-looking barrel of blue steel, the half-caste's dripping
face looked forth, peering into the terrific storm. There was no
question of fending off such torrents of rain, nor did he attempt
it. Indeed, he seemed to court its downfall. He held out his arms and
stretched forth his legs, giving free play to the water which ran off
him in a continual stream, washing his thin khaki clothing on his limbs.
He raised his face to the sky, and let the water beat upon his brow and
hair.

The roar of the thunder, which could be FELT, so great was the vibration
of the laden air, seemed to have no fear for him. The lightning, ever
shooting athwart the sky, made him blink as if dazzled, but he looked
upon it without emotion.

He knew that behind him he had left a greater danger than this, and he
stretched out his limbs to the cleansing torrent with an exulting relief
to be washed from the dread infection. Small-pox had laid its hand on
the camp at Msala: and from the curse of it Victor Durnovo was flying
in a mad chattering panic through all the anger of the tropic elements,
holding death over his half-stunned crew, not daring to look behind him
or pause in his coward's flight.

It is still said on the Ogowe river that no man travels like Victor
Durnovo. Certain it is that, in twenty-seven hours from the time that
he left Msala on the morning of the great storm, he presented himself
before Maurice Gordon in his office at the factory at Loango.

"Ah!" cried Gordon, hardly noticing the washed-out, harassed appearance
of the visitor; "here you are again. I heard that the great expedition
had started."

"So it has, but I have come back to get one or two things we have
forgotten. Got any sherry handy?"

"Of course," replied Gordon, with perfect adhesion to the truth.

He laid aside his pen and, turning in his chair, drew a decanter from a
small cupboard which stood on the ground at his side.

"Here you are," he continued, pouring out a full glass with practised,
but slightly unsteady, hand.

Durnovo drank the wine at one gulp and set the glass down.

"Ah!" he said, "that does a chap good."

"Does it now?" exclaimed Maurice Gordon with mock surprise. "Well, I'll
just try."

The manner in which he emptied his glass was quite different, with a
long, slow drawing-out of the enjoyment, full of significance for the
initiated.

"Will you be at home to-night?" asked Durnovo, gently pushing aside
the hospitable decanter. "I have got