t man that ever stepped. I met him
down the coast a year ago--my luck was right out--and he brought me
along with him. I hadn't had a proper meal for days, much less a smoke,
and he'd only my word for who I was. Yet he risked it, and I've been
here ever since." Grierson, who had been walking in silence beside the
marine officer, spoke suddenly.

The American nodded sympathetically. "It was hard luck to be killed by a
rotten Dago outfit like that. Whenever you get a coloured man talking
about liberty you know he's just prospecting round for a chance to break
the Eighth Commandment."

Grierson muttered a curse; then, as if he wanted to confide in someone,
possibly as a relief to his own feelings, "His partner will be here in a
week's time; he was on his way already. When he comes I shall clear out
and go home."

Captain Harben nodded again. "Meaning England?" he asked.

"Yes, England--London. I've had ten years knocking about the
world--China, India, Australia, and all round this forsaken continent;
and the sum total of what I've got to show for it is the fever and a
couple of knife scars in my back--patriots again, one Hindu, one
Peruvian. So I think I had better go home and begin afresh--if I can."
And he gave a bitter little laugh.

The American glanced sharply at the tall, thin figure and haggard face.
When they had started out that morning to drive the saviours of their
country out of the spirit stores they were looting, Grierson had struck
him as a keen youngster with a rather infectious laugh, and his
appreciation had been increased by the way in which the other had
dropped a running insurgent at four hundred yards' range; now, however,
the captain found himself wondering whether, after all, it was not too
late for his companion to talk of beginning life afresh.

At dinner that night he expressed his doubts to the Consul, who shook
his head. "Locke, the man they killed to-day, told me young Grierson had
been through a pretty rough time, touched rock bottom. He was going into
the British Army, but had to throw it up, and went out to the Orient for
some Company which failed soon after, leaving him stranded. Since then
everything he had been in has turned out wrong; and now this has
gone.... Queer how some men do get the cards dealt them that way....
He's clever, writes very well, and might have done something at it.
Locke's death will be an ugly blow to him." Being a kindly man and none
too successful himself,