t with the first signs of the tragedy, for there were
bloodstains on the floor.

Orme pointed to them as he hurried on, and suddenly a man leapt out of
the darkness as a buck leaps from a bush, and ran past us, holding his
hands to his side, where evidently he had some grievous hurt. Now we
entered the corridor leading to the private apartments of the Child of
Kings, and found ourselves walking on the bodies of dead and dying men.
One of the former I observed, as one does notice little things at such
a moment, held in his hand the broken wire of the field telephone. I
presume that he had snatched and severed it in his death pang at the
moment when communication ceased between us and the palace.

We rushed into the little antechamber, in which lights were burning, and
there saw a sight that I for one never shall forget.

In the foreground lay more dead men, all of them wearing the livery of
Prince Joshua. Beyond was Sergeant Quick, seated on a chair. He seemed
to be literally hacked to pieces. An arrow that no one had attempted to
remove was fast in his shoulder; his head, which Maqueda was sponging
with wet cloths--well, I will not describe his wounds.

Leaning against the wall near by stood Higgs, also bleeding, and
apparently quite exhausted. Behind, besides Maqueda herself, were two or
three of her ladies, wringing their hands and weeping. In face of this
terrible spectacle we came to a sudden halt. No word was spoken of by
any one, for the power of speech had left us.

The dying Quick opened his eyes, lifted his hand, upon which there was
a ghastly sword-cut, to his forehead, as though to shade them from the
light--ah! how well I recall that pathetic motion--and from beneath this
screen stared at us a while. Then he rose from the chair, touched his
throat to show that he could not speak, as I suppose, saluted Orme,
turned and pointed to Maqueda, and with a triumphant smile sank down
and--died.

Such was the noble end of Sergeant Quick.

To describe what followed is not easy, for the scene was confused. Also
shock and sorrow have blurred its recollection in my mind. I remember
Maqueda and Orme falling into each other's arms before everybody.
I remember her drawing herself up in that imperial way of hers, and
saying, as she pointed to the body of Quick:

"There lies one who has shown us how to die. This countryman of yours
was a hero, O Oliver, and you should hold his memory in honour, since he
saved me from