and nearly had me. I have been dodging around, looking for you
ever since.'

"'Well, here I am,' suddenly screamed the other voice, and then a shot
rang out.

"'This time he has not missed him,' Heyst said to me bitterly, and went
back into the house.

"I returned on board as he had insisted I should do. I didn't want
to intrude on his grief. Later, about five in the morning, some of my
calashes came running to me, yelling that there was a fire ashore. I
landed at once, of course. The principal bungalow was blazing. The
heat drove us back. The other two houses caught one after another like
kindling-wood. There was no going beyond the shore end of the jetty till
the afternoon."

Davidson sighed placidly.

"I suppose you are certain that Baron Heyst is dead?"

"He is--ashes, your Excellency," said Davidson, wheezing a little; "he
and the girl together. I suppose he couldn't stand his thoughts before
her dead body--and fire purifies everything. That Chinaman of whom I
told your Excellency helped me to investigate next day, when the
embers got cooled a little. We found enough to be sure. He's not a bad
Chinaman. He told me that he had followed Heyst and the girl through the
forest from pity, and partly out of curiosity. He watched the house till
he saw Heyst go out, after dinner, and Ricardo come back alone. While he
was dodging there, it occurred to him that he had better cast the boat
adrift, for fear those scoundrels should come round by water and bombard
the village from the sea with their revolvers and Winchesters. He judged
that they were devils enough for anything. So he walked down the wharf
quietly; and as he got into the boat, to cast her off, that hairy man
who, it seems, was dozing in her, jumped up growling, and Wang shot him
dead. Then he shoved the boat off as far as he could and went away."

There was a pause. Presently Davidson went on, in his tranquil manner:

"Let Heaven look after what has been purified. The wind and rain will
take care of the ashes. The carcass of that follower, secretary, or
whatever the unclean ruffian called himself, I left where it lay, to
swell and rot in the sun. His principal had shot him neatly through the
head. Then, apparently, this Jones went down to the wharf to look for
the boat and for the hairy man. I suppose he tumbled into the water by
accident--or perhaps not by accident. The boat and the man were gone,
and the scoundrel saw himself alone, his game clearly up,