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So sleep, Tibbetti, for when the moon comes up we must walk.”
    They had taken away his arms, but they had not bound him, and Bones sat down on the floor of the hut, his head in his hands, considering the possibilities of escape. They were few, for it seemed that every man capable of carrying a spear had left the town and had come out to hunt him. From where he sat he could see that the wood was filled with men. The prospect was not cheerful.
    Presently he saw the chief pass the entrance of the hut, and called him.
    “Tell me,” he said, “did Busubu speak the Fearful Word?”
    The chief shook his head affirmatively.
    “And thus he died, by the pool of the swamp!”
    “Lord, thus he died,” agreed the other.
    “Mystery solved!” said Bones with melancholy satisfaction.
    He had been up early that morning, and he had had an exhausting day. There was something in the suggestion which the chief had made. He was healthy and young and lived in the minute. He had hardly stretched himself upon the ground before he was asleep.
    When Bones awoke it was daylight, and he sat up quickly. Through the opening of the hut there was nobody in sight. Something hanging on the thin roof-beam caught his eye and he gasped.
    It was his belt and pistol.
    “I’m dreaming,” said Bones.
    He went blinking out into the light. At the edge of the forest path were two trees, and a man was sitting, his back to Bones, gazing interestedly at two uncomfortable figures tied very tightly to the trunks.
    “Bosambo!” called Bones sharply, and the watcher rose.
    “Lord, I came up in the night, I and my young men, and M’gula showed me the way you had gone and told me of the Fearful Word he had made you speak.”
    “He told you…?”
    Bosambo did not meet his eyes.
    “Lord Tibbetti, you have the wisdom of a snake. This they told me in the village: that you measured many things with your fine ribbon and looked at many things through your glass-that-makes-little-things-into-big-things.”
    Bones went pink.
    “Also by looking at leaves and cooking-pots and digging in the sand, and other cunning methods, you sought to find which way Busubu went. All this is very wonderful, but I am a simple man. I burnt M’gula a little, and the soles of old men are very tender…and he told me.”
     
    *  *  *
     
    “I knew all along that it was M’gula,” said Bones to an admiring audience. “In the first place there was a patch of black mud, dear old officer, on the foot of his bed. That showed me two things – and this is where the jolly old art of deduction comes in – it showed me that he had come a long journey and – and–”
    “That he’d been standing in mud,” said Hamilton helpfully.
    “Exactly!” said the triumphant Bones. “Where did the mud come from?”
    “From mud,” suggested Hamilton.
    Bones clicked his lips impatiently.
    “Dear old officer! Let me tell the story, please – that is, if you want to hear it.”
    “I’m afraid, Bones, you’ve been forestalled – Bosambo has sent me two very long and detailed messages,” smiled Sanders. “According to him, M’gula confessed under a primitive form of torture.”
    Only for a second was Bones nonplussed.
    “But who was it set his jolly old conscience working?” he demanded in triumph.
     

THE MEDICAL OFFICER OF HEALTH
    For the use of Mr Augustus Tibbetts, Lieutenant of Houssas, and called by all and sundry “Bones,” a hut had at one time been erected. It was a large hut, and in many ways a handsome hut, and would have accommodated 999 young officers out of a thousand. There was even a shower bath operating from a lofty barrel. But the interests of Bones were multifarious. His hobbies were many. They came and went, and in their passing left on the shelves, in the cupboards and under the table and bed, distinct evidence of their existence. As the scientist may, by the examination of geological strata, trace the history of the world, so might an expert delving into the