cartridges, thrust a couple of cartridges into the breech, and handed
the loaded rifle back to his old friend.

"That's right," he said. "I remember. There are some cases neither
God's law nor man's law has quite made provision for." And then he
stopped, with his finger on his lip. "Listen!" he said.

From the depths of the forest there came faintly, very sweetly the
sound of church-bells ringing--a peal of bells ringing at midnight in
the heart of West Africa. Walker was startled. The sound seemed fairy
work, so faint, so sweet was it.

"It's no fancy, Jim," said Hatteras, "I hear them every night and at
matins and at vespers. There was a Jesuit monastery here two hundred
years ago. The bells remain and some of the clothes." He touched his
coat as he spoke. "The Fans still ring the bells from habit. Just
think of it! Every morning, every evening, every midnight, I hear
those bells. They talk to me of little churches perched on hillsides
in the old country, of hawthorn lanes, and women--English women,
English girls, thousands of miles away--going along them to church.
God help me! Jim, have you got an English pipe?"

"Yes; an English briarwood and some bird's-eye."

Walker handed Hatteras his briarwood and his pouch of tobacco.
Hatteras filled the pipe, lit it at the lantern, and sucked at it
avidly for a moment. Then he gave a sigh and drew in the tobacco more
slowly, and yet more slowly.

"My wife?" he asked at last, in a low voice.

"She is in England. She thinks you dead."

Hatteras nodded.

"There's a jar of Scotch whiskey in the locker behind you," said
Walker. Hatteras turned round, lifted out the jar and a couple of tin
cups. He poured whiskey into each and handed one to Walker.

"No thanks," said Walker. "I don't think I will."

Hatteras looked at his companion for an instant. Then he emptied
deliberately both cups over the side of the boat. Next he took the
pipe from his lips. The tobacco was not half consumed. He poised the
pipe for a little in his hand. Then he blew into the bowl and watched
the dull red glow kindle into sparks of flame as he blew. Very slowly
he tapped the bowl against the thwart of the boat until the burning
tobacco fell with a hiss into the water. He laid the pipe gently down
and stood up.

"So long, old man," he said, and sprang out on to the clay. Walker
turned the lantern until the light made a disc upon the bank.

"Good bye, Jim," said Hatteras, and he climbed up the