ers until their intentions are known. Yours are above reproach."
His smile faded. "However, you may be interested in another bit of
Tagalog." He spoke briefly a phrase that seemed to be mostly vowels.

"What does it mean?" Scotty asked.

The colonel's eyes searched theirs. "What good is hay to a dead horse,"
he said and walked away.

The boys stared at each other.

"A very good question," Rick said at last. The colonel had vanished into
the Manila Hotel. "Scotty, what good is hay to a dead horse?"

"The deceased equine has little use for hay," Scotty said. "Obviously.
Was that a warning?"

"I don't know what it was," Rick said. The phrase could have been a
warning, but of what? And how had the colonel known where they were
dining? He put the question aloud.

Scotty shrugged. "Doesn't the constabulary come under the Department of
the Interior? Maybe Lazada told him. A colonel would be pretty high rank
in the constabulary; he could even be the commander."

The Philippine constabulary had a long and distinguished history. It was
similar to a police force, but was a military organization. It was, Rick
thought, something like a cross between the American state militia, the
Texas Rangers, and any good state police force.

"I'm snowed," Rick said at last. "The only thing I'm sure of is that he
wasn't looking for information when he asked what good is hay to a dead
horse. Come on. Let's start for Lazada's."

The way led across busy Taft Avenue, named for the American president,
across the Ayala Bridge which spanned the Pasig River, and past Malaccan
Palace. The palace was the equivalent of our White House. In its time
Spanish, American, and Japanese conquerors of the Philippines had lived
there. Now it housed the president of the Republic of the Philippines.

It was very dark by the time they passed the palace. They left the
street-lighted area and entered an area of old Spanish houses. The Pasig
River was very close. They could smell the water hyacinth which floated
endlessly down to the sea.

The air was heavy with unshed rain. The boys had long since shed their
jackets and were carrying them. Now the heat seemed to push down on
them, muffling even the sound of their leather soles on the cobbles.
They passed a solitary street light and Rick read the sign. They were on
the right track. The hotel clerk's directions, obtained before they ate,
had been very good.

"Almost there," Rick whispered, then wondered why h