eeks before the
end of the appointed year, that Bude received a telegram in cipher from
the trustees. Bearded, and in blue spectacles, clad rudely as a mariner,
Bude was to all, except Logan, who had accompanied him, plain Jones
Harvey. None could have recognised in his rugged aspect the elegant
aristocrat of Mayfair.

Bude took the message from the hands of the Maori bearer. As he
deciphered it his fingers trembled with eagerness. 'Oh, Heaven! Here is
the Hand of Destiny!' he exclaimed, when he had read the message; and
with pallid face he dropped into a deck-chair.

'No bad news?' asked Logan with anxiety.

'The port of rendezvous,' said Bude, much agitated. 'Come down to my
cabin.'

Entering the sumptuous cabin, Bude opened the locked door of a
state-room, and uttered some words in an unknown tongue. A tall and very
ancient Maori, tatooed with the native 'Moka' on every inch of his body,
emerged. The snows of some eighty winters covered his broad breast and
majestic head. His eyes were full of the secrets of primitive races. For
clothing he wore two navy revolvers stuck in a waist-cloth.

'Te-iki-pa,' said Bude, in the Maori language, 'watch by the door, we
must have no listeners, and your ears are keen as those of the youngest
Rangatira' (warrior).

The august savage nodded, and, lying down on the floor, applied his ear
to the chink at its foot.

'The port of tryst,' whispered Bude to Logan, as they seated themselves
at the remotest extremity of the cabin, 'is in Cagayan Sulu.'

'And where may that be?' asked Logan, lighting a cigarette.

'It is a small volcanic island, the most southerly of the Philippines.'

'American territory now,' said Logan. 'But what about it? If it was
anybody but you, Bude, I should say he was in a funk.'

'I _am_ in a funk,' answered Bude simply.

'Why?'

'I have been there before and left--a blood-feud.'

'What of it? We have one here, with the Maori King, about you know what.
Have we not the Maxims, and any quantity of Lee-Metfords? Besides, you
need not go ashore at Cagayan Sulu.'

'But they can come aboard. Bullets won't stop _them_.'

'Stop whom? The natives?'

'The Berbalangs: you might as well try to stop mosquitoes with Maxims.'

'Who are the Berbalangs then?'

Bude paced the cabin in haggard anxiety. 'Least said, soonest mended,'
he muttered.

'Well, I don't want your confidence,' said Logan, hurt.

'My dear fellow,' said Bude affectiona