Picking their way through
the pass, with the surf on either hand roaring in their ears, they
slowly penetrated the lagoon and headed for the king's house. The
shelving beach brought them to a stop, and all jumping out to lighten
the boat, they drew her over the shingle and made her painter fast to a
_pandanus_ tree. Then, acting in accordance with a preconcerted plan,
Winterslea was sent forward to track down their prey, while the rest
huddled together to await his return.

Ten minutes, twenty minutes passed in palpitating suspense. A girl drew
by wreathed in flowers; she looked out to sea, then up at the stars, and
shrank again into the shadow. From the neighboring houses there came the
sound of mellow voices and of laughter. A pig rooted and rustled among a
heap of cocoanut shells. Half an hour passed, and from far across the
water, as faint and silvery as some elfin signal, the ship sent her
message of the time: six bells.

Panting and crouching, Winterslea groped his way among them.

"Come," he said.

They followed him in silence, unloosing their holsters and grimly ready.
A pair of handcuffs clinked in Hatch's jumper. They inhaled the deep
breath of tried and resolute men inured to danger, and accustomed to
give and to receive an unflinching loyalty.

Winterslea, with keen perception, led the way like a bloodhound,
skirting lighted houses and following devious inland paths. The
comparative openness of the village began to give way to the ranker
undergrowth of the plantations behind it. The path sank into a choking
vegetation that stood on either side and brushed their faces as they
followed in single file. A fallen tree gave them the passage of a
stream.

"There!" said Winterslea.

The path opened out on a little clearing among the trees, and showed
them, set on high, the out-lines of a native house. Like all Tahitian
houses, it was on the model of a bird cage, and the oval wall of
bamboos, set side by side, let through vertical streaks of light from
the lamp or fire within. As the whole party drew nearer, they heard,
deep below them on the other side, the pleasant sound of falling water,
and realized the cliff they were mounting overlooked a little river at
its foot. Here, in exquisite seclusion, Jack Garrard had chosen the spot
for his moral suicide.

Creeping up to the house and looking through the cracks of the bamboos,
his comrades had view of him within. Dressed like a native in _tapa_
cloth, with