of St. Jude's lived with Atkins, the Sapper. The house was draped
in climbing and trailing creepers, and the grass grew into the red drive
that curved in a half-circle from one rickety gate to another. He came
up quietly on the soft, wet clay, and looked up at the house before he
called for the bearer, and as he looked up he saw a face disappear
quickly from behind a window. After a few minutes the boy came running
down a flight of steps from the back, and hurried in to get a tray,
which he held out for the customary card.

"Take that away," said Hartley, "and tell the Padre Sahib that I must
see him."

"The Padre Sahib is out, Sahib."

The boy still held the tray like a collecting-plate.

"Out," said Hartley, "nonsense. Go and tell your master that my business
is important."

After a moment the boy returned again, the tray still in his hand.

"Gone out, Sahib," he said, resolutely, and without waiting for any more
Hartley turned the pony's head and drove out slowly.

Twice in two days Heath had lied, to his certain knowledge, and as he
glanced back at the bungalow, a curtain in an upper window moved
slightly as though it had been dropped in haste.

Just as he turned into the road he came face to face with Atkins,
Heath's bungalow companion, and he pulled up short.

"I've been trying to call on the Padre," he said, carelessly, "but he
was out."

"Out," said Atkins, in a tone of surprise. "Why, that is odd. He told me
he was due at a meeting at half-past five, and that he wasn't going out
until then. I suppose he changed his mind."

"It looks like it," said Hartley, dryly.

"He hasn't been well these last few days," went on Atkins, quickly,
"said he felt the weather, and he certainly seems ill. I don't believe
the poor devil sleeps at all. Whenever I wake, I can see his light in
the passage."

"That is bad," Hartley's voice grew sympathetic. "Has he been long like
this?"

"Not long," said Atkins, who was constitutionally accurate. "I think it
began about the night after the thunder-storm, but I can't say for
certain."

"Well, I won't keep you." Hartley touched the pony's quarters with his
whip. "I'm sorry I missed Heath, as I wanted to see him about something
rather important."

"I'll tell him," said Atkins, cheerfully, "and probably he'll look you
up at your own house."

"Will he, I wonder?" thought the police officer, and he set to work upon
the treadmill of his thoughts again.

There is nothin