eagerly, alone in his study with locked door to keep
out all intruders. He had come face to face with the first serious check
in his career, and it had been dealt him too by the one man whom, of all
his associates, he disliked and despised. In the half-open drawer by his
side was the barrel of a loaded revolver. He drew it out, laid it on the
table before him, and regarded it with moody, fascinated eyes. If only
it could be safely done, if only for one moment he could find himself
face to face with Da Souza in Bekwando village, where human life was
cheap and the slaying of a man an incident scarcely worth noting in the
day's events! The thing was easy enough there--here it was too risky. He
thrust the weapon back into the drawer with a sigh of regret, just as Da
Souza himself appeared upon the scene.

"You sent for me, Trent," the latter remarked timidly. "I am quite ready
to answer any more questions."

"Answer this one, then," was the gruff reply. "In Buckomari village
before we left for England I was robbed of a letter. I don't think I
need ask you who was the thief."

"Really, Trent--I--"

"Don't irritate me; I'm in an ill humour for anything of that sort. You
stole it! I can see why now! Have you got it still?"

The Jew shrugged his shoulders.

"Yes."

"Hand it over."

Da Souza drew a large folding case from his pocket and after searching
through it for several moments produced an envelope. The handwriting was
shaky and irregular, and so faint that even in the strong, sweet light
of the morning sunshine Trent had difficulty in reading it. He tore it
open and drew out a half-sheet of coarse paper. It was a message from
the man who for long he had counted dead.

"BEKWANDO.

"MY DEAR TRENT,-I have been drinking as usual! Some men see snakes, but
I have seen death leering at me from the dark corners of this vile hut,
and death is an evil thing to look at when one's life has been evil as
mine has been. Never mind! I have sown and I must reap! But, my friend,
a last word with you. I have a notion, and more than a notion, that I
shall never pass back alive through these pestilential swamps. If you
should arrive, as you doubtless will, here is a charge which I lay upon
you. That agreement of ours is scarcely a fair one, is it, Trent? When
I signed it, I wasn't quite myself. Never mind! I'll trust to you to do
what's fair. If the thing turns out a great success, put some sort of
a share at any rate to my cred