at still. Their colored servant had asked leave to go down to
the camp and was perhaps now coming back. One had to be careful not to
give one's imagination too much rein in these hot countries. Payne seemed
to have done so and had got an attack of nerves, which was curious,
because indulgence in native cana generally led to that kind of thing,
and Payne was sober. Moreover, he was of the type that is commonly called
hard.

Jake took out a cigarette and was lighting it when he heard a swift,
stealthy step close behind him. He dropped the match as he swung round,
pushing back his canvas chair, and found his eyes dazzled by the sudden
darkness. Still he thought he saw a shadow flit across the veranda and
vanish into the mist. Next moment there were heavier footsteps, and a
crash as a man fell over the projecting legs of the chair. The fellow
rolled down the shallow stairs, dropping a pistol and then hurriedly got
up.

"Stop right there, Pepe!" he shouted. "What were you doing in that room?"

Nobody answered and Jake turned to the man, who was rubbing his leg.

"What's the trouble, Payne?" he asked.

"He's lit out, but I reckon I'd have got him if you'd been more careful
how you pushed your chair around."

"Whom did you expect to get?"

"Well," said Payne, "it wasn't Pepe."

"Then why did you call him?"

"I wanted the fellow I was after to think I'd made a mistake."

Jake could understand this, though the rest was dark. Pepe was an Indian
boy who brought water and domestic stores to the shack, but would have no
excuse for entering it at night.

"I allow he meant to dope the coffee," Payne resumed.

This was alarming, and Jake abruptly glanced at the table. The intruder
must have been close to it and behind him when he heard the step, and
might have accomplished his purpose and stolen away had he not struck the
match.

"He hadn't time," he answered. "We had better see what he was doing in
the house."

Payne put away his pistol and they entered Dick's room. Nothing seemed to
have been touched, until Jake placed the lamp on a writing-table where
Dick sometimes worked at night. The drawers beneath it were locked, but
Payne indicated a greasy finger-print on the writing-pad.

"I guess that's a dago's mark. Mr. Brandon would wash his hands before he
began to write."

Jake agreed, and picking up the pad thought the top sheet had been
hurriedly removed, because a torn fragment projected from the leather
clip. T