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up, but of this he knew nothing till he came to himself in the canvas hospital some weeks later. He had had more than “a touch o’ sun, ” and he was suffering a good deal from the effects of privation. As he had not gone under easily, it took him some time to recover.

He lay very still and tried to recollect things. Of that last part he remembered hardly anything—only that he knew he had to go on, and that he loathed the sight of his moving feet. His boots were worn through too, and it hurt. . . . At the first he could not think why he was there at all, and then the whole thing came back in a rush—Pamela, and Trent Stoke, and a sham death———

With a shock of apprehension he wondered if he had been delirious; he might possibly have mentioned names, and that would ruin everything. Well, if he had, he must bluff, that was all.

“What name did I say I’d take? ” he thought. “Something not too ordinary to sound genuine. Arthur Stacy—that’ll do—wonder what put it into my head? Anyhow, none of my things are marked. Phew, the flies are pretty bad. . . . I must get out of this place as soon as I can stand. It’s too blessed hot—for anyone as jumpy as I am just now. I ought to have enough money to pay my way here and get down south again, but things are apt to be expensive in these primitive places. . . . ”

He shut his eyes and drowsed off again in sheer weakness. He was not strong enough yet to think for any length of time, but he was lapped in a sense of ineffable peace. At least, he had carried out his intention. Lord Trent had died, and he was not dead! Soon he must write to Alison. Soon—quite soon. . . .

But as the next mail did not go for three months, Alison did not get a letter from Tanami.