THE PRIDEAU MURDER.

Oamaru Mail, Volume XXXVI, Issue 11630, 11 May 1912, Page 1 (Supplement)

THE PRIDEAU MURDER.

(By David Gray.)

Toward evening they sighted Boralang Peak, worked through the coral and dropped anchor as the lights of Bangyak began to, glimmer from the shadow-wrapped hillside. And Gillespie Crewe still was pacing the deck by himself. By himself he had paced it for five days and for much of the nights too, so the sailors said. Loosely speaking, he had walked most of the way from Manila.

Suddenly a boat from shore appeared J out of the darkness, almost under the rail. The officer in the stern sheets, Anderson, came up the gangway. At the side Gillespie "Crewe button-holed him. "Tell me," he said —"I am Major Crewe—now is Captain Dare getting on?" •

"First rate," said Anderson heartily. "The doctor says he'll get well. They cabled you were coming," he went on, and then stopped, for Crewe had turned away and left him. He stood a moment perplexed, then went on his way for the mails.

Crewe had fled to the rail. Relief so poignant swept him that he had to be alone. For a*long time he stood-gazing shoreward with unseeing eyes. An hour later he was on the little pier end with Lothrop, the post surgeon, watching the dim ship melt into a point of light as she worked her way out again through the darkness. Life seemed very good to Crewe. After all, the keenest joy is cessation of pain. The doctor confirmed the news about Dare, and now all the strain was over. He knew that his brother was going to get well and nothing else mattered. The i intensity of this care-freeness and buoyancy amounted to exhilaration. The business which was his excuse for corn-

ing to Bangyak seemed trivial and far away. It was hard for him to be patient with Lothrop, who was so tense and excited about it.

"Why come out here to talk, why all this mystery?" Crewe had demanded. What if one could hear through the wall of a nipa house? There was nothing in the business to be secret about. On the. third of that same December, Captain John Dare, commanding officer at Bangyak, and Lieutenant F. S. Prideau had been attacked by Moros while deershooting in the hills. Dare was wounded with a kris and was in the hospital with blood-poisoning. Prideau's body had never been found. That was all there was to it. The murderers were safe in the hills, like the murderers in twenty similar cases throughout the achipelago. But Lothrop had insisted on reading elements of mystery into it. A vague danger to the post was hinted it, and he had begged that some "fearless, resourceful officer be despatched at once." .

The General had sent Crewe rather because the circumstances gave him the chance to be kind to him than because he took Lothrop's letter seriously, for he knew that Crewe was worrying his heart out over the reports of Captain Dare's condition, John Dare being Crewe's own brother. Gillespie had changed his name when his Grandfather Crewe adopted him. Not many people, even in the army, knew of this fact, and it was clear that the doctor was ignorant of it from the first question that lie put to Crewe that night on the pier end, for lie asked him if he knew John Dare personally. "I do,'' answered Crewe, but lie volunteered no explanation and the doctor went on, Other questions that he put brought out the fact that Crewe bad been stationed once at Bangyak, that he was familiar with the Moro situation of the locality, and- that he had even known Mohammed Ping, the aged Moro sultan whose extraordinary and bloody absolutism extended over that whole section of Mindanao.

The doctor was much pleased at this. ''This is a strange case, he said, "but if you know the local conditions and if you know Mohammed Ping and his ways, one of the salient points of the affair must have already occurred to 3 T ou."

Nothing had occurred to Crewe except that his brother had been wounded and was getting well, but he only said: "What point do j'ou.mean?" "Why, this." replied the doctor,. "the very remarkable circumstance that during the term of Captain Dare's command—eleven long months—there should have been but one bloody job done in all the neighborhood, and that of this one job he should have been a victim. Do you see?"

"I don't know whether I do or not," said Crewe.

"Well, the thing is a contradiction in terms," said the doctor enigmatically. "Keep it in mind." Crewe looked at him curiously through the darkness and lit his cigar. "As you probably know from Anderson's official report of the affair," the doctor went on, "Captain Dare was found on the ground binding up his wound with a cotton shirt, over which lie tied n red bandanna handkerchief. He and Prideau had ridden ahead into the timber after a buck. Twenty minutes later the rest of the party thought they heard a shot fired, and started to follow. In just twenty minutes more they came upon Captain Dare alone. He stated that Prideau had ridden on to turn the buck, and that shortly afterwards a Moro —a Lake Moro —had /rushed him from the long grass, hit him with a kris and disappeared. He said he had heard no shot. They fired signals for Prideau, but he never answered, and has never been seen or heard of since."

"That's my understanding of it," said Crewe.

"Now," said the doctor with some hesitation, "would you mind my asking several questions? The fact is I want to get some other man's point of view. I've been living alone with this thing for a fortnight." "Go ahead," said Crewe. He strove to-be patient and interested. "In the first place," said the doctor, "have you ever seen a wound made by a Moro cutting knife, a kris or barong ? Of course you have." Crewe assented. "And the walls are smooth, aren't they?" he asked again. "The cut is made by one clean stroke?" "Yes," said Crewe. "Now think about this," the doctor continued. "If you were attacking me with a pocketknife would you cut mo in the shoulder? Would that bo natural?"

Crewe hesitated. "Do you mean," he said, "that I'd stab?" "That's it!" said the doctor. "With a small light blade any man would stab. It's instinctive. And. j'et," he added, "the fact is Captain Dare has been cut in the shoulder with a small blade. The wound looked as if you had tried to carve a leg of mutton with a pocketknife."

Crewe took the cigar from his mouth. "I thought Captain Dare reported that a Lake Moro had cut him down with a kris?" he said.

"Be did," said the doctor. "That's the difficulty." ' 'I should think there would he. no difficulty," said Crewe, "if Captain Dare said it was a kris." "I think we had better understand each other," said the doctor. "If you are a friend of Captain Dare's "

"Can't we get at the facts-without going into personalities?" Crewe interrupted, ami the second opportunity for explanations was gone. "The first fact," said the doctor quietly, "is that Captain Dare was cut four times with.a pocketknife instead of once with a kris." Crewe looked at him in amazement. He was interested now. "Well, go on," he said."

"When Captain Dare was brought to me," continued the doctor, "the bandanna handkerchief was still where he had tied it. After I had seen the wound I began to examine the handkerchief. I found two stains on it, made by wiping the blade of a pocketknife. Afterward I found a pocketknife, the blade of which fitted the stains. And on that blade and on.the buckhorn handle there was blood." "Then how do you account for Dare's mistake , about the kris?" demanded Crewe.

"Let's pass that for the moment," said the doctor, "and fit these facts to the rest of Captain Dare's statement. We have to imagine a Lake Moro coming out of the grass, overpowering Captain Dare, who is a ve.ry strong man, cutting his .shoulder four times in a. straight rip with a pocketknife, wiping the blade on his red bandanna handkerchief, and putting the knife back in his breeches pocket—" "Whose pocket?" said Crewe. "Dare's," said the doctor. "It was his knife."

An exclamation escaped Crewe. "His knife?" lie repeated. "Yes," said the doctor, "his knife." . "Do you imply," -said Crewe, -. "that Captain -Dare wilfully misstated what occurred?" "Is there any way out of.it?" replied the doctor. Crewe hesitated. "But how could a. Moro cut him with his own pocketknife?" he demanded. "That's just it," said the doctor* i "how could he? Bear in mind, Captain Dare was armed, but fired no shot. He said he heard none fired, and his own arms were clean." There was a pause. Then Crewe said, lowering his voice: "You don't suspect Prideau?" "Could he have done what the Moro couldn't do?" said the doctor. "But somebody must have cut him. If it wasn't either of them, who was it?" There was a note of tension and challenge in Crewe's voice like the tone of a man who hears a noise in the dark and calls: "Who's there?" [ "He cut himself," said the doctor. After a moment's silence, Crewe | broke into a forced laugh. "Why should a man hack his own shoulder to pieces?" he asked. "That is just what I wanted to know," said the doctor, "and I think ' I found out." He took something from n pocket, found Crewe's hand in the darkness, and laid it on his palm. "Can i you tell what that is by the feel?" he ' asked. ] "It's a bullet," said Crewe. <

"l r es," said the doctor. "I took that bullet- out of Captain Dare's kris wound." Crewe stood dumfounded with the bit |of lead in his hand. A blind apprehension was attacking him—the fear he had known as a child when telegrams caino at night. "But Captain Dare said nothing about a shot wound," he said mechanically. "No," said the doctor. "Is it likely that he would, when to conceal it he cut his own shoulder and invented the Moro ? Why a Lake Moro we'll see presently."

"Come! Come!" said Crewe. "Captain Dare isn't the kind of man to do things like that." "How much do you know about Captain Daro?" asked the doctor quiet-

Crewe was silent, struggling with the dumb, unreasoning dread that was gripping him. "What are you driving at?" he said finally. "Why should he hide this bullet? If you know who shot him, tell me."

"You can draw your own conclusions," replied the doctor. "It is a Lueger bullet. If there is any weapon which a Moro would be unlikely to get hold of it's a Lueger pistol. I don't suppose .there are twenty in the islands. I know there was just one in Bangyak, and it went out with that hunting party." "Do you mean Dare shot himself?" said Crewe —"an accident?" "No," said the doctor, "the pistol was Prideau's."

Crewe tried to speak nonchalantly, but his voice trembled. He was shaken with the sense of a great relief. "Oh," he said, "so Prideau shot him?" "Yes," said the doctor "Prideau shot him. but in self-defence.

Crewe leaned back, immovable' against a snubbing posit, his arms folded, tho red end of his cigar gleaming and the doctor's words dinning in his brain. He felt the moments pass, he felt his heart beating, and he felt the paralysis of fear creeping over him. "I don't think I understand," he said' at last. "Was there anything between Prideau and — John Dare?"

The doctor went to the side, looked over, peered about him through the darkness, and' listened. It was a very I still liight. There were intermittent whisperings of water along the stonework, the occasional wash of some tepid little wave that broke wearily on the sand; nothing else. "I guess l it's all right," he said. "I'll tell you what 1 know and you can judge for yourself. On the 11th of January, a year ago, the expedition that was ready to start against Mohammed Ping was called' off. At that time Prideau was commissary officer and Dare asked him to check up his stores 1 that same night. He asked him how long it would take, and 3~ heard Prideau answer: 'Until l eleven o'clock, anyway.' "About a quarter past ten I was in bed reading when I heard some one hurrying up my front steps. The door opened and Prideau came in very much upset. ' Doctor,' he said, ' I've caught my wife and Jack Dare; what shall 1 do about it?'

"I asked 1 him what he meant, and he said that he had run out of cigarettes and wanted to smoke. So he stepped out and! went home by a short cut across the square and through his backyard. As he was about to go in by the side door he heard Dare's voice in the dark sitting-room. There was no light in the front part of the house. Apparently Dare had heard him coming, for he said in an undertone:- 'What's that?' " 'I didn't hear anything,' said Mrs Prideau. "And Dare said: ' I thought I heard a step. It couldn't be Frank?' " 'No,' said Mrs Prideau; 'he won't be home for an hour.' "'He told me,' said Dare, 'that ne wouldn't- be finished till eleven, but I'd better be going. He might be coming in.' "Then he said: ' Good night,' and' she said : ' Jack, you must be patient. Promise me.' "'l'll try.' he answered, 'for your sake I'll try; but, Alice, how can I face to-morrow alone, and after that tomorrow ?'

"She was leaving next day for Japan," the doctor added l . "She answered: 'Jack, I -think it's a mistake not to be open about it. It wo\ild' be so much better to let the world know. It's a- kind world'. Tell your brother anvwav.' " 'Why hurt him till it's necessary?' he answered l . ' No, my way is best.' "With that he went out by the front door, and Prideaui heard his wife begin to cry in the dark. Then he slipped out the back way again and came to me, as I told you. When he had finished he asked me what he ought to do, and 1 told! him the first thing was to go back and see if his wife had any explanation to offer. ' You never can tell,' I said. ' There may be a- perfectly good explanation.' I said this more to calm him than for any other reason. When he hadi gone I wrote down what be had said, for I thought that if anything happened I should be called as a. witness. But nothing ever happened. In half an hour-he came back. "'Don't ever talk about this,' he said. Alice has explained that he was telling her some bad news that he got in a, cable this evening. He's- peculiar about, such things, she 'said, and he wouldn't let her tell anybody, even me. But, of course, I trust her.'

"I said that I was glad that it had come out all- right, for I thought it was better for him to get used to the idea that his wife was in- love with Dare little by 'little. Presently he went home and I went to bed." Crewe had listened motionless. Finally he realised that he must say something. "Did Prideau mention what was in that cable?"

The doctor laughed. "Didn't I make it clear?- He wasn't confided in."

"But why did he accept such an explanation?" said Crewe. "He was rather a thick-headed fellow," said the doctor; "but I think that even he got an idea of the situation befor-e the end. About a. week before, he was mad:o -away with we were out here after dinner, smoking, and he said to me:'

" 'Doctor, if yen ever hear anything about me —if anything: ever happens — you will be the onlv person who understands.' •

"I asked him what he meant, but he wouldn't say. However. I think that Captain Dare's motive for getting rid of him is pretty clearly established. Dare is a widower aixl free to marry. The- question is. how was the job done? As it must have occurred to you. a man with a bullet in his shoulder —for Da.re must have been hit before Prideau was killed —couldn't very well overpower an armed man. kill him with his hands or a poeketknife (you see his pistol and rifle were cleans, hide the body and the hnrsr. .t.o that, we can't find a trace of either, and then out his own shoulder to pieces, all' in twenty minutes." Ore we said nothinrr. and he went on: "Tf, then. Captain Dare couldn't have lolled. Prideau with his" own, hands, how W< he dip it? In. the 'first place, as I poiiitpd out. in the beginning. Dare's administration "f the Thr°e Fivers Country has broken all- records. When

5 he came here it wasn't safe to go outside the gate. Yet without firing a'shoto everything was changed and' stayed > changed, for eleven mouths.'; As you > know, that could bo accomplished 'a only one way." "How?" said Crewo. "By getting, a hold on the Sultan," ■• replied the doctor; "on Mohammed Ping. On the afternoon of the 12th of January," he continued, "the afternoon on. whicli the cable with the supposed' bad hews is supposed to hava reached Dare, word came that cholera had broken out at Ping's cotto. The expedition, which was all ready, was called off, but the next morning Dare started up the river with only a. Moro canoe man. He said something had to be done, njid' he was goin.g to see Ping. That lie should have gone was'not.surprising, for I don't thin'k Daie hns ever known fear. But it is very surprising that he should have come back. It 's possible, of course, that he sent word ahead- of him outliini.vig his proposition, but there is no proof of that. At all events, he came back safely and with his attitude towaixl Ping completely 'changed. He., said- there would' ha no expedition, and that he could rely on Ping to keep the place in order. And this Ping has done for eleven months. Moreover, the old man hns made several visits to the post and every week sends Dare fruit or venison. There c.nn be no doubt that Dare got a hold on him during that trip up the river. The question is, what is that hold ?

"The first clue to the answer turned up the day after Dare was brought into the- hospital. A sack of mangos-teens arrived from Ping, which the bearer insisted on delivering in person, so finally I took him into the officers' ward, to Dare's bed- Dare was so low he had. no idea of what was going on. When I emptied 1 out the fruat I found l the reason for the bearer's orders. Under the

jnangost-eens there was a small deerskin bag, containing between six and seven hundred dollars in old Spanish gold and a note which must have been written by Ping's confidential Chinaman, who was educated at a Shanghai missionary school. I'll show it to you." He struck a match, and Crewe read in pidgin English: "Last piece pay. Coltlidge al light."

"Coltlidge, of course, is for cartridges," said the doctor.

The match burned out. "What does it mean?" asked Cr»we. "That's what I wondered," aaid th* doctor. "The next day Davis, the ordinance officer, came in and wanted to know if there was any likelihood! of Captain Dare's dying. I told him that he was pretty low from loss of blood and shock, and that if sepsia set in he might have a bad time. "'Well,' he said, 'if he should die I'd be in a. bad fix. I think I'd better tell you what happened'.' "I told him to go ahead, and! he said that about a month before, while making an inventory, the ordnance sergeant moved a. case of rifle ammunition which seemed to him to have an odd weight. They opened it and found it fall of gravel. They then went through the whole lot and found ten others, filled with sand and stones. He and' Dare had the only keys to the place and there had been no tampering with the masonry. He went at once to Dare, but Dare took it very quietly. When after a few days they got no cine, Dans wanted to have a court of inquiry, but Dare told him that he would take nil responsibility and that he wanted the thing kept quiet, as he thought he knew a way to catch the thief. And that was the way it had been left. "I told Davis that I would write out a. statement protecting him in case Dare died, and then I wrote to Manheim in the Manila. Trust Company, asking him to find out for me where Dare had accounts, and if possible to ascertain what his balances were. Two davs later hj« cab'ledi that Date had £2200 in the Hong-kong and Shanghai, yet he hms nothing but his pay. Now," saidr the i doctor, "if you can make anything out | of this except that Dare has been selling; .cartridges to Ping and taking his pay part cash andl part immunity, I wish you would show me how?" "ftood God!" Crpwe exclaimed under hie-breath. "-ftfs-4m£d~t»-bs]ieve of a white man," said the doctor, "but there it is. And a man who would sell cairtr ridges to a. Moro wouldn't stop at bargaining with him to set an r ambush for Prideau. And that is the way it was done. Dare led him into the trap and gave the signal. Perhaps there was a momentary hitch and Prideau saw what was up. Anyway he fired hiis one shot at Dare instead of at the Moros. He only had the Chance/to fire once. They had orders to club'him andi make no mess. Then they loaded' him on. his horse and took him off. It was a clever plan, and' if it hodn't been for the unexpected shot that led Dare to his clumsy cutting and the invention of tho Lake Moro, he woiild have got away with it. You see now that he bad to make it a Lake Moro to throw the responsibility off Ping. But you know that a Lake Moro would!n J t come this way for a million dollars -aindi wouldn't live overnight if he did." ; Crowe made no denial. "There was one more piece of _ evidence." the doctor continued, "which itseemed, possible to get by taking action before. Dare should get around' again. And I took th© responsibility of trying to. get it, although it involved, some-

thinrr like forgery." "What did you dto?" said; Crewe. "I wrote Ping in Dare's name," t.h'o doctor answered, "to this effect, ' You are held responsible for Pnideau's murder by the authorities. They are plan-

ning to send troops after you. I am vein- sick and 1 cannot prevent it or protect you. Our safety depend* on your sending in the murderers.' Of course/' the doctor ncM'ed, "there is the 'Possibility that Ping won't take the chance of sending in men to be hanged who

might incriminate both Darre and himself. But I think he will. Their families and property are in his hands, and these neople are to dying when thev are told to. Anyway the chance was worth taking. If they come, it'<* conclusive proof of the conspiracy—" He stopped abnmtlv, turned, shoreward and listened. "What that?'/ be .said'. They heard a man's voice asking a. question audi then the sentry on: the beach a newer, "I think he's on the. pier." "They want one of us." said Or»we. They started to the Tand. and' Halfway m"t Anderson's orderlv. "Major Crewe." be said. "Cantwn , A nd°Tson presents his compliments and' asks if you will come to the gates as soon as convenient." "What's the matter?" said! the doctor. "Pome have come in-," said the ord°rlv. "T beard' come one. <aay thev had'the men who killed Mr Prideau." "Tell him I'm eominfr." .*••< id! Crewe. "T didn't expect them till to-morrow or the day after." said the doctor. Crewe said nothing, and they hurried in silence across the little town'. On the plaza, they ran upon Davis in the diark-. ness. _ "So you've heard?" he said 1 . "Tt's a fact then?" said the doctor. "Yes," said Davis, 'and Ping is cominn- to-morrow. What do you make of it?" _ • "Who can tell?" said the doctor. By Baugyak gate they came upon .1 group of night-wrapned figures huddled' about a lantern, and Anderson. "Well." be said, "here they a.re. Have a look." The men made way. a sergeant raised the lantern, and on the ground before them lav the heads of three dead men. their dark faces pallid, their wild mouths onen, their eves glazed' and horrible.

"The men who brought them in." said the "say that yp-strecUy thev tried to escape."

"The okl Up," said' the doctor. '.He hpnt down and examined them. "Bi>t they're fresh killed." he said. "Probahlv yesterday." Crewe turned away and l the doctor followed him. "You see. it's bettpr than we hoped." he wbisperpd. "H** was afraid to send them with their ton tups loose."

"I must see Captain Dare." said Crewe huskily. "Not. to-inVht." said the. doctor. "To-nis'ht," said Crewe.

The officers' little ward was empty save for the lotk<, powerful hodv that (av on the third cot. the one by the window. The lamplight whs dim. With dull, nhseointr eyes the sick man was watching a lizard on the thatch that ilow was motionless, thpp d ! artcd with the silent speed of a. shadow, only to stop asiain immovable. ~ ■..>,

Crewe- went in softly. "Jack," sha said.

The sick roan turned his head. In -x weak, uncertain voice lie called: "Gillespie," and smiled. 'So you're here," he wont on tremulously. "Am 1 pretty bad?" '

"You're going to get well," said Crewe. "But, Jack, .what is to be done? It's come out about the cartridges."

Dare looked up at him curiously. "So?" he said. "Where did they find them ?','

"Tell me the whole thing, Jack," said Crewe. Dare shook his head. "Not to-night," he answered wearily. "I'm too tired. Let's talk about you." He closed his eyes exhausted!} - .

"I'd rather do it to-night," said Crewe. "Ping has sent in the men who killed Prideau."

Dare lifted his head and looked with startled eyes at his brother. "Good gracious!" he whispered, and dropped back on the pillow, breathing hard. "Don't talk about this to-night," he murmured. "Tell me about you. How are things?" "Jack," said Crewe sternly, "I am here to find out the truth. What about this bullet in vour shoulder?"

A glint of defiance flashed in Dare's gray eyes. His mouth set grimly. "1 know" of no bullet," he said. That night Crewe wore the hours away watching the dim square that was the window, unable to think, unable to reason, conscious only of the pain that ached in his throat. But as the room grew gray with dawn his mind began to function again in a queer, disordered way. Mostly it sought the back trails to their childhood. Again and again he found himself in a strangely familiar vacant lot with a jungle of burdock bushes where they had hunted tigers and trailed red Indians. Irrelevant- details of things forgotten and unimportant came crowding back, but at length the fever wore itself out and he came to realise, that what other men had borne he must bear. For him. John Dare was dead (but why had he notdied in the hills?), and he was an officer witli a terrible duty to perform. As.it turned broad morang, exhausted, he -fell asleep. That forenoon Ping arrived in an undisguised fever of impatience to see Dare. He put it on the score of anxiety about Dare's condition. He pretended that he had had no news of the real state of things and complained that it h~ad" not'been sent him. He affected to be very fond of Captain Dare. The doctor smiled.

Crewe and Anderson tried to question him about the murder, hut they • gqt little. The men, he said, had confessed to burning the body and the horse. They threw the arms into the river. As to sending the murderers in dead, he said he could not see what difference it made whether they lost their .beads before or after a trial. They were bad men. With, that he renewed his demand to see Dare.

- "We've got to let him see him," said the doctor to Crewe. "And it's better not to make him suspicious by holding off. There's a medicine closet next the.room that would hold us both. You know Moro?" ''Yes," -said Crewe. : "I know enough," said the doctor. "Suppose we watch?" ■" Crewe assented mechanically. All that day he had gone about numb and automatic, a man in a daze. It was a strange scene they witnessed, peeping through the chinks in the nipa partition. The old man came softly into the room, his tall frame bent —he was a giant among Moros, his withered, grim, hideous face expressionless. A forelock of soiled white hair straggled from under his fez and lay upon his brow, accentuating its height and fidlness. There was Manchu Chinaman in Ping. As he approached the bed. Dare held out his hand and the Sultan of the Three Rivers took it in both of his. Neither spoke and no glimmer of expression crossed the old man's face, but as he stood in the light, suddenly they saw tears begin to brim and flow and stream down his cheeks.

The doctor turned to Crewe in amazement, but Crewe had his eyes to the opening. Presently Dare spoke in Moro, with a curious note of softness in his voice as if he were speaking to a child. "It is well," he said; "fear not." "It is in the hand of Allah," said the : old man. "In spite of all we must trust. Him."

• "In spite of al|," said Dare. There was a silence, and then Ping went on: "I" have come to see. Thee, friend, because of thy sickness, hut also I have news. Thou dost well to entrust -thy business to Ping. I have found tliat the cartridges are hidden beneath the floor of the house of Daoud, the one-eyed man outside thy gate. Thy Chinaman, making a false key from thine, stole them. All this Daoud told before he died." "It is well done," said Dare. He was silent for a moment, then he went on: "They say that I shall soon he well, but who* can toll? Should anything happen, I have made a writing that the money in Manila is thine."

"And thine," said Ping. "Well, it is all arranged in the writing," said Dare. "And I wished to toll theo before inquiring of the matter that is on my mind. "What of the teniente Prideau, who killed him .and how did he die?"

"I know not," said the old man •wearily. "I know not if he be dead. Only at thy message I did thy bidding." "My message?" said Dare. "Even so," said Ping. "But I sent none," said Dare.

• "A message, a writing, I received," said Ping, "from thee —the Chinaman said it had thy name —" Suddenly, he stopped, listened, and went to the window.

"It is the men playing ball." said Dare. "What of this message?"

The two in the medicine chest heard distant cheering. It seemed to come from the direction of Bangyak gate. Suddenly it hushed. "It can't be the men playing ball." whispered, the doctor. "Not at this time of day." "What is it then?" said Crewe.

The silence continued, Ping watching by the window. Dare raised on one elbow listening. "We might as well slip out." said the doctor at last. "They must know we're here. This is all acting." "But the man was crying," answered Crewe under his breath. "There were tears."

'•"Still, it must have been acting." said the'doctor: "wonderful act-ins —" stopped, for t-hey began to catch the curious little .sounds of a silent. approaching crowd. then subdued voices on the verandah, then entering footsteps and bustle, and then Anderson and Davis clattered into the little officers' ward, carrying a dishevelled. tattered creature that they laid on the first of the three cots.

"Where's Lothrop?" called Ander-

"My God!" whispered the doc-tor, "it's Prideau!" He turned, groping for the door knob, when Crewe lurched heavily against him and began to slip, slip to the floor. A thrill of horror ran over him, then he got the man's wrist in his fingers and knew that he had fainted* "

-Later in the day the doctor knew why, for Crewe told all. and what he •could do from then on to spare Crewe Ke did. But Crewe seemed able only to grasp the fact that- Prideau was a.ljve and that the cartridges had been found under Daoud's floor. He looked years older, like a mail convalescent from a malignant disease. He slept most of the day. However, the doctor was after facts, and Prideau's appearance explained nothing. The Aloros who brought him in told their story. They had found him at the "foot of Pinga Falls, a hundred and sixty feet sheer down, his leg broken, his horse dead. But how had he got there. twe.htv miles from the spot where, he had parted from Dare ? Why did he start every time Dare spoke to him across the empty cot and refuse to answer?

Since no murder had been done, why had Ping sent in the heads of three innocent men ? Was it not rather probable that, thev had attempted the job and bungled it; that they had thrown Prideau over, thinking he was dead ? Finally, what was the explanation of Efare?s relation with Ping? There was mv.doubt that some strong and inexplicable bond linked them. If it was not based on 'cartridges, what was ittbased on? And there was no explana-

tion of the bullet. The doctor came to the conclusion that the. best chance of setting an end of the truth on which to begin was from the two sick men in the officers' ward, and so he watched.

It was on the fourth night of his j watching that soon after the orderly had gone out, Dare raised himself in bed and listened. The room was lighted, but only dimly, with a night lamp. Presently 'lie seemed satisfied that, they were alone. "Frank," he said, "why are you acting tin's way? Answer me: you're not asleep." Prideau turned Over and looked at him doggedly. "Why shouldn't I act this way?" he demanded. His voice came tremulous and whining. ""What have I got ahead of me? 1 don't complain, though," he went on. "I'll take my medicine. lint it's hard alwavs. to have the luck against you. God! I can'* even die." "What became of you, Frank?" said Dare.

"'[ made northward," said Prideau. "I knew I hadn't got you, but 1 was •;fraid to go back and finish it, so I made for <he river. I wars riding up the gorge along the edge when the :-:h-elf gave way. I went to the bottom, but i landed in a fern tree. I can't die."

•'You've got a lo' to live t'ov." said Dare, musinu'h*. "Whv do you want to die?" ' ~- ■ Prideau gave a sickly laugh. "How much is if for shooting an officer?" he said. "Twenty years?" "Put that by," said Dare. "I. thought

about that, though not on your account. T'h'-v believe I've had' an accident. Mobody will ever know unless you tell them."

Prid'jau was silent for a time. Then he said suddenly': "I don't know whether I thank you or not." "A-s you please." said Dare,' "but you've got uVhing to be afraid of."

"You" know that's a lie!" Prideau snapped back. "You know Alice is in love with you." "I wish "it was so," said Dare calmly, "but it isn't." After a pause he went on, as if talking to himself: "Mean, snivelling, drunken bound that he is, she loves him. Heaven knows why." "Who wouldn't be what I am,". Prideau whined, "if a man hadn't broken up his home?" . Dare sat up in bed. "None of that!" he said fiercely.' "I tell you

your wife loves you." "Then -why did you get me out of the way the night before she went to -Japan?" Prideau shouted back. "Why did I find her crying in the dark? Why did you .say to her: 'Alice, how can I face to-morrow alone, and after that tomorrow and to-morrow?' Why did she sav: 'Jack-, it's best to toll and have it over with.' Do you think'l was taken in h.v that story about the cable? Would you or any other man have believed that? Xii," and T didn't cither, though I nrctended to." Dare' was silent for a time, finally lie said: "Frank, I'm in the wrong. You shall hove your chance. Send for her and I'll tell her she can tell you." "I'll send for her," said Prideau,

"but what is she going to tell me:-" Dare made no answer. He was battling with himself. "I see your point," ho said at last. He found his handkerchief and wined the sweat from his forehead. Even" Prideau felt the struggle that was going on within him. "She will tell you." he went on, "that on the I2th of January, at five o'clock in the morning, Massachusetts time, my boy died of scarlet fever." Both men dropped back on their pillows and lay still. Then Dare raised himself again and said hoarsely: "You understand, this is your chance."

The doctor, with a lump in his throat, but still mystified, softly turned the door handle of the medicine closet, crept out, and hurried to Crewe's quarters. When he had finished telling what ho had heard, Crewe nodded and lit his cigar. "'T knew about the cable part of it this morning," he said soberly. "Ping told me."

•"Ping?" said the dootor. ■■Yes," said Crewe. "He's told me things that I never would have believed if 1 hadn't heard and seen for myself. It's a queer story, doctor. When ho knew I was Jack's brother, bit by bitit began to come out. Most- of it he had to tell me because I'm a trustee." He smiled gravely. "I'll tell you about that part of it later." "How did they become friends?" asked the doctor. "What did this 'cable have to do with it?"

"I was coming to that." said Crewe

'Mack started'up the river, you remember, on the morning after he heard of his hoy's death —that was .January 13th —aHd my opinion is that ho didn't care ranch whether he came back .or not. They sav my grandfather Crewe took things the i-nnte way—never spoke for two years after his wife died. "Well, when .Jack got to Ping's cotto the cholera, was there, and Ping's hoy was down with it.. It seems it was Ping's only son. too. That is, the others had died years ago. I suppose -there was a good deal of row going on about it, seeing it was the heir: anyway they came to Jack and asked him to cure it, and he went to work, and out of that they got acquainted." "But the child died." said the doctor: "at least so it was reported at Bangyak."

"Yes. the hoy died." said Crewe, "just as Jack's hoy had died two days before. It wasn't a case of gratitude or anything like that. "I suppose you'd call it sympathy or understanding." Ho broke off and blew his nose. "Have you ever had children?" he asked. "No," said the doctor. "Neither have I," said Crewe. He blew his nose again. "And I suppose that is the reason," he went on, "why you and I can never quite understand what passed between them, or just what drew them together."

"I suppose not," said the doctor thoughtfully, "we can only guess." "Yes. we can guess," said Crewe. He struck a mosquito on the back of his hand and pensively flicked it off with his finger nail. "It. was funny about that money." ho added meditatively.

"I wonder what grandfather Crewe would have thought about it. He was rather touchy about the color line." "The money in Manila?" asked thedoctor. "Yes." said Crewe. "It's for a Moro university an eleven-thousand-dollar university at Bangyak, founded by the Sultan of the Three Rivers in memorv of Gillespie Dare second and Mustafa Ahmad, a Moro black boy." He stopped abruptly.

In the silence that followed, the doctor began drumming on the table with his fingers. "Well." lie said, "this is a universe of surprises. You can't tell much about it. what it means or what runs it, whether it's Fate or Chance or

a .Divine Providence. I've been thinking a good deal about it these last few days. Has it occurred to you," lie went nn, 'that if Prideau had been found forty-eight hours sooner there would be three men wearing their heads and enjoying what we call life?" Crewe nodded. "Yes. I've thought of that," ho said, "but I've been more taken up in thinking what would have happened if lie hadn't been found at all -—at leas', till he was dead. Fortyeight hours more would have done for him." I A -twitching crossed the doctor's face, and he shivered, though the night was sweltering hot. "Exactly'." he said, "and iiow can we explain it? I was doing my duty, you were doing yours. Dare was doing his, and yet if thaifellow hadn't been found when he was found, what chance would the truth have had?" "Or Jack Dare," said Crewe.

"Or Jack Dare." the doctor repeated. Crewe threw his cigar away and rose to get another. "About all you can say," he answered slowly, "is that he was found, and be thankful."