travelled in the same ship
with you.'

Arnold seized him by the wrist, while in his mind's eye he reviewed all
the passengers; they were not many. The only one who could possibly be Mr.
Blank was--Mr. Thompson!

'Get me a horse, sir!' he sputtered. 'Which way has the villain gone? And
a guide--with another horse! I'll pay anything! I'll go with you to hire
them! Come along!' Ten minutes afterwards he was on the track, full
gallop, stopping only at the hotel to get his pistol.

At a roadside posada, fifteen miles beyond, Mr. Blank was supping in
peace. The door opened. Arnold stalked in. He was in that mood of
intensest passion when a man's actions are stiff though he trembles--all
his muscles rigid with the effort of self-restraint.

Quietly he barred the door and quietly he sat down opposite to Mr. Blank,
putting his revolver on the board.

'Get your pistol, sir,' said he, scarcely above a whisper, 'we're going to
settle this business.' But Mr. Blank, after a frenzied stare, had
withdrawn beneath the table. Arnold hauled him out by the legs, demanding
instant combat.

But this was not the man to fight. He preferred to sign a confession and a
promise, guaranteed by most impressive oaths, not to revisit those parts
for six months. Then Arnold started him back, supperless, in the dark.

It may be added that the gentleman whom I have named Mr. Blank lost his
life in 1892, when seeking the habitat of Dendrobium Schroederianum, under
circumstances not wholly dissimilar. As in this case he sought to reap
where he had not sown. But peace be with him!

Without more adventures Arnold found Masdevallia Tovarensis. Of the first
consignment he despatched, forty thousand arrived in good health. This
quest completed in shorter time than had been allowed, he looked for
another 'job.' One is only embarrassed by the choice in that region. Upon
the whole it seemed most judicious to collect Cattleya Mossiae. And Arnold
set off for the hunting-grounds.

On this journey he saw the monster I have described. It grew beside the
dwelling of an Indian--not properly to be termed a 'hut,' nor a 'house.'
The man was a coffee-planter in a very small way. Nothing that Arnold
could offer tempted him in the least. His grandfather 'planted' the
Cattleya, and from that day it had been a privilege of the family to
decorate one portion of the neighbouring church with its flowers when a
certain great feast came round. Arnold tried to interest the