was attacked, and
defended himself here. Not expecting the arrival of enemies he provided
no store of food or water. He was killed whilst trying to reach the
well, probably at night."

He vividly pictured the scene--a brave, hardy European keeping at bay a
boatload of Dyak savages, enduring manfully the agonies of hunger,
thirst, perhaps wounds. Then the siege, followed by a wild effort to
gain the life-giving well, the hiss of a Malay parang wielded by a
lurking foe, and the last despairing struggle before death came.

He might be mistaken. Perchance there was a less dramatic explanation.
But he could not shake off his, first impressions. They were garnered
from dumb evidence and developed by some occult but overwhelming sense
of certainty.

"What was the poor devil doing here?" he asked. "Why did he bury
himself in this rock, with mining utensils and a few rough stores? He
could not be a castaway. There is the indication of purpose, of
preparation, of method combined with ignorance, for none who knew the
ways of Dyaks and Chinese pirates would venture to live here alone, if
he could help it, and if he really were alone." The thing was a
mystery, would probably remain a mystery for ever.

"Be it steel or be it lead,
Anyhow the man is dead."

There was relief in hearing his own voice. He could hum, and think, and
act. Arming himself with the axe he attacked the bushes and branches of
trees in front of the cave. He cut a fresh approach to the well, and
threw the litter over the skeleton. At first he was inclined to bury it
where it lay, but he disliked the idea of Iris walking unconsciously
over the place. No time could be wasted that day. He would seize an
early opportunity to act as grave-digger.

After an absence of little more than an hour he rejoined the girl. She
saw him from afar, and wondered whence he obtained the axe he
shouldered.

"You are a successful explorer," she cried when he drew near.

"Yes, Miss Deane. I have found water, implements, a shelter, even
light."

"What sort of light--spiritual, or material?"

"Oil."

"Oh!"

Iris could not remain serious for many consecutive minutes, but she
gathered that he was in no mood for frivolity.

"And the shelter--is it a house?" she continued.

"No, a cave. If you are sufficiently rested you might come and take
possession."

Her eyes danced with excitement. He told her what he had seen, with
reservations, and she ran on before him to witn