But she . did not care. For the first time in her life she was seeing red. She was nothing but an enraged primitive woman, and if Saumarez had touched her she would have fought him with her bare hands, scratching and biting like an infuriated tigress.

Saumarez must have divined something of this, for he hesitated.

"You called me a half-caste," he repeated, wonderingly.

"I did!" Valerie cried. "And I repeat it. You are a half-caste and a murderer, and I would rather give myself to a full-blooded native than have anything to do with you!"

Suddenly she turned and fled from the room.

Chapter 13

Nussu-Nussu!

WHEN Valarie reached her room she made straight for her bed and looked under the pillow. The sight of the revolver lying in its usual place gave her a feeling of greater security. She locked the door, and having undressed, she next saw that the mosquito netting frame over the window was in place. Although she felt slightly foolish at taking these precautions, she knew that only by so doing would she feel safe. Valerie was a sophisticated young woman: she was quite aware that she had aroused feelings of rage and enmity in Saumarez, and she flattered herself that she knew him well enough to realise that it was quite possible that there were no lengths to which he would not go to obtain his revenge. There had been trouble in England when she had called him a Dago, but since he had been in Africa he seemed to have reverted to type, and he had lost that veneer of politeness that had made him so acceptable to women in England.

When Valerie finally got into bed she left the lamp burning on the table. She had no desire to be at anybody's mercy in the dark.

She did not expect to sleep, but there had been some truth in Kate's remark that she had not enjoyed a good night's rest for a long time, and after a short period of wakefulness she lapsed into unconsciousness.

Over an hour later she was awakened by someone calling her by name, apparently from a great distance. As she gradually returned to her senses the calling became louder and more insistent, and was accompanied by a knocking on her door.

"Valerie! Valerie! You're wanted!"

She threw off the blanket that covered her and sat up quickly.

"Who is that? What is the matter?"

"It is I, Victor," said Saumarez, through the door. "Kate has taken a turn for the worse. I think you had better come to her."

"Did she complain of any special pain?" asked Valerie.

"No, only that the fever was returning." Valerie smiled to herself.

"I'm afraid, Major Saumarez, that that dodge won't work," she replied. "I should be obliged if you would go away and allow me to sleep."

The handle of the door turned sharply, but since Valerie had taken the precaution of turning the key, it failed to open. There was a silence. Valerie sighed and lay down again.

Suddenly some heavy object crashed into the woodwork of the door, which, being very thin and light, split from top to bottom, with a noise like the rending of calico.

Valerie, her heart thumping, sat up in bed and grasped the revolver that lay underneath her pillow.

"If you do that again," she cried, "I shall shoot!"

There was no answer, but five seconds later a second crash followed the first, and a long piece of wood fell to the floor. Through the gap in the door Valerie could see a fragment of khaki cloth. She raised her revolver.

But though her finger tightened upon the trigger, she could not bring herself to fire on Saumarez in cold blood. It seemed too much like murder. She lowered the weapon.

"I've warned you once," she called. "If you step into this room I shall fire."

She threw back the blanket again, and getting out of bed thrust her feet Into mosquito boots. Almost immediately the remains of the door crashed inwards, and the figure of Saumarez appeared on the threshold, completely filling the doorway. With a cry of dismay. Valerie raised the revolver and pressed the trigger.

But instead of the crack of the report, as she expected, there was only a faint click.

"A misfire," she thought, and her finger contracted again. Again came the faint click.

Saumarez had been standing in the doorway, watching her intently. Now a faint, ironical smile moved his sallow face.

"I shouldn't trouble to fire again if I were you." he said quietly. "You see, I made sure that the weapon was unloaded before you came to bed."

SAUMAREZ gazed at her.

His dark eyes glowed, and for a moment his lower lip trembled, as if he was on the verge of losing control of himself. He had seldom seen anything more attractive than Valerie at that moment. With her pale gold hair disordered by sleep, her blue eyes alight with anger, and her red lips parted, she seemed to him more desirable than any woman he had ever known.

"Valerie." he whispered through clenched teeth, "you look wonderful."

"Get out," said Valerie briefly, "get out of my room. Do you usually treat your guests in this manner? Do you usually break down the doors of their bedrooms in the middle of the night?"

Under the pink silk pyjamas he saw the rise and fall of her bosom. A tremor shook him. He half-raised one hand beseechingly.

"Valerie—"

"Didn't you hear what I said?" she interrupted. "I believe once you were known as Major Saumarez, an officer and a gentleman. I should be very grateful if you would behave like one now and leave my room."

"I'm sorry, but you drive everything from my head. Valerie, couldn't you-I asked you a little while ago when we were at supper— we used to be good friends— I— "

The strain was growing too much for Valerie.

"I believe I put it to you quite plainly." she cried. "I said you were a filthy Dago, and I repeat that now. I have seen no reason to change my opinion of you." Her voice rose hysterically. "If you think I would ever have anything to do with you, you half-caste beast, get that out of your mind. If you think that you could ever persuade me to give myself to you, you have never been more mistaken. I hate you, I loathe you. Nussu-nussu!" she screamed. "Half-caste! I'd rather mate with a full-blooded native than with you!"

Saumarez clenched his fists until the knuckles showed white under the skin. His face twitched and his top lip curled up in a grin that might also have been a snarl, revealing his white teeth. He gave a queer, stiff little bow.

"I should not dream of taking you against your will," he said with ominous quietness. "With your consent, ah, that would be a different matter. But this is the second time you have stated that you would prefer a full-blooded native to my humble self, and, since I always like to acquiesce in a lady's wishes, I have made suitable arrangements."

He stepped aside. Behind him in the doorway stood a huge native. He was naked save for a cloth round his loins, and the light from the lamp shone on the smooth, oiled flesh so that it glistened like polished ebony.

Valerie opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came. Saumarez watched her for several seconds with a faint twisted smile on his olive face.

"It does not do," he whispered softly, "to call a man a half-caste to his face."

The words woke Valerie to action. She screamed and dashed for the window. But when she pulled back the curtain she re-coiled in terror, for there stood another savage, his squat nose and huge wet mouth pressed close against the mosquito-netting.

Valerie screamed again, and in a paroxysm of terror flung herself face downwards on the bed.

"Take your choice," she heard Saumarez say. "You prefer real black men to my humble self, and they are both fine specimens of God's image carved in ebony."

A shudder passed over the girl, but she made no reply. After the strain to which she had been subjected, the keen mental torture devised by the unscrupulous Saumarez had been too much. She was in a state of exhaustion: her strength had gone from her, and, for the moment, she was as helpless as Kate had been after a week of fever. She lay motionless, except that now and again a shiver passed through her body.

Presently she heard the voice of Saumarez from close beside her.

"Valerie," he said softly, "Valerie."

She felt his hand laid on her shoulder, but she did not move or speak.

"Valerie." he whispered again.

He took her hand in his, and, bending down, kissed her She neither moved nor spoke. He remained bending over her, the intensity of his passion distorting his face as if he was in agony. He passed his free arm beneath her head, raising it. At the same moment he noticed a change in her eyes, as if she was gradually recovering consciousness. They were staring beyond and behind him towards the foot of the bed, and slowly a look of horror appeared in them.

Saumarez stopped in the act of drawing her closer to him and turning his head, looked over his shoulder. As he did so a warning hiss sounded.

The next instant, with a hoarse cry of fear. Saumarez leapt backwards off the bed, for within a yard of him. its evil head raised a clear three feet, was a black mamba, the deadliest of African snakes. As Saumarez moved, so the snake struck

Its long, cold, whip-like body passed across Valerie. She felt the clammy chillness of it through her thin pyjamas, and it revived her dazed senses like a cold plunge. Half-sobbing, half-crying aloud she sprang off the bed and dashed through the broken remnants of the doorway. She had no clear idea of where she was going; her one object was to get out of that room and out of the clutches of Saumarez. Dimly she was aware of Saumarez swearing in terror, of a crashing noise, and a sudden flare of flame. But she heeded none of these things. For the moment she had lost her head. Down the verandah she ran and out Into the night, blindly, without thinking.

She did not remember the words of the old native woman whom Saumarez had killed.

Chapter 14

It Happened in Africa.

UNDER the shelter of the granite hill the two white tents lay like ghostly, sleeping beasts in the grey light of the morning. Just beyond them a thin spiral of smoke rising into the still air showed where the cook-boy was busy pre-paring breakfast. One or two of the early rising porters were beginning to crawl from their blankets. Jubatarra walked up to the first tent and thrust his head inside.

"Jambo, bwana. Tea ready!"

John Cartwright grunted: "Sijambo," turned over in his blankets, and sat up.

It did not take him long to dress, and as he stepped out of his tent, so Conway Norton emerged from the other. They grinned at each other and. for a moment, stood side by side, looking up the valley through which they were to advance that day. Slowly the sun rose, dispersing the morning mists, and lighting with a pale yellow light the granite hills a mile away on their left, throwing into prominence the red, green and yellow lichens that stained the rocks.

"Look at it." Norton threw out a hand. "Look at it. What do we see every blooming morning? Miles and miles and miles of bloody Africa!"

"Well, you like it, don't you?" replied John, adjusting the leather belt that supported his shorts. "It's better than catching the eight-thirty from Surbiton every morning to sit in a stuffy office all day and half the days of the year are so dark it might be night."

"Oh, I'm not grumbling," said Norton. But sometimes the size of the country makes me feel— well, awed, humble, insignificant."

"It can do. I know. But we're only concerned with one small corner of it."

"Small? The Triangle? S'trewth!" Norton laughed.

"Small compared with the rest of the continent. I try to forget it's fifteen thousand miles in area. All the same, Con, we've been in the Triangle now for several weeks, and we're no nearer to solving the mystery than we were at N'yobo."

When they had finished breakfast John filled end lit his pipe, called to Jubatarra to bring his rifle, and announced his intention of going on ahead of the safari to choose the route.

"Although." he added to Norton, "there's not much to choose from. We've got to go up or down these damn valleys like a couple of worms in a ploughed field looking for the gate."

"The gate being the lost road to Abyssinia," hazarded Norton.

"Yes," John drew thoughtfully at his pipe "But it's not quite so obvious as the five-barred erection."

THE sun was climbing into the eastern sky and beginning to grow hot. The two men plodded steadily on, followed by Jubatarra and Norton's gun-bearer. Below them in the valley a herd of hartebeest could be seen moving slowly through the bush, feeding as they went. John glanced up at the summit of the ridge above them.

"Let's go up to the top," he suggested, "and see what lies over the other side."

"Only another damn valley the same as this," replied Norton. "However, we might as well take a look-see." He turned right-handed and began to climb more steeply. "Filthy country to get lost in: everywhere looks exactly the same."

In half an hour they reached the crown of the ridge and sat down on a convenient boulder to rest. It was as Norton had prophesied: they were looking into an al-most exact replica of the valley which they had left behind them. There was even a herd of hartebeest grazing in the bush.

"I swear the numbers are the same," said Norton jokingly.

"Have you counted them?" asked John, shading his eyes against the strong light, "because don't forget this one just below us. He must have strayed from the fold."

"Where?"

"See that boulder that comes almost to a point, with that patch of grey-green lichen on its side? Two o'clock on that. There, he's moving down now to join his pals."

"I've got him," said Norton.

They watched the brown animal picking its way daintily down the slope. Suddenly it wheeled round and bolted back a few yards. Then it stopped, half-turned round and stood hesitant. But the next second it was in full retreat and bounded away out of sight to the right of the watchers.

"Wonder what scared it?" said John. "Can't have scented us, because the wind's not right."

"Something it didn't like between it and home, anyway," answered Norton.

John raised his glasses and was about to focus them when Jubatarra came abreast of him.

"Bwana," he said in his deep voice, "there is something down there. Close to that big boulder. See!"

He extended a black finger.

John peered through the dancing heat waves that were by now beginning to rise from the rocks.

"I can see something there, but I can't make out what it is. It's a lightish color."

He raised his binoculars and focused them.

"Bwana, I think it is a man."

"A man!" exclaimed Norton in surprise. "By jove, I believe you're right, Jubatarra," said John excitedly. "Looks like someone lying down by the side of the boulder. What the deuce are they doing?"

"Black or white?" Norton asked.

"Not black," said John. He lowered his glasses. "Look here, we'd better go and find out what he's after. Keep your eyes skinned, though. Jubatarra, watch him, and tell us if he moves."

The two men rose and began to descend the slope, the gun-bearers following.

"He keeps very still," said Jubatarra. Then, as they drew closer, he added sharply:

"Bwana! It is a woman, a bibi!"

"Good God!" cried John, and whipped out his glasses, while Norton craned forward, trying to force his eyesight beyond its range.

A few seconds later John dropped his glasses. His face had gone pale beneath its tan. He gave Norton one quick, scared glance before breaking into a run.

"He's right," he cried anxiously. "It looks very like Valerie."

They found her lying in the shadow of a boulder, face downwards, her head pillowed on one arm, the other flung out despairingly in front.

"Good God!" cried Norton as he drew close. "What's happened?"

John suddenly felt very sick, for he saw that Valerie was clad in the remnants of a pair of pyjamas. Of the jacket only one side remained, and her white shoulder and breast gleamed like ivory against the grey of the rock, except where the red scratches of the thorn bushes had marked them.

John was alarmed, because he knew that something out of the ordinary must have occurred for Valerie to be out in the open in such a costume. Where was Kate? Where was the safari? Visions of it being attacked by natives or Abyssinians rose before his eyes as he knelt down by Valerie's side and gently raised her.

Suddenly her eyes opened, she struggled out of his arms, and dealt him a stinging blow in the mouth.

"Get out! Leave me alone!" she cried.

"What the devil—" began John in amazement.

AT the sound of his voice, Valerie ceased to struggle. Her eyes widened and she stared first at John and then at Norton.

"John!" she whispered in amazement. "Con!"

"Valerie! Are you hurt?" John asked anxiously.

She did not reply, but continued to stare at him, until suddenly she began to laugh, helplessly and uncontrollably.

"Steady, old girl!" John cried sharply, and shook her.

She bit her lip.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm a fool." Her head dropped forward on his arm. "I'm so tired," she murmured.

Thirty seconds later she was asleep, and she did not wake even when John and Norton took it in turns to carry her over the ridge into the next valley whither Jubatarra had been dispatched to halt the safari and pitch camp.

As John and Norton put her to bed her eyes opened for an instant and she smiled, but immediately she relapsed into unconsciousness again. John, burning to know where the safari was and what had happened to Kate, shook her gently, but she was too exhausted to wake again.

"She'll sleep the clock round," said Norton, "Meantime, we'd better tell the boys to spread out and search."

John nodded with tightened lips. The finding of Valerie in such a condition seemed to indicate that disaster had over-taken Kate's safari, and he was more anxious than he cared to admit. He and Norton hung impatiently about the camp, waiting for the boys to return. This they did at sundown, but their news was negative. They had found no traces of any human being at all, black or white.

Valerie roused herself sufficiently to take a little liquid nourishment about six in the evening, and John took the opportunity to ask her what had happened to Kate. Valerie, still suffering from exhaustion and shock, smiled as she closed her eyes again.

"Don't worry about old Kate," she murmured, "she's all right."

So John and Norton had to curb their impatience until the following morning, when Valerie, refreshed by her long rest, held an audience in her tent while she had breakfast in bed.

"I think," said John, "that now you have assured us that Kate is safe, you had better tell your story from the time you left M'Kamba's."

So Valerie related what had happened to them. How they had found the tracks of raiders in the Desolate Valley, and been attacked by Abyssinians. This interested John. He questioned her closely about the tracks. What did she think was the size of the raiding party? Where was this valley? How many Abyssinians attacked them? What were they dressed like?

Valerie laughed, and held up her hand in protest.

"Stop! I'm not a Sherlock Holmes. Kate will give you all the information you want. I only know there were camels and mules and cattle and goats. I think about eight Abyssinians attacked us, and but for Kate we should both be in an Abyssinian harem by now, if they keep them. She was splendid."

She related how they were trapped In the ravine.

"And then when we were beginning to think we really were for it, somebody came along and shot up the Abyssinians, and we were able to come out of the ravine and thank our rescuers. One of them you know, but you'd never guess who it was."

"Seaton?" John suggested. "M'Kamba?" said Norton.

Valerie shook her head. Her face grew hard.

"No. It was Major Saumarez," and as she spoke her lip curled.

"Saumarez!" echoed both men in amazement.

John gave a long whistle. He frowned as if trying to remember something.

"I discovered later that it was he who sent Tom Clements to meet me at Mombasa, with the intention, no doubt, or getting me up here."

She related all that had occurred at the bungalow.

"I'm afraid," she ended, "that I made a fool of myself. I lost my head and bolted."

"After Saumarez's tricks and a mamba you'd a perfect right to bolt," said Norton. "By God, I'll have a word or two with Major Saumarez. The skunk!"

"Don't be too rough with him," John said dryly. "I shall want what's left. You've had a tough time, old girl, but it's good to see you again."

There was an affectionate note in his voice. Valerie flushed slightly and Norton looked curiously at John.

"If you hadn't seen me," Valerie said after a pause, "I think I must have died."

"You can thank a hartebeest for that," said Norton. "He got your wind and bolted, and we couldn't understand what had scared him. Then Jubatarra, who's got eyes like telescopes, spotted something unusual, and it proved to be you."

"Do you remember whereabouts the bungalow is?" asked John.

"I've no idea where I ran, or for how long. It seemed for hours and hours. When I think of it now, it's just a terrible nightmare." She shivered.

"Well, it can't be very far away," Norton remarked. "We're bound to find it pretty soon. Now I reckon you've done enough talking for the present. Lie down and rest."

The two men went out, and when they were out of earshot they stopped and looked at each other.

"Saumarez, Clements and MacFee living in this God-forsaken spot in a bungalow," said Norton. "John, I believe we are within an ace of solving the mystery."

"One of them," said John, thinking of Lord Strensaye's words. "But I think a little conversation with Major Saumarez would do us good."

His jaw set firmly and there was an ugly glint in his eye.

"I agree," Norton said. He picked up a hippo-hide whip and made the lash sing through the air.

Valerie, now that she was safe among friends, recovered rapidly; and, within a few days, the safari was able to move off. Although John's boys had been searching the countryside for Saumarez's bungalow, they had been unable to find it. But John knew that it could not be far distant. He refused to be beaten and searched every nook and cranny as he moved eastward along the route he judged Valerie to have taken on the night of her flight.

But again it was Jubatarra's keen eye that made the discovery. As they rounded the shoulder of a rocky hill he stopped and pointed.

A hundred feet above them, in a small hollow, lay a mass of charred wood and ashes.

The bungalow had been burnt to the ground.

Chapter 15

The Cave

VALERIE went pale and grasped Norton by the arm.

"What's happened?" she whispered. Norton shook his head.

"Perhaps they've cleared out. If they knew we were close at hand they would have bolted."

"But why burn the bungalow?" asked John. "Looks to me as if somebody burned it for 'em."

"You mean natives?" Norton said quickly. "Yes. They were getting pretty restive, even down at M'Kamba's. If they thought that Saumarez was the cause of the trouble they might do anything."

"But poor Kate." cried Valerie anxiously.

John's face twitched.

"We'll go and see. Valerie, you'd better remain down here."

"No," said Valerie. "I'm coming, too."

They ascended the slope and presently reached the ruins of the bungalow.

"Peculiar," said John. "There's no sign of a fight. No spears, no cartridge-cases. It begins to look as if it was accidental."

"If that's so, where have they gone?" Norton asked.

Valerie pointed towards a shoulder of the hill above them.

"Don't you remember me telling you how I used to see the men going up there?" she said.

"By Jove, yes," cried John. "Saumarez may have another shack."

"Better go carefully," Norton advised. "I don't suppose he'll be very pleased to see us. And he's a dead shot, remember."

They left Jubatarra in charge of the porters, who were instructed to keep quiet and not move about. Instead of walking boldly round the shoulder of the hill. John decided it would be better to climb it and look down from the top on whatever might lie on the further side.

It was as well that he had used caution, for below and a little to his right two men sat in a small patch of shadow. Behind and to their left was what appeared to be the entrance to a cave. John noted that both men were quite unsuspicious that there was anyone in the vicinity but themselves, for they had but one rifle between them, and that was leaning against a rock at their backs. They were talking, and John saw that one of them, a short, wiry man who chewed ceaselessly, had two teeth missing in the front of his top jaw.

"Tom Clements for a fiver," he murmured, remembering Valerie's description of the white hunter.

Very carefully he reached out a hand be-hind and beckoned the others to join him.

"Tom Clements?" he questioned in a whisper, when Valerie could see down the slope.

She nodded. "The other is MacFee," she said.

"What's the next move?" Norton asked, his eyes on the two men below.

Valerie touched John's arm.

"Supposing I come round the shoulder of the hill pretending to be exhausted? He'll recognise me, and it's odds on heil come down to help me. That'll be your chance. You know, the prodigal daughter returning to the old home stunt."

Norton gave a quick grin, and although John did not quite approve of Valerie running any risks, he saw that such a manoeuvre would give them a great advantage, so he agreed.

"Wait until one of 'em goes before we move," he said, "and then we'll try it."

BUT neither of the men seemed in a hurry to leave the cave mouth. Clements did most of the talking; now and then pausing to spit tobacco juice through the gap in his teeth. MacFee said very little: he seemed content to listen.

John was seriously thinking that they would have to make some other plan when MacFee rose, pushed his hat on the back of his head, and disappeared into the cave. Clements got to his feet and began to pace up and down; but he never moved very far from his rifle.

After a whispered consultation with Norton, John turned to Valerie.

"Go down to Jutabarra and tell him to come up round the shoulder of the hill as soon as one of us signals to him. Tell him to bring the men with him. When you've done that, come round the shoulder of the hill yourself and attract Clements' attention. We shall be somewhere at hand, and as soon as we see our chance we shall jump on him."

Valerie nodded.

"All right. I'll go and do my stuff. You won t know me, John. The film industry lost a terrific box-office attraction when I refused to go to Hollywood."

She departed, crawling carefully down the slope until she was a good distance from the ridge and it was safe to walk. Norton watched her with a half-smile about his mouth.

"She's a good kid, isn't she?" said John, not unaware of his interest.

"Yes," replied Norton shortly. "Well, what do we do now?"

"We must find some place where we can get close to Clements and rush him at the right moment. Look, do you think you can get to that big rock just this side of the cave without being seen? Then you can prevent him bolting back if he gets suspicious."

"Can do," said Norton, and moved off in the direction of his post.

John, after a cautious glance round, slipped over the top of the ridge and began to descend the further side on his stomach. He moved inches at a time, taking what cover the rocks afforded him, and watching Clements like a cat. That unsuspecting man continued his chewing and his pacing, occasionally pausing to take a quick glance round.

John reached the spot he had selected and waited. The sun was blisteringly hot, and the flies which had followed nim assiduously from the ridge began to pester him again. He was some ten yards from Clements, and for a time considered rushing him.

And then suddenly Clements stopped his pacing, and, with a movement so swift that John could barely follow it, grabbed his rifle and vanished into the dark mouth of the cave. John looked towards his right and saw a slight, khaki-clad figure moving laboriously up the slope towards the cave. Valerie was "doing her stuff."

Had he not known otherwise, John would have sworn that she was in the last stages of exhaustion. Now that she was within sight of Clements she did not once look in his direction, but crept forward painfully; until, as if the slope was proving too much for her fast-failing strength, she lay down and rested. Presently she got up and went forward again, but not on her feet,

This time she went on hands and knees, very slowly, and with frequent pauses for breath.

Clements, however, was as suspicious as a wild animal. He waited within the cave, rifle in hand, until he was sure beyond all doubt that it was Valerie, and that there was no one else with her.

"Well, if it isn't the peach returned at last," he exclaimed. "I never did think you'd go far away; you liked us too much." He chuckled throatily and spat.

"Water," moaned Valerie, trying to look exhausted. "Water."

"All right, my pretty one, you shall have water presently." He laid his rifle down. "Come along, put your arms around your uncle's neck."

HE stooped to pick up Valerie. At that moment, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the rifle suddenly slip backwards out of his range of vision. Lithe as a leopard he spun round, only to find himself facing' a lean, determined man armed with a .256 Mannlicher. Clements' own weapon reposed on the ground at the man's feet.

"Who the hell are you?" demanded Clements savagely. He eyed the newcomer appraisingly, wondering if he made a dash for his rifle whether he would get shot. A couple of months ago if he had tried it, John Cartwright would probably have hesitated to shoot, but there was no hesitation about him now. Clements saw the steady eyes and the firmly-set jaw, and decided the odds were against him.

"What s the game?" he asked. "I goes to help this young lady, and when I turn round you're holding me up like as if you were a bandit."

"You didn't help her a week ago, did you?" said John coldly. "And your assistance at Mombasa was hardly offered in a friendly spirit."

Clements' jaw dropped.

He stared past John and saw Norton at the mouth of the cave.

"What's the game?" he repeated.

"That's what we intend to find cut," John replied grimly. "Where's Saumarez? In that cave?" And as Clements hesitated, he added: "You'd better speak out. It'll be more healthy for you."

"Are you threatening me," asked Clements, glowering.

"I am," retorted John calmly.

"Then what you want to know you'd better go and find out," sneered Clements.

John regarded him with a faint grin, and for several seconds did not reply.

"I should like to remind you," said John at length, "that I have a very good idea of what has been going on up here, and that I, and several people more important than myself, have come to the conclusion that it is illegal. Though I have no doubt that it is not the first illegal venture in which you have taken part— there was the elephant poaching affair, Mr. Ashford, of the Uganda border— so far you have escaped prison. I repeat, so far."

At the mention of the elephants, Clements, who, of course, never connected John with Kate Langridge, looked distinctly worried.

"I may also add that in this desolate tract of country, Clements, the advantage lies with the man who is armed. Should any regrettable incident occur, there are no witnesses, and the— er— unfortunate victim merely vanishes. Is Saumarez in that cave?"

Clements licked his lips furtively. "Yes, damn you."

"Don't swear," John reproved him, "there is a lady present. Now then, just walk on ahead of me, and don't try any tricks. If you feel tempted to shout, or make any sign of warning whatever, just remember what I said about regrettable incidents. By the way, who is your next of kin?"

Clements scowled, but made no answer. Valerie picked up his rifle, and the three of them walked up to where Norton was waiting.

"Our guide," said John to Norton. "I've warned him what will happen if he plays the fool. We will now pay a visit to Victor Saumarez."

They passed out of the brilliant sunlight into the cool darkness of the cave, Clements leading with the muzzle of John's Männlicher in the small of his back. Next came Valerie, while Norton brought up the rear. For ten yards the passage, which was about eight feet high and five feet wide, drove straight into the hillside. After a further ten yards it turned left at an angle of forty-five degrees. As soon as they turned the first corner, it was plain that somewhere ahead was a light, for the walls of the passage were faintly illuminated. The light was steady, so John supposed that it was not a fire, but in all probability a lamp. At the second bend he saw that he was right, for after the passage had continued for another fifteen yards it opened out into a large, square chamber illuminated by four hurricane lamps. From the darkness of the passage it was like looking on to a dimly-lighted stage.

"Halt!" John whispered to Clements, who obeyed with such promptness that it was obvious he did not desire his next of kin to receive any sad news. Valerie and Norton crept up to John and peered over his shoulder.

THE light from the lamps was not very strong, but it showed in the centre of the chamber a rough stone table, and beyond it the dark openings of three other passages. But what made John catch his breath was the sight of the figures seated on wooden boxes at the table. One was Kate Langridge, thinner in the face than ever, who was reading a book. The other was Victor Saumarez, who was apparently in the midst of a meal.

"Where is MacFee?" John whispered. "Speak quietly or-" And he jabbed the muzzle of his rifle into Clements' ribs.

"He'll be up one of the passages."

"Norton," whispered John, "take charge of Clements. Tm going to interview Saumarez. Follow me in, but keep your eyes wide open."

He pushed past Clements and crept down the remaining length of the passage into the chamber. He walked so softly that neither Saumarez nor Kate was aware of his presence until he spoke.

"Good morning, Saumarez," he said quietly.

Saumarez dropped his knife and fork with a clatter on to his tin plate, and sprang to his feet, only to find a rifle aimed unwaveringly at his stomach.

"What the—" he began, and then his eyes fell on Valerie and he became silent.

"Valerie!" cried Kate. "Oh, my dear! And John! And Con!"

She ran forward, patted John in passing, and wrung Valerie by the hand with a grip that made her wince. Ninety-nine out of a hundred women would have embraced her; not so Kate.

Saumarez's dark eyes flickered over the group.

"You, Cartwright!" he cried in amazement.

"Yes," said John grimly. "I've got a lot of things to talk over with you. Saumarez. I think you'll find it difficult to explain some of them. Kate, you might run a hand over him and see if he is armed."

Kate's efficient hands produced a small automatic from Saumarez's hip pocket.

"Now then," said John, "I warn you that if you make any move that I interpret as suspicious I shall shoot without asking any questions."

"I'd like to know who the hell invited you here," blustered Saumarez.

"I invited myself, but we needn't labor the point. I'm here, and that's all there is to it. Now then, where's MacFee?"

"Up there," said Saumarez, nodding his head towards one of the passages.

"Fetch him here."

Saumarez made to enter the passage, but John called him back sharply.

"Stop! D'you think I'm such a fool as to let you up there alone to borrow his gun? Stand down here and shout for him."

With a scowl Saumarez went to the mouth of the tunnel.

"I'm very quick on the trigger," John warned.

Saumarez shouted twice, and there came a faint answer. John marshalled everyone to one side of the chamber, so that MacFee should have no suspicion that any-thing unusual had happened. The first inkling he received was when he stepped into the chamber and received the muzzle of John's rifle in the small of his back. He was quickly relieved of his pistol.

"Weel, weel," he remarked calmly as he looked round, "so we're to hae veesitors? And the young lassie has come back. Eh, but I'm glad tae see ye."

Valerie smiled at him. She had always suspected herself of a sneaking liking for the dour Scotchman.

"Now you three beauties," said John, "line up against the wall there. Kate and Con, you might have a look round for weapons. And—"

He stopped, for echoing down the pas-sage by which they had entered came the sound of a shot. It was followed immediately by another. There was a sudden scurry of feet and Jubatarra ran into the chamber.

"Bwana," he cried, "there are many shenzis outside. They have attacked us with spears, but I have shot two. I have put the porters at the first bend in the passage and past that the shenzis dare not come."

An exclamation from Saumarez caused the others to glance at him quickly. He looked at them and shrugged his shoulders.

"I may as well tell you that I half expected this," he said. "The natives were getting restive. That's why I had a man on guard outside. They've waited until you three came in, and now they've trapped the lot of us. You'd better send someone down to the entrance, Cartwright, before they start walling it up. There's no other way into this place, and God knows how long they'll sit down outside and keep us here."

Chapter 16

"Like Dead Men Walking."

THE news was stunning in its suddenness, but none of the people in the chamber were of the type to lose their heads. Instinctively they looked to John for orders, and he it was who arranged the defence of the cave, leaving Kate to mount guard over Saumarez and his companions.

An hour later when John returned to the chamber he found Kate and Valerie, both with rifles, talking over past events, while Saumarez, MacFee and Clements sat disconsolately with their backs against the wall.

"Hullo, John," said Kate. "How's things?" She spoke as calmly as if he had just returned from the office, and not as if there was a horde of furious savages less than a quarter of a mile away.

"Quiet," John replied. "They tried to enter twice, you probably heard the firing, but they were such sitting targets, outlined against the mouth of the cave while we were in darkness, that they got more than they bargained for. We've built a barricade of boulders at the first bend in the passage, so that it's impossible for them to block up the entrance. Norton's in charge for the moment, and he'll send a man to fetch us if there is any trouble. I've got the porters quartered further down the passage, so now we can sit down and wait. Any trouble with these beauties?"

"None whatever," said Kate.

"There are some rifles over there," said Valerie, pointing to the far side of the cave.

John stepped over and removed the bolts.

"That puts them out of action." He turned towards the three captives. "Now then, Saumarez, what has made these Gallas turn so objectionable? You said a little while ago you expected it. Why?"

But Saumarez did not reply. He merely stared unwinkingly at his questioner.

"Come along, out with it," cried John.

"Yes, Major Saumarez, I advise you to speak up," Kate added. "You've got a good deal to answer for, and I may as well say now that I shall see you do answer for it, even if it's the last thing I do."

Saumarez gave a twisted smile and his dark eyes rested on John.

"You're looking ahead, both of you," he remarked. "We shall be lucky to get out of this alive."

"We're not dead yet by a long chalk," retorted John. "And we're all in the same boat. If we get out of this, you come, too. If we stop here, you stop."

"You've no right to keep us," broke in MacFee. "You've threatened us wi' leethal weapons, and that's an offence agin the law. We can run ye for that."

"You can try," said John, grinning. "But perhaps I should have mentioned that Mr Norton is Assistant D.C. at N'yobo."

MacFee's jaw dropped.

"Ah, I knew that, Mac," growled Clements. "You should have kept quiet."

John's grin increased. What Clements did not know was that Norton had resigned.

"John," Kate broke in, "there's something going on here that I don't understand. Something in those passages." She nodded to where the entrance to the three tunnels showed darkly on the far side of the chamber. "Before the bungalow was burned—"

"By the way, how was it burned?" Valerie interrupted.

"I don't quite know. It happened on the first night you were to have slept in your own room. I woke up to find the place in flames. Saumarez carried me out because I was too weak to walk. The other end of the bungalow was blazing furiously, and it was hopeless to try and save it."

John looked at Saumarez.

"What do you know about it?"

"It was accidental. I knocked over a lamp." Saumarez glanced at Valerie and then looked away quickly.

"Oh," cried Valerie, "in my room when you were trying to behave like a film lover?"

JOHN smiled in spite of himself. He rather admired this trait of Valerie's, to face facts and make fun of serious matters. It showed a good spirit.

"Go on, Kate. What about this mystery?"

"Why, Saumarez and these two other toughs— not that Clements is much of a tough— brought me in here, but I've never been allowed out of this chamber, even to sleep. I sleep over there." She pointed to a pile of blankets. "And there has always been someone on guard. If I showed any inclination to wander up one of those passages I was always turned back. Sometimes there were two of them here, but never were there three as there are now."

"There were never three in the bungalow at the "same time," said Valerie.

"One man was always up that passage." said Kate, pointing to the one from which MacFee had emerged some time previously.

"Saumarez," said John, "you might as well explain all this. It will save us finding out for ourselves."

For a moment Saumarez did not reply. He sat leaning forward, his face buried in his hands. Presently he rose. In the last few minutes he seemed to have grown haggard and old.

"If you'll come with me," he said in a low voice, "I'll show you."

John put down his rifle and took from his pocket the automatic that had once belonged to Saumarez.

"Keep an eye on those two," he warned. "If you want to recall me, Are one shot."

Saumarez flung out an impatient hand. "Oh, dammit, man, why all this theatrical nonsense? We're all bottled up here, we're all prisoners."

His face twitched. He looked like a man who has come to the end of his tether.

"Lead the way," John answered briefly.

They entered the centre passage of the three which led out of the chamber. Every few yards a hurricane lamp burned steadily. The floor was fairly even and the passage straight, and about six feet wide. Above his head John could dimly see the roof. For over fifty yards the shaft drove deep into the hillside. At intervals there were curious, shallow alcoves cut into the walls and thrice they passed tributary passages. Presently the shaft opened out into a large chamber, similar to the one they had left behind, except that it had no door. In its place was a deep pit, round the perimeter of which ran a narrow path.

With a watchful eye on Saumarez, John peered over the edge. So far as he could judge, the bottom was some sixty feet down.

The uneven sides were pock-marked with small holes, and here and there the openings of narrow adits could be seen dimly. Hurricane lamps hung in many places, and on the floor of the pit, hardly distinguish-able among the shadows, lay a pile of picks and shove's. The sight of them made John turn abruptly to Saumarez.

"There must have been other men besides you three to dig that out," he said sharply, "and they're here now— judging by those picks and shovels."

"Yes, they are, but they won't harm you."

John indicated the pit.

"What is it for? It looks like a diamond digging."

Saumarez gave that tired, twisted smile again.

"That's exactly what it is."

"But it must have taken a good many men to shift all that material. Where did you—?"

He was going to say: "Where did you get your labor from?" when he remembered the native stories of dead men walking.

"So you—" he began.

Saumarez nodded as if he had read John's thoughts.

"Yes! You see, we had to keep this an absolute secret if we were to make anything out of it. If the Government got to know, there'd be royalties, restriction of output, and all the rest of the red tape if they decided to open up a diamond mine, which was highly improbable in such territory as this." He laughed mirthlessly. "So often you've noticed that the people who were first in the field come out without a bob. and it's the late-comers who reap the profits. I wasn't going to have that, so—"

He broke off, passed a weary hand over his dark face and sighed.

"Oh, you might as well hear the whole story from the beginning," he continued. "In a few months' time I had decided to clear out altogether, but you and those cursed Gallas have put paid to that. Now we shall none of us get out." He laughed again, a hard, despairing laugh. "Ironic, isn't it, to collect nearly a million in diamonds, and then die alongside it?"

John showed no sympathy.

"How did you find this place?" he asked.

SAUMAREZ raised his head, but he did not look at John.

"It's a long story, but I'll make it as short as I can," he commenced. "During the war I was on reconnaissance west of here, close to where the Daua River joins the frontier. We'd had trouble with raiders, and I was sent up on column to teach them a lesson. Of course, they'd slipped back into Abyssinia long before we arrived, but it so happened that I got trapped by another crowd whom we knew nothing about. They outnumbered us easily, and killed all my men, while I got stunned by a bullet. A ruffian named Belia made me prisoner and took me over the border. I think he imagined he would gain a great reputation by capturing a white man, but an old fellow, who was known as the Abandoned One, told him he was a fool and that he'd only get into trouble.

"Belia, I believe, contemplated cutting my throat and then denying all knowledge of me, but the Abandoned One took me to his camp and, well, you'll hardly believe it, Cartwright; I couldn't at first, but it turned out that the old fellow was an ex-corporal in the Royal Sussex and had been captured soon after Gordon's death. He had spent most of his life as a slave, but he did me a damned good turn. He gave me a camel and a couple of water bottles, and directed me towards the frontier. You know this cursed country, how it all looks much the same. Well, my camel strayed away at night, and I had to go on foot. Then I lost myself, and wandered through valley after valley, trying all the time to work westward. I marched till I dropped, and slept where I fell. And one morning I woke up to find that part of my bed had been composed of diamonds. Diamonds, man, just lying about on the hillside! I stuffed one of my water bottles full with the stones and marched on. I nearly died of thirst, only rain saved me. Eventually I reached our K.A.R. supporting column.

"I SAID nothing about the diamonds— I wish now I'd never seen them— but after the war I sold them at a time when they were fetching a high price in America. With the money I came back and fitted out a safari to search for the valley where I had found them. It took me a year, but I got to it at last, and when I was exploring nearby I found this cave.

"It was plain that I couldn't run the show myself, yet here was a fortune to be picked up as easy as dropping off to sleep. I brought in MacFee, who's a mining engineer. He saw at once that the passages of the cave had been tunnels through which a river had run thousands of years ago, and he also saw that other people had been here before us. They had made these two chambers; you can see the tool-marks if you look closely at the walls. Perhaps they were the same people who built Zimbabwe. I don't know, and, anyway, we weren't interested in that. It was Mac who discovered the pit, and predicted that we should get more stones out of that than by hunting round the hillsides.

"But labor was our stumbling block. We could see a fortune, if we could keep the thing quiet. But we must have labor, only, directly we began to recruit, people would wonder why we wanted it. Then they'd start inquiring, and the secret would be out. For a long while Mac and I could see no way out of the difficulty. Of course, we could have worked ourselves, but it would have taken us years to have made anything, and we wanted to get rich quickly. I wonder how many people have crashed through the same mad desire?

"At last I had an idea. Away down on the Uganda border there is a tribe which obtains a drug from the root of a certain shrub. They use it as a medicine, but the effect is to completely blot out memory and will-power, although it has no effect physically. It's very much the same as if you had hypnotised the person. Well, I distilled some of that drug.

"Then we roped in Clements, and sent him out to persuade natives to come and work for us. He gathered them in. one here and one there, never taking more than three from the same manyata. Directly they arrived they were given food in which some of this drug was mixed. In less than an hour it had taken effect. We had twenty of them working for us obediently in a very short time. They did exactly as we told them, never gave any trouble. They had no will-power of their own, no Initiative, they were simply—"

"SLAVES," snapped John angrily.

"I was going to say automatons," said Saumarez.

"What about those you turned adrift? Some of them reached M'Kamba's, but most of them died."

"Yes, I know," said Saumarez. "You see, after a time some of the natives couldn't stand the continued use of the drug and one or two did die. Others began to grow immune. We gave them an extra big dose and turned them out. Food was the problem; you see, MacFee and I had to be constantly in the workings, and Tom Clements couldn't possibly kill enough game for a single man more than we had actually working. It was the old problem of the beseiged garrison commander: 'Les Bouches Inutiles'; we couldn't cater for 'Useless Mouths,' and that was all there was to it."

"You callous brutes!" John cried. "Ten years won't see the end of your sentence."

"Do you think I should be telling you all this if I thought we had a chance of getting out of here? Not I! But I know these Gallas. They'll sit down outside until we either starve, or walk out and get scuppered. We knew that there would be trouble, but we hoped to have collected enough stones to enable us to clear out before the crash came. But we've mistimed it. It was my fault. I had due warning."

"The old woman you killed?"

"Yes. I should have gone then."

"You've got something to answer for: slavery, I.D.B. and murder. Where did you get your supplies from? I've seen the game in this country and I doubt if Clements could shoot enough for even the three of you, let alone your laborers."

"My old friend, the Abandoned One, helped me there. I got in touch with him again, and he used to smuggle stores over the Italian border into Abyssinia and then down here to me."

John nodded, remembering Lord Strensaye's remarks about the uneasiness of the Italians and the man at Logh.

"Did he know what your game was?" he asked.

"I think he must have guessed, but he wasn't covetous. He's got his cattle and his goats and his women. He's content. Lucky devil!" Saumarez added bitterly.

He looked curiously at John.

"You know, Cartwright, it seems to have taken a load off my mind to have been able to tell you all this."

"How are we off for provisions?" asked John, not in the least sympathetic.

"I should say there was enough to last us whites for a while. MacFee, Clements and I usually had enough to last a month, but we'd run low, and now the population has been more than doubled."

"And water?"

"We're all right for that. There's a spring in one of the passages."

"What about those poor wretches who have worked for you?"

Saumarez nodded down the passage.

"They sleep in one of the off-shoots back there. About twenty altogether."

"Show me," said John.

Saumarez rose and led the way back down the passage until he came to an opening on the left-hand side. This he entered, and proceeded by the aid of a lamp for a dozen yards or so. Then he stopped and held the lamp aloft.

On the narrow floor of the passage the natives lay huddled together. They made no movement, they did not talk. The light from the lamp did not seem to mean anything to them. Their wide eyes stared dully before them without any sign of intelligence.

John's temper rose at the sight of such suffering and cruelty.

"Come on," he said thickly. "Let's go back to the others."

An hour later a pitiful procession filed through the chamber, down the passage and out through the mouth of the cave into the sunshine, twenty-two walking skeletons with no minds of their own. MacFee and Clements watched unstirred by any emotion, but Saumarez had not the nerve to face this pitiful evidence of his own callous handiwork. He turned his head away. He was beginning to show signs of conscience.

When all the natives had passed through, the barricade at the end was built up again, while John and Norton watched to see if the Gallas would come to take charge of their fellow tribesmen. At first they must have suspected a trap, but presently first one and then another emerged from behind boulders and led away the poor wretches, who had been standing or wandering aimlessly about, almost blinded by the glare of the sun.

Chapter 17

The Abandoned One

THE seven white people remained prisoners in the chamber, and the Gallas showed no signs of moving off, and, although they made a half-hearted night attack on the second evening this was repulsed, although in the confusion and the darkness Jubatarra received a spear wound In his arm, and one of the porters was killed.

Either John, Norton, or Kate was always in command at the barrier, as it was unsafe to leave this duty to any native except Jubatarra. To Valerie was left the charge of the food and sleeping arrangements, a task which she would have looked upon as impossible in England a few months ago, but which she now performed with an efficiency and despatch quite foreign to the girl who had so aggravated John by her lack of manners, and who had considered getting drunk rather an amusing way of spending an evening.

It was perhaps natural that the party should split up Into sections. John and Kate, when they were off duty, talked together of old times. This meant that Norton was at the barrier, and Valerie, who was not particularly interested in the conversation, felt rather out of it. So when either of the other two relieved Norton she was inclined to monopolise him to the exclusion of the third person. It was not done deliberately, but it just happened that way. Kate, watching them as they sat together talking, wondered if the ashes of the affair at N'yobo would be rekindled, and how John would feel about it if they were.

At the close of the third day John left Jubatarra in charge of the barrier and joined the others in the chamber. He ate a meal served by Valerie, and then drew up the box on which he was sitting.

"Saumarez, MacFee, Clements," he called out, "you'd better join us. We're going to have a council of war. Now then," he continued, "we've been besieged for three days now, and there doesn't seem to be any chance of the Gallas getting tired, and going home. We've explored all the passages thoroughly; there is no other way out of this place, and it's no good blinking the fact that if the Gallas remain outside we either starve to death, or go out and get killed. There is plenty of water, but it is the food problem that will do for us in the end. Now then, it's no good waiting until we are growing weak for lack of food before adopting desperate measures. Things are pretty desperate now, you know. If we've got to make an effort, we'd much better make it while we're fit."

"What do you propose doing?" Norton asked. "Make a sortie?"

"No, we shouldn't stand a hope. They're too many for us." John glanced round the circle. "I don't know whether you'll agree with what I'm going to suggest, but it's this. That to-night, before the moon rises, I slip out of the cave and try and get through to M'Kamba's and fetch help."

The others stared at John for a moment, without replying. Only Valerie's hand flew to her throat, and she bit her lip.

"You see," John continued, "if I get through I ought to be able to get some fellows up here inside a month. That we can take as a time limit as regards food, and with one less mouth to feed you'd probably hang out a bit longer."

"I see that," said Norton, quickly, "but what I don't see is why you should be the one to run the risk of getting speared by the Gallas. It's about ten to one against you getting through. I think we ought to draw lots."

JOHN smiled and shook his head.

"No, Con, I've thought it all out. I'm the only one who can go. You see, Valerie isn't sufficiently experienced to find her way through strange country. Kate could, no one better, but she's not fit enough after her malaria to undertake what is bound to be a stiff journey."

"That leaves me," said Norton. "You can't say that I'm either unfit or inexperienced."

"No," John replied with a grin. "But you are an Assistant D.C., therefore you cannot leave your prisoners, and you ought to be the man on the spot. No, it's no use arguing, Con, I'm going, and there's an end to it. And you needn't say you've resigned your job at N'yobo, because Seaton didn't accept your resignation."

They stared at each other for a moment, and then they both laughed.

"Confound you," cried Norton, "I wish you'd agree to toss for it."

But John shook his head.

"It'll be dark in an hour," he said, "but I don't think it would be wise to start before ten o'clock. The moon doesn't rise until after one, so it should give me plenty of time to get clear. Now I'm going to have some sleep. Will you wake me about nine o'clock?"

"One moment," Saumarez broke in, "if you like I can tell you something about routes. There's a saddle between two hills that will save you a good many miles if you can cross it."

With the aid of pencil and paper he drew a rough map of the surrounding country. For an hour he and John discussed valleys, hills, and passes. At the end of that time John rolled himself in a blanket and went to sleep as quickly as if he had no intention of embarking on a journey on the successful result of which hung the lives of six other people.

He was roused by a hand gently shaking his shoulder. He sat up and found Kate on one side and Valerie on the other.

"Time's up, old man," said Kate.

"There's some food and coffee if you want it," said Valerie. "I've made up some biltong in a packet for you to take with you, and there are two water-bottles."

John looked from one to the other and grinned.

"By Jove, I thought I was in Heaven being attended by ministering angels. Thanks, Valerie, I'll take the biltong and drink the coffee, but I won't eat any more. The water-bottles will be useful, too."

He inspected his rifle, and the automatic, and drank the coffee. No one spoke very much. Presently, when he was ready John turned and held out his hand to Kate.

"So long, old girl," he smiled. "I shan't be longer than I can help."

Kate took his hand and gripped it hard. "Good luck, John. You'll get through all right."

She turned away suddenly.

Valerie was waiting by the passage entrance. As John walked towards her,

MacFee called out:

"Good luck to you. I've nae doot ye'll bring it off, lad."

"Good luck," echoed Clements.

Saumarez said nothing, only stared morosely at the floor.

As John reached the passage Valerie slipped her arm through his, and walked a few yards away from the chamber. Then she stopped and faced him.

"John, seriously, do you think you will get through?"

"I can't say for certain, but I've a very good chance."

In the feeble light of a distant lamp he could see her eyes were wet, and that her chin trembled ominously.

"Buck up. Valerie, it's not so bad as all that," he smiled. She looked very pretty standing there, a slim figure in khaki, with the lamplight reflected from her hair.

Suddenly she flung her arms round his neck and kissed him fiercely on the mouth. Then she turned and walked quickly down the passage towards the chamber. Rather startled. John gazed after her, half-inclined to follow. He was not quite sure what Valerie meant by that kiss. Then he remembered the task that lay in front of him. It would be much better to let things stand as they were, in case he did not see Valerie again. Besides, at the back of his head he had a shrewd idea that she was more than fond of Norton. With a sigh he turned and walked along the passage towards the barrier, stepping over the forms of the sleeping porters.

THEN he reached the breastwork Norton was peering over the top into the darkness.

"I say, I don't quite like the look of things." he whispered.

"What's wrong?" asked John, anxiously. "Why," said Norton, "every other night we've been able to see the fires which the Gallas have lit. To-night there's not a single fire to be seen anywhere. I'm afraid that means—"

"A night attack?" John broke in.

"Yes, I should think at any moment. They'll try to creep up in the darkness. If I were you I'd wait. You don't want to run into them, if they're waiting just round the corner."

"I'll take care of that!" replied John, feelingly. "But I think I'll move now, all the same. If I see any signs of an impending attack I'll come back and tell you. Otherwise. I'll put as much distance as I can between myself and the cave before the moon rises."

"For God's sake be careful," urged Norton.

"Oh, I'll be careful enough," grinned John. "Don't you worry."

"Au revoir, old man, and good luck." Norton gripped his hand and shook it hard.

John hesitated. Then he said:

"Con, if I don't get through, and the worst comes to the worst, if you could— I mean, don't let the women get taken prisoners."

Norton nodded in the darkness.

John was preparing to climb over the barrier when a stalwart figure appeared beside him. He turned sharply. It was Jubatarra.

"Bwana, I am coming with you." he said.

"You're not," John retorted, "you're staying here."

"Better take him," said Norton. "He'll only slip over the top as soon as you've left."

John relented.

"All right, you black image. Come along." Jubatarra showed his white teeth in a vast grin, and the next second the two of them were on the far side of the barrier.

Very cautiously they crept to the mouth of the cave and waited. The night was very dark. Only a faint sparkle of star-light enabled them to see a few yards. They listened, but except for a faint wind there was not a sound to be heard. Inch by inch they moved forward out of the neighborhood of the cave. In half an hour they covered only a hundred yards, yet they had not seen any signs of the Gallas, nor heard a sound other than their own movements.

They moved steadily round to the left, hoping by this method to reach the higher ground and avoid the valley. At the end of an hour John crept up to Jubatarra and whispered in his ear:

"I believe they've' all gone. There's not a single person here."

"I, too, Bwana, think that. But why have they gone?"

John was wondering that, too. It occurred to him that it might be a trap to lure them out of the cave. And. having allowed them to get well away from it, the Gallas would then make a sudden attack. After some thought he decided that the best thing would be to find out definitely if the Gallas had gone, and. if they had, then he would return to the cave with the news.

For two hours he and Jubatarra crept about the hillside, but not a Galla was to be found. Then suddenly, as they mounted the crest of a ridge, Jubatarra raised his head and sniffed.

"What is it?" said John, quickly.

"Camels, Bwana. I smell them."

"We must look into this." John muttered. They got down into the valley without mishap, but without discovering a sign of a native, and began to work their way up-wind, Jubatarra sniffing every now and then like a pointer. Presently the gurgle of a camel sounded clear and distinct. Vaguely outlined against the black velvet of the sky, blotting out the stars, was the outline of a camel, and though they strained their eyes in an effort to pierce the darkness they could not see whether there were men with it or not.

Again the camel gurgled, and a voice came out of the shadows, bidding it keep silence. Jubatarra slid forward alone.

IN a few minutes he was back again, and placing his mouth close to John's ear he whispered:

"There is but one man. Bwana. One man and three camels. If we move carefully we could capture him."

John nodded. Whether he decided to continue his journey to N'yobo. or return to the cave, the camels would be useful, and as his party was in such desperate straits he was not inclined to stand on ceremony.

He left the capture to Jubatarra, who moved through the darkness like a wraith, until he was lying just behind the owner of the camels. Then, with a sudden movement he flung himself forward, pinning his captive to the ground.

"Let's have a look at him," said John.

He peered closely at the man, who was dressed in a white cotton garment draped round his shoulders and swathed tightly about his legs. His hair was short, straight, and grey, and he had a ragged grey beard. John saw at once that he did not belong to Kenya, but came from over the border.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, in Swahili.

The old man stared at him for a moment, and then said very slowly, in English: "You are English?"

"Good Lord!" muttered John in surprise. Then a sudden thought occurred to him, and he bent forward eagerly. He had remembered Saumarez's story.

"You are the Abandoned One? You have come to find Saumarez?"

The old man's eyes lit up, and he nodded. John motioned to Jubatarra to release his hold.

"How long have you been here?" he asked.

"Since just before sundown. I could not reach the cave before darkness, and it is not good to approach people in these parts after darkness has fallen.

"Did you see any natives on your way here?" John asked.

The Abandoned One shook his head.

"Then they have gone," John said to Jubatarra. "Now I wonder what made them suddenly throw up the sponge like that?" He turned to the Abandoned One. "Come with us. We are going to the cave now. It will be quite safe."

"That is good," said the old man. "My mission is urgent."

An hour later Norton was surprised to hear a hail from the mouth of the cave.

"Don't fire," John shouted. "It's me." When he reached the barrier, he explained who the Abandoned One was, and leaving Jubatarra in charge they went down the. passage to the chamber. As soon as they entered Valerie ran forward

"John, what's happened?"

"The best thing that could happen," he smiled. "The Gallas have gone."

"Gone!" the others echoed.

"Yes, vanished. I can't understand it. But one moment. Our friend here has a message for Saumarez."

The Abandoned One looked round the group that stood before him. He could see that something curious had happened, that Saumarez was not now the master, and he could not quite make it out.

"You must leave here at once,'' he said. "There is trouble, bad trouble, over the border. The Abyssinians are marching south, and you must leave while there is yet time."

"We shall be only too glad to leave," remarked John with feeling. "But why did you come to warn us? There have been many other raids."

"But this is no ordinary raid," replied the Abandoned One. "This means war."

"War? With Abyssinia?" echoed John "But that's unthinkable! Everything has been done to enable the two countries to work in harmony."

"Do not misunderstand," said the old man. "Listen. In Abyssinia things are in a very unsettled state. There are many high ministers who are not satisfied with the rule of the Emperor. In many places there is unrest, and on this border it is without doubt greatest. The Abyssinians have long coveted this north east corner of Kenya, and many have it that it really belongs to them."

"Ah, the Triangle," thought John.

"Now there is one, Gerazmach Ngash Ababa, who has great ambitions and a great following. For many weeks he has been marching up and down the border urging men to follow his flag, until he has got an army together."

"An army!" cried John.

"But what'll he gain?" cried Kate.

JOHN was silent. He remembered only too well his conversation with Lord Strensaye. If this Gerazmach Ngash Ababa did manage to establish himself in the Triangle, it would be no easy task to dislodge him. By gaining possession of a sector of country the Abyssinians had long coveted, he would probably receive the support of his Government, who would do their best to put forward a legal claim. Most certainly he would gain the support of the people. And, with the Italians already jealous of British influence in Central Africa, Eng-land would be playing a lone, and possibly a losing hand in the International Arbitration Court, for John was certain that Nairobi would not send troops or spend money on a campaign in the face of public opinion.

The Abandoned One turned to Kate.

"Gain?" he cried. "If he starts off successfully he'll gain several thousand more men for his army, he'll gain the support of Addis Ababa, and he'll gain a province for Abyssinia of which he will be ruler. He's playing a bold hand, but he'll win."

"But there's the frontier?" said Kate.

"On the maps," amended John, with a smile. "There's not a single outpost on it for miles, and once these blighters are in. it'll be the devil's own job to get them out."

"That is why I came to warn you," said the Abandoned One. "I am English now. not Abyssinian. If you are here when this army comes you will be killed. They will not allow a few white people to hinder them. They will loot and murder the natives—"

"By Jove!" cried Norton. "That's why the Gallas bolted. They must have got wind of this in that uncanny way natives have of getting news, and ran for safety."

John had been very silent, staring at the ground. Now he turned to the Abandoned One.

"We are grateful to you for coming to warn us," he said. "When does this army march?"

"It started two days ago." was the reply.

"And what route is it taking?"

"By what is known among the raiders as the Lost Road."

John exclaimed, suddenly:

"Then there is a road known only to a few! I have heard rumors of it. Where does it run?"

"I can take you to it," said the Abandoned One.

John stared at him for a moment, and then, taking him by the arm, led him to a far corner of the chamber.

MacFee and Clements voiced their opinion in no uncertain tones. Clear out at once, they said. It was plain that they would both prefer stiff terms of imprisonment to falling into the hands of an invading army. Kate and Norton discussed the matter in low tones, and kept looking anxiously across at John, still deep in conversation with the Abandoned One.

Presently they saw him slap the old man on the back and shake him vigorously by the hand. The old fellow laughed, and his deep-set eyes twinkled

"Con," began John, as he rejoined the group. "I've got a job for you. I want you to move off for N'yobo immediately, and leg it as quick as you can. Get in touch with some troops, and explain to whoever is commanding them what's happened up here. Impress on him that if he gets his men up soon enough he may save the territory. Take one of the Abandoned One's camels, and move as if the devil was behind you. Do you get that?"

Norton nodded.

"Good," said John. "Rouse the whole countryside if you like, but get troops— any troops you can muster, even a single platoon— but you must get them up here as soon as ever you can. The Abyssinians may advance into a deserted tract of country, but they'll think twice before they'll advance against troops. And Kate. I want you to take the safari down to M'Kamba's, and wait there. You may be able to be of some use to troops coming up, and they must pass through there because of the wells. Take Valerie with you, and these other three. You'll find Jubatarra a great help."

"But what about you? Aren't you coming, too?" Kate asked.

"No," said John, quietly, "as a matter of fact, the Abandoned One and I are going to do a spot of scouting. If the troops are coming up they'll want to know just where to find Gerazmach Ngash Ababa. And—"

"John," said Kate, "you're not telling the truth! I've not known you all these years without being able to tell when you are lying. What exactly are you going to do?"

John gave a rather shame-faced grin.

"Well, you see. Kate, the Abandoned One knows the route the Gerazmach is taking, and there seems to be one spot, called the Pool of Birds, where we might be able to make ourselves unpleasant. The route runs through a gorge at that point, and the Abandoned One says that one man could hold up a thousand there. So two men are going to see what they can do in the way of holding up five thousand. Now, Con, you'd better start getting ready."

"One moment," said Kate. "What chance do you think you've got of coming out alive?"

"Oh, quite a good one," said John, cheerfully.

Kate looked at him steadily.

"You know that's not true, John," she said quietly.

John looked uncomfortable.

"I shall be all right," he muttered. "You see, if we can manage to hold these fellows up even for a day, get them guessing, and all the rest of it, it will give Con's crowd a little longer to come up. The further the Abyssinians penetrate into the Triangle the more difficult they will be to get out, and—"

Quite suddenly he saw the expression on Valerie's face, and his voice trailed away into silence. There was a moment's pause. Then a queer, strained voice said:

"Three rifles are better than two. Take me with you."

John swung round to face Saumarez, but an altered Saumarez, for now there was a light in his eyes, and a determined expression on his dark face.

Chapter 18

The Lost Road

"YOU!" cried John, staring at him.

"Why not?" said Saumarez. "As I said, three rifles are better than two." He looked almost pleadingly at the other.

John hesitated. It was difficult to know Just what to do with the three prisoners, although Kate was quite capable of looking after them and the safari as well. He glanced at Saumarez again. There was a baffling eagerness about the man's dark face; his eyes looked hot, almost hungry; but, even yet, John could not make up his mind what lay behind the other man's apparent anxiety to go with him. Did the man know, instinctively, that Kate would give him no chance of breaking away and getting clear if he was sent south with her? John did not know.

Saumarez came close to him and in a low voice, so low that the others could not hear, he said:

"Give me a chance to make a decent finish, Cartwright."

And there was that in his eyes which told John, more plainly than words, that Saumarez would never face the disgrace of exposure and trial.

"Very well," he decided, "you can come with me. Now, we've no time to lose. Con, collect what you want and leave as soon as you can. Kate, I know I can depend on you to look after yourself."

Kate nodded briefly and turned away. John looked towards Valerie, but she had crossed over to the far side of the chamber and was superintending the cook-boy's packing of the kitchen utensils. She had said "Good-bye" once to John, hardly daring to hope that she would see him again, and his unexpected return was in the nature of an anti-climax. Now that he was going on a far more dangerous errand she felt unable to face the ordeal of a second parting.

John looked quickly round the chamber. Kate had gone into the passage with Con. Saumarez and the Abandoned One to make arrangements for their various journeys. Clements and MacFee were talking in low tones. John crossed over to them.

"Look here, you two," he said, "I don't think you deserve it, but I am going to give you the choice of either coming up to the Pool of Birds or else going south with the safari. Hurry up and decide."

The two men looked at each other.

"Of course," said John, "I shall give orders for you to be handed over to the authorities as soon as possible if you go with the safari, and if we come out of the Pool of Birds' show alive, the same thing will happen, except that any service you may render Kenya there will be taken into consideration."

"And what chance o' comin' back alive is there if we come with you?" asked MacFee, the cautious.

John glanced round to see that no one else was within hearing.

"I should put it at about ten to one against," he said, and grinned as if the prospect of fighting against odds pleased him.

"Aboot ten to one!" repeated MacFee. "Losh! Is that all?" He shook his head. "Na, na, I was never a gambler, lestways not wi' ma ain life. The Lord will no gi' me anither yin, and I value it. I may go to preeson, but they'll no hang me. Nay, Mr. Cartwright, I envy your pluck, and mebbe you feel it your duty, but I reckon a man's first duty is to himself. What will it help anybody if we get killed by yon savages? Not a jot! I'll tak ma chance o' goin' south, thank ye."

"Same here," growled Clements. "I don't see no good in going to any blooming bird bath."

"Very well," said John, rather disappointed that they had not volunteered to go with him, "do as you like in the matter, but remember this, if you think you've got any chance of escaping, dismiss it. You'll be carefully watched, and at M'Kamba's you'll probably be put under close arrest.

"Oh, aye, ye dinna need to rub it in," growled MacFee. "We've got to take the rough wi' the smooth. I've na doot a stretch o' clink will do me guid. I shallna be tempted to owereat masel'."

"If we want to get away with that Kate Langridge keepin' an eye on us, we shall have to do the Vanishing Lady stunt, same as I saw it done at Durban," said Clements.

"Well, get. up and help her with the safari," ordered John. "You've got to work for your keep."

"That's be nothing strange," grinned MacFee, as. followed by Clements, he slouched off in the direction of the passage.

JOHN walked quickly across to where Valerie was superintending the efforts of the cook-boy.

"Go and help the Bibi in the cave," said John, and the boy departed at a trot.

"But, John," Valerie protested as she bent over a chop box, "how am I going to get through this without help?"

"Never mind that; listen to me."

"Well?" she asked, her face still hidden. "Valerie, when I went off before, you kissed me."

"I'll probably kiss you again if that's what's worrying you. That is, of course, if you want me to."

"What—" John stopped. He felt curiously weak round the knees, and his heart was racing.

"Yes?" Valerie murmured.

"What did you mean by that kiss?" he asked at length.

"Oh," Valerie answered lightly, "I've kissed quite a lot of men in my time."

"That's not answering my question. What did you mean by that kiss?"

"Just good luck and au revoir," the girl murmured indistinctly.

"And-and nothing more?" John asked, dreading the answer.

But there was no answer. Valerie remained silent, her eyes averted.

John stepped closer, and, stretching out his hands, turned her so that she faced him.

"Dit it mean that you— you—" stammered John.

Valerie raised her face and looked at him. He saw that her blue eyes were wet with tears.

"I meant just that," she whispered.

They stared at each other, as if it was the first time they had been aware of each other's presence. Suddenly, from the entrance to the passage there came the sound of a startled exclamation. Kate stood just inside the chamber. Very slowly she walked forward.

"Con is ready to go," she said, her face like a mask.

Before John could answer, Norton came running down the passage and entered the cavern.

"Cheerio, John, old man; I'm just off. Your ancient friend picked the best camel for me, and everything's fixed up."

"I'm glad of that," said John, "but we are still in the devil of a mess. You will get down to N'yobo quicker by taking the best camel, of course, and that's a vital point, but what am I going to do with Saumarez? Candidly, if he means to fight, I want the support of his rifle, that is why I said I would take him with me, but, at the moment I had forgotten that we had only three camels--"

"That is where you're wrong," broke in Norton with an excited chuckle. "One of the porters who was wandering about on his own has just brought in a beast that he found among the camel thorn. I expect the Gallas left it behind; it probably belonged to one of the men we shot. Anyway, it will do for Saumarez."

John heaved a sigh of relief as he shook Con by the hand.

"Good luck," he said. "Take care of yourself. I'll come to the camels with you."

"Cheerio, Con," said Valerie, turning round suddenly. "See you at M'Kamba's probably."

Norton stared at her a moment. There was something comradely, something friendly in her voice, but that was not quite what he had expected.

"Yes, I hope to see you there," he answered, almost doubtfully.

"Then so-long, and don't fall off your camel," Valerie laughed.

Norton laughed, too, but it was a mechanical laugh with no mirth in it. Slowly he released her hand and, turning, left the cave followed by Kate and John.

Five minutes later he and the camel were a dark blur in the moonlight-flooded valley.

It did not take John long to prepare for his journey. The greatest trouble he had was with Jubatarra, who insisted that he was going to accompany his master. John explained that there were three people to three camels already, and told him he must go with Kate.

SAUMAREZ and the Abandoned One were already waiting by the camels, so John went back to the chamber where Valerie and Kate were allotting loads to the porters. There was a smile on John's brown face that he was very far from feeling.

"I'm Just off," he said, "but don't come out."

They knew what he meant: he would rather they did not witness the actual departure.

"I suppose," said Valerie slowly, her big eyes fixed unwaveringly upon him. "I suppose you must go. Couldn't you just take a chance that Con would get the men up in time?"

"No." John shook his head, "knowing what I do I dare not take that risk. Supposing the troops failed to get up in time and it became known that I had this opportunity of delaying the Abyssinians and did not take it?"

He grasped her hand. She did not speak, but only stared at him. He turned to Kate.

"So-long, old girl."

"Good luck, John."

He turned suddenly and strode Into the dim light of the passage. ,

"Oh, God." muttered Valerie, "send him back to me!"

Kate turned on her, her lean face distorted.

"For heaven's sake shut up!" she snapped harshly.

The two women stared at each other. Then Kate turned and poured such a volume of abuse on an inoffensive porter that he recoiled in bewilderment. Kate was very masculine in many ways.

The Abandoned One, for all his years, was the fittest of the three when, in the late forenoon, they halted in a tiny patch of shade in order to rest during the heat of the day. Camels were his usual method of transport, and he was as much at home on one as a man on his favorite hunter. While John lay on the ground and wondered which, if any, of his bones remained whole, the old man prepared some food. John felt too miserable to eat, but he knew he must keep up his strength, and he forced the stuff down his throat.

Saumarez had not spoken a dozen words since they left the cave. Now he sat a little apart from the other two eating his food and staring absently into the distance.

John wondered what was going on in his mind. Since he had been made prisoner in the cave he seemed to have altered. He had retired into a shell of reserve, and had spoken very little to anyone. He seemed to have grown older, too; his face had become lined and haggard, and his shoulders round.

Watching him now, John noted that since they had started the journey he had returned more to his usual self. He sat upright, not drooping forward. His shoulders were squared and there was an alertness about his face that had not been visible at the cave. John wondered if he was meditating on the chances of escape. But that was not very likely, for he must know that his case would become such a cause celebre that he would be hunted from one end of Africa to another.

When the heat of the sun had subsided they recommenced their journey. Thereafter John had no leisure to speculate on the workings of Saumarez's mind: he was far too occupied in clinging to the horn of the saddle with hands and legs.

The Abandoned One led the way unerringly, and twenty-four hours after leaving the cave they arrived at a stony, undulating plain as bare as a bald man's head.

"You are now on the Lost Road," the Abandoned One informed John; "if you turn right-handed, it will take you past the Wosasa Hills south to the Lak Dera river quicker than by the caravan road through Eilla Kala and Weijir. The secret is to know where to find water: many of the wells are cunningly hidden, and without them a man would perish."

"And, if you turn left-handed?" John asked.

"It leads north to Abyssinia, but the way is easier to find than the road to the south."

"And where is this Pool of Birds?"

"I will show you," said the Abandoned One simply, and with his stick tapped the long, snake-like neck of the camel. The beast moved forward, heading north between the desolate hills.

THE country grew steadily worse. They crossed mile after mile of monotonous grey sand, interspersed with lichen-covered boulders, until John grew weary in soul and body with the deadly sameness of it all. The wind was dry and bore countless particles of fine dust so that their throats felt as if they had been rasped with files. Their eyes were red and sore, their lips cracked and blistered.

They gained a little relief at sundown when their guide led them into a narrow, rocky cul-de-sac at the end of which lay a pool of stagnant water. There they rested and watered the camels.

At moonrise they moved off again, twisting to right and left, threading their way from one narrow valley to another, until John became hopelessly lost. With one brief halt for food, they pressed on until the sun was high in the heavens and John felt that if it grew any hotter his throbbing body, racked by the motion of the camel, would split asunder. Had they possessed a thermometer the mercury would have stood at one hundred and sixteen degrees Fahrenheit.

"God! What a country!" thought John.

And the Abandoned One, as if he had read his mind; said:

"It is known as 'Rama' or 'The Wilderness'."

Presently the country grew a little less desolate. Stunted, under-nourished thorn bushes appeared, and the Abandoned One began to peer about him anxiously.

"If we can see anyone," he explained, "it means that we are too late, for they will have passed the point where we can stop them."

Immediately John's anxiety doubled. It would be hard luck if they had had this ghastly ride in vain. But they saw no one, although all three of them kept a keen watch.

On the fourth day of their ride the country changed. Their view was still obstructed by the hills that crowded upon them in tangled masses on all sides, but here and there patches of bush began to grow thicker. Even an occasional thorn tree raised its flat-topped branches in the parched air, and there was coarse grass of a kind, which the camels devoured. Then, as mile after mile rolled past, there came a distinct greenness over everything, in contrast to the multi-colored lichens that had hitherto stained the rocks.

"We must be somewhere near a river," remarked Saumarez, and John nodded.

Soon the hills became less steep, and the camel-riders were obliged to cross a number of dry river-beds, and deep sand and rock depressions scoured in the earth's surface by the rushing torrents of countless years.

"Cheery spot after a storm." John muttered. "A man might be marooned on one of these 'islands' for months."

Late on the afternoon of the fifth day they reached their objective, and both John and Saumarez cried out in amazement.

At their feet was a ravine, perhaps a hundred feet deep, at the bottom of which ran a smoothly-flowing river. The sides of the ravine were of black rock, smooth and water-worn towards the bottom, but crumbling and jagged, by reason of weathering, at the top. Had a man possessed the skill and the nerve to attempt the descent he could not have succeeded, for the last thirty feet fell sheer into the river, and were smooth as polished marble. The further lip of the ravine was some fifty feet away, and this crack in the earth ran east and west as far as the eye could see. The Abandoned One had brought them to the narrowest point, however; for above and below them the cliffs receded, although they still remained sheer and unscalable, until they were more than a hundred yards apart. Behind the three men lay the undulating country through which they had passed, but before them, on the further bank, were the foothills that led to the mountainous country of Abyssinia.

The Abandoned One touched John on the arm, and pointed down-stream. A quarter of a mile away the walls of the ravine re-ceded, and the river spread out into a wide, smooth sheet of water, on and about which rested myriads of birds of all kinds. The edges of the river were literally black with them, and their cries rose faintly to the cliff-top.

"The Pool of Birds," said the Abandoned One.

"And the Abyssinians are to cross here?" asked John. "How?"

The old man made his camel kneel with a soft: "Oosha, baba, oosha; adar-ya-yan," and then dismounted. He led the two men to the edge of the ravine, and then John saw what he had not previously noticed. A bridge spanned the narrowest part of the chasm.

It was made of the twisted stems of some kind of creeping, rope-like plant, and hung in the manner of a suspension bridge, from one lip of the ravine to the other. The whole thing looked extremely insecure, and swayed ominously in the wind that blew down the chasm.

"That is how the Abyssinian army will attempt to cross," said the Abandoned One.

"But is there no other way?" John asked. "Surely there will be mounted men, and you can't take even a sure-footed mule across that."

"True; there is another route two day's journey to the east. That is the route the raiders take with their captured stock, and doubtless the horsemen will go that way, for they can soon overtake the remainder of the army. Those who come on foot will come this way, for it is much quicker, and their success depends upon surprise."

"Then if we destroy this bridge we can bring a greater part of the army to a stand-still," Saumarez said.

"That is so, but we shall have to wait here and see that it is not repaired or replaced. Remember the gap is very narrow, and if they can get one man over the whole army would quickly follow."

"And what about the mounted men?" John inquired, looking at the flimsy structure with a critical eye.

The Abandoned One shrugged his shoulders.

"I cannot say. They will cross higher up, and if we are fortunate they will have arranged to rejoin their companions further down the road. If we are unfortunate, they will come back here, and that means we shall have to abandon our position, or our lives."

"We can think about that later," remarked John, calmly. "The first thing to do is to destroy this bridge while we've got time."

"I wonder where the frontier runs," said Saumarez. "Are we in Kenya or Abyssinia?"

"Dunno," answered John, with a grin; "but, for the moment, this crack in the earth is going to be the frontier, and no ruddy Abyssinian is going to cross it while I'm here."

He drew a knife from its sheath, and was about to move towards the bridge when Saumarez caught him by the arm.

"Look!" he cried, pointing.

From behind a boulder of the foothills half a mile away rode a party of horsemen.

Chapter 19

Two From Three Leaves One!

"IT seems," remarked John, "that we are just in time."

"Those are Abyssinians," said the Abandoned One, unnecessarily.

John counted them: there were ten. At that moment the Abyssinians themselves noticed the three men standing on the far side of the ravine. They reined in their horses and stared through the quivering air, doubtless wondering who the strangers could be.

"If they realise that we are white they'll smell a rat," said John suddenly. "Let's go and stand beside the camels: we shan't be so noticeable there. At the present moment we make excellent targets."

They turned round and ran for the camels. The Abyssinians promptly spurred their mounts forward.

"I don't see any more following them," said Saumarez. "Probably they were sent on ahead to picket the bridge."

"Well, they'll have a shock," replied John, sliding back the well-oiled bolt of his rifle and blowing into the breach. He thrust in a clip of cartridges. "Directly they get near enough we'll see how many saddles we can empty. There haven't got to be any half measures about this business. We've simply got to hold this bridge as long as we can in order to give Norton a chance of getting up. He should be on his way by now."

As the horsemen drew nearer John looked about for cover, for it was not possible to fire from alongside the camels. Along the edge of the ravine were scattered a number of boulders, and selecting one each, the three men ran forward and lay down behind them. Involuntarily John groaned: he was still stiff and aching from his camel journey. Although the Abyssinians saw the movement and must have interpreted it as a hostile one, they continued their canter towards the bridge. Perhaps they imagined that the party with the lesser number of men was merely exercising commendable caution. If so, several of them were suddenly aware of their error, for when they were within fifty yards of the bridge three reports rang out, and three Abyssinians fell out of their saddles. After a second of amazed hesitation, the remainder wrenched round their horses' heads and rode hard for a depression in the ground a little to their right. But that second's pause gave the three men time to reload. Three more shots sounded, and two more Abyssinians fell. One, however, picked himself up and ran after his mount. A further shot sent him grovelling in the dust again, and he could be seen crawling towards the depression on his stomach.

"Let him go," said John, extracting the spent cartridge. "That's given them some-thing to think about."

As he spoke a single report sounded, and a bullet whistled over their heads. With his back to the boulder John looked about for some spot which would afford better cover. Not half a dozen yards from where the three men lay the ground sloped steeply down for a matter of four feet.

"If," said John, pointing, "we could make a breast-work of stones along the top of that little hollow, we'd be as safe as in a trench, and we couldn't have a better position. It's within twenty yards of the bridge."

He looked towards the far side of the chasm. Four motionless, white-clad bodies lay in the sunlight. Two horses stood close by, the other two were trotting peacefully into the far distance. Of the remaining six Abyssinians and their mounts, not a trace could be seen.

"I think we might make a bolt for it," John suggested.

They made a dash for the slope and slid down into safety without attracting any rifle fire.

"Probably wondering what the devil's happened, and who we are," suggested Saumarez. "We've got a good field of fire here. But if they get behind those boulders, just by the far side of the bridge, I doubt if we could shift 'em, unless we worked up to one flank."

"That'd mean quitting this end of the bridge." said John. "Musn't do that." He turned to the Abandoned One, who was grinning through his grey whiskers as if he was thoroughly enjoying himself. "Do you think you can shift the camels back? If they start shooting they might stampede them."

The old fellow nodded, but before he could move several shots rang out. One of the camels heaved itself to its feet, screaming in a horrible manner, and began to run straight for the edge in the chasm, blood pouring from a wound in its side. A few yards from the edge it tried to turn aside, but it must have been badly hit, for it lurched drunkenly and then staggered into space. The next second the Abandoned One had rushed across and, urging the remaining two camels to their feet, led them back into the shelter of some rocks. He was pursued by a fusillade of rifle fire, but the Abyssinians were aiming too high, and after picketing the camels, he rejoined the others, without having taken any harm.

"Hadn't we better make a shot at destroying the bridge as soon as it's dark?" Saumarez suggested.

John shook his head.

"I've been wondering about that, and I've come to the conclusion that it would be better to postpone the attempt for a time. You see, if we destroy it now, those fellows over there will ride back and warn Gerazmach Ngash Ababa, and he'll about turn and make for the other crossing to the east. But if we wait until he's almost here, and then destroy it, we shall have him guessing as to whether he should try and repair it, or go round the other way. If he sees there are only three of us, he may try to force a crossing, in which case I think we can give a good account of ourselves."

"We're going to have a sticky time If the Gerazmach turns up in daylight," Saumarez said.

"YES, the three of us may easily get outed one after the other," John answered slowly. "Supposing we agree to cut the bridge to-morrow night if the army hasn't arrived by then?"

"Good! And what about to-night?"

"I think those fellows are certain to make an attempt to clear us out of here, when they realise we've not yet destroyed the bridge. They'll try to cross in the dark. Now, as soon as it gets dark, and difficult to see for any distance, we'll tie a cord to the bridge, and whoever is on watch-we'll take it in turns-will hold the end. The bridge is certain to sway when they start to cross, and that is the time I switch on my torch and we pick them off."

Gradually the sun sank; for a few minutes the mountain range stood out In sharp silhouette against the orange sky, from which the color faded swiftly: then darkness rushed across the land. The Abandoned One went to the camels and brought back sundry lengths of cord and John's torch. The cord was knotted together, and John prepared to crawl over to the bridge.

"I'll whistle when I'm coming back," he said to Saumarez; then, with a nod, he slipped between the boulders, which the Abandoned One was placing along the top of the slope to afford them more cover, and vanished.

It was quite dark by this time. A few stars shone faintly in the deep blue of the sky, looking like diamonds scattered across dark velvet, and a wandering wind whimpered fitfully in the chasm. John found the bridge and laid a cautious hand on one of the ropes that supported the footway. It moved gently in the wind, but the motion was quite different from that of anyone walking along it. John made his cord fast, and returned safely to the trench.

He himself took first watch. Saumarez and the Abandoned One made themselves as comfortable as they could on the ground with a few blankets, and at once went off to sleep, so tired were they. John stared into the darkness, his hand on the rope, waiting. He knew that if the Abyssinians intended to cross they would make the attempt before the moon rose, which was why he had taken the first watch himself.

More than once the motion of the bridge, swinging in the wind, sent his fingers straying towards the torch button, but not for an hour and three-quarters after darkness had fallen did the Abyssinians begin their expected crossing. Quite suddenly John felt a tug on the line, rather as if he had hooked a large fish.

It was repeated, and then the line began to vibrate in an unmistakable manner John prodded Saumarez in the ribs with his boot.

"They're coming," he whispered. "Wake the old fellow."

In less than fifteen seconds three pairs of eyes were peering through the night towards the bridge. The rope still vibrated,

"You two open fire," John whispered. "I'll work the torch. Ready?"

He heard a soft click as a safety-catch was released. Then:

"Carry on," said Saumarez.

The next instant a blinding beam of white light from the powerful torch shot out towards the bridge, moved from side to side, and then steadied. In the centre of the bridge, a mere forty yards away, three figures were illuminated as if by limelight. Taken by surprise, and blinded by the glare, the raiders halted, shielding their eyes with their arms.

"Let 'em have it," cried John.

Two reports rang out, two stabs of flame gleamed for an instant in the darkness near the torch. The leading man on the bridge spun round, fell to the battens that formed the footway, and rolled over the edge into the ravine. The remaining two turned round and ran, with hoarse cries, to the further end. Saumarez and the Abandoned One got in another shot each, but it was not easy shooting, and both missed their men.

"That was your man," said the Abandoned One, grinning through his grey beard. "I'm not used to this sort of shooting."

Saumarez grunted in reply.

John switched off the torch. A second later four flashes gleamed On the far side of the ravine, and four reports sounded, but all the bullets went high.

"I wonder if they'll try again." said John, keeping his hold on the rope.

They waited expectantly, but although the bridge swayed, there was no tugging on the line to indicate that somebody was moving over the battens.

WHEN dawn broke the  bridge hung motionless and empty over the great cleft. From the river below, a chorus of unmelodious cries showed that the Inhabitants of the bird pool were waking.

All through that burning hot day, while the sun shone from a sky unflecked by any cloud, the three men lay behind their ram-part, guarding the bridge. They rigged up a meagre shelter with blankets that afforded them a little shade from the sun's rays, and they took it in turn to watch between the boulders, the heat from which beat back in the watcher's blistered features like a blast from the mouth of hell. The only sign of life shown by the Abyssinians was when the Abandoned One girt about with three water bottles crawled away to a small spring in the rocks close to where the camels were tethered. Directly he left the dead ground he was greeted with a fusillade of shots, but he escaped unhurt. The heat was almost overpowering, and they felt it more by being obliged to remain close to the ground, where they received the full force of the radiation.

It was a great relief when the sun went down and the scorching heat faded into a merely unpleasant warmth. As soon as darkness fell Saumarez crept down to the bridge with an axe, intending to sever the supports and allow it to drop into the chasm. John peered over the boulders, rifle ready, lest the Abyssinians should make a desperate rush at the last moment. He could hear the sound of the axe blows as Saumarez chopped away, and presently it became clear that the Abyssinians could hear them, too, for ragged firing broke out from the opposite side of the ravine. John could hear the shots splashing on the rocks about the head of the bridge, while occasionally one would ricochet and whine unpleasantly away into the darkness. But the Abyssinians were firing at random, and it was unlikely that Saumarez would be hit.

Yet presently the sound of the axe blows ceased, and John waited for the whistle which would mean that Saumarez would be coming into the trench. The shots from the other side continued, but although a full minute passed no whistle sounded, and there was no sign of Saumarez.

"Saumarez!" John called. "Are you all right?"

There was no answer. He shouted again, but the only reply was the crack of the rifles from the other end of the bridge.

John decided to take a risk. For a second his torch lit up the spot where Saumarez had been working. He was still there, but he was lying motionless on his back, his arms outstretched.

"Blast!" cried John. "They've hit him." With the appearance of the light the rifle-fire increased in volume, and was now directed on the trench as well. But John took no notice. He leapt over the boulders, straight for Saumarez. He found him by nearly tripping over him and falling head-long over the cliff-edge, which was only six feet away.

Saumarez's mouth was open, and his eyes were shut. John took him by the arms and dragged him behind a boulder. The Abyssinians must have been firing as fast as they could load, for bullets were splashing and whistling on all sides.

"If they get me everything will depend on the Abandoned One," thought John. "What a job for an eighty-year-old corporal of the Royal Sussex!"

He jumped up as something plucked at his sleeve and a bullet grazed his arm. Near the bridge-head lay the axe Saumarez had been using. John picked it up and, feeling in the darkness, found an uncut support. He began hacking away at it. The sound of the firing was. like squibs. At last the support parted, and John's fumbling hands found another. As he cut through it one severed end shot away with the crack of a whiplash. There was a curious sighing sound followed by a crash. The bridge was down, and swinging back it had hit the further cliff. The Abyssinians seemed to realise what had happened, for a howl of anger sounded above the firing. John bolted round the rocks to where Saumarez was still lying unconscious.

When there was a lull in the firing he picked Saumarez up and carried him to the trench, whistling loudly in case the Abandoned One was inclined to fire first and ask questions afterwards. He put Saumarez gently on the ground, and by the carefully-shaded light of the torch saw that he had been hit in the stomach. It was an ugly wound, but John cleaned and dressed it as well as he could. Fortunately Saumarez remained unconscious throughout the operation.

Now that the bridge was destroyed John felt comparatively safe, yet partly because of Saumarez, and partly because he was not sure that the Abyssinians might not attempt to repair the bridge, he and the Abandoned One took it in turn to watch during the rest of the night. About half past four in the morning, when a faint glow in the eastern sky heralded the rising sun. he heard Saumarez groan. Switching on his torch he bent over the wounded man. The light was the signal for a volley from the Abyssinians opposite. The bullets spattered on the surrounding rocks, making the most unpleasant sounds, but being below ground-level, and behind a rampart of boulders, John felt quite safe.

"What's happened?" whispered Saumarez. "There's something peculiar here. I feel numb." He tried to lift his hand towards his stomach.

"You've been hit," replied John. "Just as you had nearly finished your job at the bridge."

"And you fetched me in?" Saumarez asked, after a moment's thought. "That was damn good of you, Cartwright: they might have got you as well."

"It was an unlucky bullet that got you," said John. "They couldn't see what they were aiming at."

"I guess it was a lucky one for me," replied Saumarez, meaningly. "Only wish it had been through the head."

"Oh, rot," John answered, gruffly. "You've made a good show here."

"You talk as if I was going to get over this," smiled Saumarez, "and you know damn well I'm not."

JOHN did not answer, for he was well aware that Saumarez wanted to die. There was a short silence.

"Cartwright," Saumarez whispered presently, "it was damn good of you to give me this chance of making a decent finish. I couldn't have faced a trial, and quod, and all the rest of it. I suppose it's easy to be wise after the event, but I can see now I've been a crimson idiot. And yet, if I was to live the last five years over again, I suppose I'd act just the same. It just depends on how a man's made, the way he behaves himself."

His voice trailed away, and he closed his eyes. John thought he had lapsed into unconsciousness, when presently he spoke again.

"Cartwright, there's another thing I'd like to mention. The diamonds we got out of the mine, since my last visit to England. MacFee and Clements know where they are, but I don't see why they should be allowed to enjoy them when they come out of prison. They'd only drink the lot away, and there must be a good many thousand pounds' worth of stones there. They're hidden. About ten yards up the right-hand passage of the three that lead out of the chamber, there's a block of loose stone six feet up in the left-hand wall. You'll find them behind that. Take them, and do what you like with them."

His eyes closed again, and he became unconscious.

As dawn was breaking John was roused by the Abandoned One, who was on watch.

"Look!" he cried, and pointed towards the foothills.

John stared. Out on to the plain poured the Ngash Ababa's army. As they drew closer, John could see that they were a motley collection. Some were plainly bandits, known as "the Tigre," but many were dressed in khaki, and no doubt belonged to the Abyssinian army.

"Won't they be mad when they find the bridge has gone." said John. "We shall have to look out for trouble."

He was right. About eleven o'clock, when the heat of the sun was making life intolerable again, a party of Abyssinian rifle-men took cover behind the rocks on the edge of the chasm, and began to pour a withering fire on the trench. John and the Abandoned One were cut by flying splinters of rock, but they received no serious wound.

Saumarez remained unconscious through it all. Presently, however, the firing ceased, and the Abyssinians apparently sat down to think matters over. They were inactive so long that the Abandoned One decided it would be safe to refill the water bottles. He had only to cross ten yards of open ground, now pock-marked with bullet-holes, before he gained the safety of the rocks. But the Abyssinians were keeping a keen watch. He had not reached half-way when a volley, startling in its suddenness, rang out The Abandoned One pitched forward on his face, a quivering heap of white, and then lay motionless.

John, crouching behind the slope, looked at the still form grimly.

"Two from three leaves one," he muttered. "Poor old fellow. He must have been glad he died fighting."

He eyed the water-bottles hungrily. His mouth was dry, his lips cracked, and his face was streaked with dirt and sweat, he was almost exhausted with fatigue. The sun blazed down relentlessly, until the ground was nearly too hot to touch. Under the feeble shade of a blanket the unconscious Saumarez moaned and stirred restlessly. The bottom of the slope was littered with empty cartridge-cases, bits of bloody rag, and an empty water bottle. John himself bled from several minor cuts and scratches caused by splintered rock.

"I don't think I'd find any insurance company likely to entertain a risk on my life now," remarked John to himself, as he loaded the three rifles and laid them within reach. He glanced at the ridge behind him whence help, if it came at all, would first appear. He knew that Norton had had a long talk with the Abandoned One before he left for M'Kamba's, and that the old fellow had endeavored to explain the twistings and turnings of the Lost Road, but the chance of rescue was infinitesimal, and John knew it.

Late in the afternoon there was a commotion among the Abyssinians. Hearing the shouting, John peered between two boulders. The Abyssinians were pointing and staring towards the east. John knew what that meant.

Presently a party of horsemen mounted a rise half a mile away, and halted. Some Abyssinians from the camp had run down towards them along the edge of the cliff, and were shouting the news across the chasm. After a few minutes the leader of the horsemen made a signal, the men spread out, so that several yards separated each animal. Then they trotted forward.

JOHN cuddled the butt of his Mannlicher against his cheek, and waited.

The Abyssinians on the far side of the chasm raised a shout. The ridge behind John flung back the echo. A minute afterwards the echo sounded again. This struck John as peculiar, for after the first shout the Abyssinians had been silent. He looked round, and his heart jumped.

Over the top of the ridge rode a party of camel-men. Even at that distance John could see the scarlet of the "flash" of the 3rd King's African Rifles on the sides of the tarbushes worn by the camelry. In front of the party three men rode alone. Two, from their helmets, were obviously white men. The third wore a tarbush, and carried a Union Jack.

"My God!" John shouted. "It's Norton!" The camels surged forward, their legs moving like piston-rods. Very faintly a cheer reached John's ears. He looked anxiously towards the east. The Abyssinian horsemen had reined up, apparently puzzled by this new development. But the check was only temporary, for presently they set spurs to their mounts and came galloping towards John.

"Damn!" he muttered. "It looks as if I'm going to get scuppered on the post. What putrid luck!"

John held his fire, thereby hoping not to provoke the Abyssinians to greater efforts. Suddenly he saw a section of the camelmen split off from the main body and turn to cut off the horsemen. The remainder rode straight for the trench.

They won by a bare twenty yards, placing their beasts between the advancing horsemen and John. The Abyssinians halted irresolutely. By their impetuous advance they had trapped themselves, for they were now between two bodies of camelmen.

There was dead silence from the army on the far side. They would not open fire for fear of hitting their own comrades.

While one of the K.A.R. officers rode slowly towards the hesitating Abyssinians, Norton flung himself from his camel and ran towards the trench. A grimy, bearded creature, with sweat-streaked face, crept out to meet him.

"Thank God, we're here in time!" cried Norton, grasping John by the hand.

John grinned.

"You ran it pretty close," he said. "Got a drink on you?"

Chapter 20

There is Still Africa!

GERAZMACH  NGASH ABABA'S projected occupation of the Triangle came to naught. He had not the courage to fire on British troops, and after a brief and somewhat pointed conversation with the officer in command of the K.A.R., the horsemen, who had so nearly deprived John of further interest in this earth, returned whence they had come. The frontier was found to run along the edge of the foot-hills, so that the Gerazmach and his army were requested to remove themselves beyond this border within twenty-four hours. This they did, and the last heard of the Gerazmach, who had so nearly brought off a coup d' etat, was that he had gone to Addis Ababa to answer for his conduct before the Emperor.

The Abandoned One was buried where he fell, overlooking the spot which, for all his eighty-odd years, he had defended so valiantly. By his side Saumarez, who died the day after the arrival of the troops, was interred. Norton and John, little the worse for his adventure, went south to M'Kamba's, picking up the diamonds from the cave on the way. At M'Kamba's, Kate and Valerie were waiting. The four of them journeyed on to N'yobo, where Norton remained, for the sarcastic Seaton had gone on sick leave a month previously, thereby missing the solution of the problem which had puzzled him for so long. In the light of what had happened in the Triangle, Norton's resignation was overlooked, and he was put in charge of the N'yobo district, and asked to furnish a comprehensive report on the Triangle, with a view to his being transferred there.

Valerie, Kate, and John travelled down to Nairobi, where there ensued a series of maddening delays while the slow wheels of officialdom got into motion. The trial of MacFee and Clements caused no little interest, but it was soon over, both men being sentenced to ten years' penal servitude. But there were still numerous inquiries at which Kate, Valerie, and John had to be present, so they stayed on in Nairobi.

One morning, when John was attending a conference about the ultimate fate of the diamonds he had retrieved from the cave, Valerie and Kate were in the lounge of a bungalow in Parklands, which had been lent them. Valerie was writing a voluminous letter to Cynthia Wargrave.

Suddenly she stopped writing and stared meditatively at her pen-nib. Then she took a swift glance at Kate, who was seated in a chair turning over the pages of an illustrated paper. Valerie scribbled on the blotting-paper. Then, flinging down the pen, she strode to the window, and stood staring through the slats of the sun-blinds into the garden.

"Kate," she said, suddenly, "when John said 'Good-bye' to us in the cave, we neither of us expected him to come back."

"Well?" said Kate, staring at the girl's straight back.

"Well, he has come back," Valerie spoke with difficulty. "What— what are we going to do about it?"

There was a pause. Valerie continued to stare resolutely out of the window. Kate watched her with compressed lips, a strained expression on her brown face.

"What d'you mean?" she asked, quietly. "Kate, I never realised until he said good-bye that you loved him. So do I." Valerie's voice was strangely subdued.

Kate flung up her head, and for a second closed her eyes. Then she rose, and going to the younger girl, took her by the shoulders.

"Do you think that?" she asked.

"I know it," said Valerie, simply. "It's rather awkward, isn't it?"

Kate laughed.

"My dear girl, I've known John for more years than I care to remember. Do you think if I cared for him like— like that we shouldn't have, well, come to some understanding by now? I'm very fond of John, fonder than I am of anyone else, but not that way. We're just good pals."

"Are you sure?" Valerie said, doubtfully.

"Of course," replied Kate, looking her straight in the eyes. "Do you think I'd say so if I wasn't."

"No."

"Well, then, carry on, girl. I hope you'll be very happy, in fact, I know you will."

"Thanks," said Valerie. "I'm sorry I've made an ass of myself. I thought—"

"That's all right," said Kate, giving her shoulders a squeeze.

SIX WEEKS later Kate went down to Mombasa and saw John and Valerie on board the Seaford Castle.

"Kate, you've been a brick," said John, when the time came to say good-bye. "We shall never forget it."

Kate smiled.

"I owe you more than I can ever repay," said Valerie. "But we're not going for long. We shall be back soon." She fingered her engagement ring. "Cynthia would never forgive us if we were married from anywhere but her house."

And still Kate smiled.

An hour later, when the ship had sailed, she turned into the Manor Hotel, and sat down at the identical table whence she had so summarily expelled Tom Clements many months previously. Her lean face still smiled, but it was rather a fixed and mechanical sort of smile.

"Double whisky," she said when the native waiter approached.

After the drink arrived she sat for some time in silence, staring absently before her. Presently she murmured to herself:

"Still, they'll come back, so I shall see them again. People always come back to Africa." She raised her glass in a silent toast. "Good hunting, John, old boy. She'll make you happy as I could never have done."

She bit her lip viciously.

Two men entered the lounge. Their clothes and general appearance, no less than the cameras slung over their shoulders, proclaimed the fact that they came off the liner that had anchored that afternoon in Kilidini Harbor.

"Well, if this is Africa," said one in a loud voice, "I think it's a rotten, smelly hole."

Kate smiled to herself, and this time the smile was not forced.

"Good old Africa," she murmured. "You're very wise and kind, and you're about all I've got left now. Boy, another double whisky, and damn all 'trippers'."

The End

Table of Contents

- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- Chapter 14
- Chapter 15
- Chapter 16
- Chapter 17
- Chapter 18
- Chapter 19
- Chapter 20