The Spectator., 1915-04-16

venge. I'll take 1t on as a bit of good sport Wong will fix us out. Now look little fun first
 The two left the cafe veranda and engaged a pair of rickshaws. As they logged down the road, Warrington stepped out from behind the palms and moodily watched them until the night swallowed them up. He had not overheard their interesting conversa- tion, nor had he known they were about until they came down the steps together He ached to follow them He was in a fine mood for blows That there were two of them did not trouble him Of one thing he was assured: Somewhere in the dim past an ances- tor of his had died in a Berserk rage.
 He had been watching Elsa. It dis turbed but did not mystify him to see her talking to the colonel Table chance had brought them together, and perhaps to a better understand ing. How pale she was! From time to time he caught the flash of her eyes as she turned to this or that guest. Once she smiled, but the smile | did not tighten up her face. He was very wretched and miserable. She had taken him at his word, and he should have been glad. He had seen her but once again on board, but she had looked away. It was best so. Yet, it was as if fate had reached down into his heart and snapped the strings which made life tuneful.
 And tomorrow! What would tomor- TOW bring? Would they refuse? Would they demand the full penalty? Eight thousand with interest was small sum to such a corporation He had often wondered if they had searched for him. Ten years. In the midst of these cogitations he saw the group at the table rise and break up Elsa en- tered the hotel. Warrington turned away and walked aimlessly toward | town. For hours he wandered about, seeing nothing, hearing nothing; and it was long past midnight when he | sought his room, restless and weary but wide awake. He called for a stiff peg, drank it, and tumbled into bed.
 He was whirled away into broken dreams. He was in the Andes, toiling with his girders over unspeakable chasms. A shifting glance at the old | billiard room in the club, the letter, and his subsequent wild night of in- toxication, the one time in his life when he had drunk hard and long. Back to the Indian deserts and jungles. And he heard the shriek of parrots.
 The shriek of parrots He sat up. Even in his dream he recognized that cry. Night or day, Rajah always shrieked when someone entered the room. Warrington silently slid out of bed and dashed to the door which led to the gallery. A body thudded body was nude to the waist and smelled evilly of sweat and fish oil. Something whiplike struck him across the face. It was queue.
 Warrington struck out, but missed. | Instantly a pair Of powerful arms WOulIu ptHQ- ing him backward. His right arm lay parallel with the invaders chest He brought up the heel of his palm viciously against the Chinaman's chin. It was sufficient to break the hold. Then followed a struggle that always remained nightmarish to Warrington. Hither and thither across the room. miraculously avoiding chairs. tables and bed. they surged He heard a ring of steel upon the cement floor, and breathed easier to learn that the thief had dropped his knife. Warrington never thought to call out for help The old fear of bringing people about him had become a habit. Once, in the whirl of things. his hand came into