st.

The nose of the _Kut Sang_ fell away from the embankment and into the
current of the Pasig, which swung her toward Manila Bay and the China
Sea.

I could hear Meeker humming a tune and arranging his baggage. I stood for
an instant and pondered over the situation, not sure that I would not be
wiser to remain in Manila rather than sail in the _Kut Sang_. I shivered
as I sensed danger about me, as one feels the presence of an intruder in
the dark that cannot be seen.

Then I laughed at myself, and opened my bag for my pistols.

CHAPTER V

THE DEAD MAN IN THE PASSAGE

The _Kut Sang_ was dropping downstream as I locked my stateroom and made
my way to the upper-deck, partly to get a last look at Manila, but more
for the purpose of considering what I should do in the matter of telling
Captain Riggs that I suspected Meeker was not a missionary.

In the last few minutes before the departure of the vessel I had suddenly
been struck with the idea that Meeker was more than a mere spy who
mistook me for one of his own ilk. This feeling was vague and formless,
and I did not know how to begin to put together the various elements that
seemed to connect some sort of a well-defined plot.

No sooner would I set about putting certain facts together than I would
laugh at myself for manufacturing a mystery; and, after I had tried to
shake off the impression that the _Kut Sang_ and all of us in her were
more than mere travellers and seamen, the fantastic ideas insisted upon
running through my head.

Through this formless mass of queer events of the day, Meeker and the
little red-headed man kept to the front of my fancies, and with them the
steamer _Kut Sang_.

Why, I asked myself, had Meeker made such strenuous efforts to keep me
from taking passage in the vessel? It seemed absurd to suppose that he
had acted as he did, simply because he disliked the idea of having me for
a fellow passenger.

Then there was Trego and Meeker's appearance at the bank, "seeking alms,"
and the further fact that Trego was in the _Kut Sang_. It seemed to be
more than a coincidence that the two of them should meet as they did.

I even found something queer in the killing of the boatswain of the
_Kut Sang_ at the Flagship Bar, and began to wonder if Petrak did not
have a hand in the murder, even though he was so ready with a denial when
I spoke to him about it.

As I stood at the rail of the hurricane-deck, and thought of these
things, P