able to take her into the ladies’ lavatory to wash her face. I’d made up my mind now what had better be done. I could see that Cartwright wasn’t good for much; he was all to pieces. I could understand that it was a fearful shock to him, for after all Bronson was his greatest friend and had done everything in the world for him.
“‘You look as though you’d be all the better for a drop of brandy yourself, old man,’ I said to him.
“He made an effort.
“‘It’s shaken me, you know,’ he said. ‘I … I didn’t …’ He stopped as though his mind was wandering; he was still fearfully pale; he took out a packet of cigarettes and struck a match, but his hand was shaking so that he could hardly manage it.
“‘Yes, I’ll have a brandy.’
“‘Boy,’ I shouted, and then to Cartwright: ‘Now, are you fit to take Mrs Bronson home?’
“‘Oh, yes,’ he answered.
“‘That’s good. The doctor and I will go along with the coolies and some police to where the body is.’
“‘Will you bring him back to the bungalow?’ asked Cartwright.
“‘I think he’d better be taken straight to the mortuary,’ said the doctor before I could answer. ‘I shall have to do a P.M.’ “When Mrs Bronson, now so much calmer that I was amazed, came back, I told her what I suggested. The doctor’s wife, kind woman, offered to go with her and spend the night at the bungalow, but Mrs Bronson wouldn’t hear of it. She said she would be perfectly all right, and when the doctor’s wife insisted-you know how bent some people are on forcing their kindness on those in trouble-she turned on her almost fiercely.
“‘No, no, I must be alone,’ she said. ‘I really must. And Theo will be there.’
“They got into the trap. Theo took the reins and they drove off. We started after them, the doctor and I, while the sergeant and the coolies followed. I had sent my seis to the police-station with instructions to send two men to the place where the body was lying. We soon passed Mrs Bronson and Cartwright.
“‘All right?’ I called.
“‘Yes,’ he answered.
“For some time the doctor and I drove without saying a word; we were both of us deeply shocked. I was worried as well. Somehow or other I’d got to find the murderers and I foresaw that it would be no easy matter.
“‘Do you suppose it was gang robbery?’ said the doctor at last.
“He might have been reading my thoughts.
“‘I don’t think there’s a doubt of it,’ I answered. ‘They knew he’d gone into Kabulong to get the wages and lay in wait for him on the way back. Of course he should never have come alone through the jungle when everyone knew he had a packet of money with him.’
“‘He’d done it for years,’ said the doctor. ‘And he’s not the only one.’
“‘I know. The question is, how we’re going to get hold of the fellows that did it.’
“‘You don’t think the two coolies who say they found him could have had anything to do with it?’
“‘No. They wouldn’t have the nerve. I think a pair of Chinks might think out a trick like that, but I don’t believe Malays would. They’d be much too frightened. Of course we’ll keep an eye on them. We shall soon see if they seem to have any money to fling about.’
“‘It’s awful for Mrs Bronson,’ said the doctor. ‘It would have been bad enough at any time, but now she’s going to have a baby …’
“‘I didn’t know that,’ I said, interrupting him.
“‘No, for some reason she wanted to keep it dark. She was rather funny about it, I thought.’
“I recollected then that little passage between Mrs Bronson and the doctor’s wife. I understood why that good woman had been so anxious that Mrs Bronson should not overtire herself.
“‘It’s strange her having a baby after being married so many years.’
“‘It happens, you know. But it was a surprise to her. When first she came to see me and I told her what was the matter she fainted, and then she