atures did
not like the taste of its morocco binding, was a Keble's _Christian
Year_, on the title-page of which was written, "To my dearest Elizabeth
on her birthday, from her husband." I took the liberty to put it in my
pocket. On the wall, moreover, still hung the small watercolour picture
of a very pretty young woman with fair hair and blue eyes, in the corner
of which picture was written in the same handwriting as that in the
book, "Elizabeth, aged twenty." This also I annexed, thinking that it
might come in useful as a piece of evidence.

"Looks as if the owners of this place had left it in a hurry,
Quatermain," said Stephen.

"That's it, my boy. Or perhaps they didn't leave; perhaps they stopped
here."

"Murdered?"

I nodded and said, "I dare say friend Hassan could tell us something
about the matter. Meanwhile as supper isn't ready yet, let us have a
look at that church while it is light."

We walked through the palm and orange grove to where the building stood
finely placed upon a mound. It was well-constructed of a kind of coral
rock, and a glance showed us that it had been gutted by fire; the
discoloured walls told their own tale. The interior was now full of
shrubs and creepers, and an ugly, yellowish snake glided from what had
been the stone altar. Without, the graveyard was enclosed by a broken
wall, only we could see no trace of graves. Near the gateway, however,
was a rough mound.

"If we could dig into that," I said, "I expect we should find the bones
of the people who inhabited this place. Does that suggest anything to
you, Stephen?"

"Nothing, except that they were probably killed."

"You should learn to draw inferences. It is a useful art, especially in
Africa. It suggests to me that, if you are right, the deed was not done
by natives, who would never take the trouble to bury the dead. Arabs,
on the contrary, might do so, especially if there were any bastard
Portuguese among them who called themselves Christians. But whatever
happened must have been a long while ago," and I pointed to a self-sown
hardwood tree growing from the mound which could scarcely have been less
than twenty years old.

We returned to the house to find that our meal was ready. Hassan had
asked us to dine with him, but for obvious reasons I preferred that
Sammy should cook our food and that he should dine with us. He appeared
full of compliments, though I could see hate and suspicion in his eye,
and we fell to on the