Lord, what a man he would have been for the British Museum! There's not
his equal on Ancient Asia in the world."

"And this particular business?"

"Ah, you shall hear all about it in the proper time. That'll be
to-morrow morning, I reckon. In the meantime you can go to bed, and
content yourself with the knowledge that, all being well, you're going
to play a hand in the biggest scoop that ever I or anybody else
have tackled?"

"You can't give me an inkling of what it is to-night, I suppose?"

"I could, but I'm not going to," replied his companion calmly. "The
story would take too long to tell, and I'm tired. Besides, you would
want to ask questions of Coddy, and that would upset the little man's
equilibrium. No! Go to bed and have a good night's rest, and we'll talk
it over in the morning. I wonder what my curtains are like? If ever
there's a place in this world for mosquitoes, it's Singapore, and I
thought Calcutta was bad enough."

Having no desire to waste time in discussing the various capabilities of
this noxious insect, Hayle bade the other good-night, and, when he had
visited the bar and had smoked another cigar, disappeared in the
direction of his own apartment.

Meanwhile Mr. Kitwater, for such was the name of the gentleman he had
just left, had begun his preparations for the night, vigorously cursing
the mosquitoes as he did so. He was a fine-looking man, with a powerful,
though somewhat humorous cast of countenance. His eyes were large, and
not unkindly. His head was a good one from a phrenological point of
view, but was marred by the possession of enormous ears which stood out
on either side of his head like those of a bat. He wore a close-cropped
beard, and he was famous for his strength, which indeed was that of
a giant.

"Hayle, if I can sum it up aright, is just the same as ever," he said as
he arranged the mosquito-netting of his bed. "He doesn't trust me, and I
don't trust him. But he'll be none the less useful for that. Let him try
to play me false, and by the Lord Harry, he'll not live to do it again."

With this amiable sentiment Mr. Kitwater prepared himself for slumber.

Then, upon the three worthies the hot, tropical night settled down.

Next morning they met at breakfast. All three were somewhat silent. It
was as if the weight of the matter which was that day to be discussed
pressed upon their spirits. The smallest of the trio, Septimus Codd by
name, who was habitually taciturn, spoke