On the chance of his coming I had given very strict orders that no one should say where Mr. Scarlett had gone, and when I took him all round the _Bunder Abbas_ his face fell as he realized that he was not on board. Not a word would he say about the snake, never so much as a hint to Jaffa; but as he left the ship he spoke to him, looking at me, and Jaffa repeated: "Twenty thousand rupees". I could not resist asking him, through Jaffa (who, if he had a shrewd suspicion that he was the red-bearded leader of the caravan, never mentioned it), how his son was—the wounded man who had been carried through the gap. At the question Jassim gave me a glance of such terrible hatred that I knew at once that the poor chap was dead, and that he blamed me for it. This could not help but worry me, and another worry came along about this time: there was disquieting news from Jask. Mr. Fisher, the acting political agent, had telegraphed across that the Baluchis were causing trouble and constantly threatening to come down from the hills and attack the place. The land wire had been cut in several places, and a party of native employees had been beaten and robbed about twenty-five miles to the eastward. He had borrowed a few of the border police from the Mir of Old Jask, but they were such brigands and so much of a nuisance that he had sent them back again. It really made me angry to think of keeping Miss Borsen and Mrs. Fisher there. I actually asked if the "_B.A._" could not go as soon as ever her repairs had been effected, but Commander Duckworth shook his head. "It’s just as it always is at this time of year," he said. "Those tribesmen keep on threatening, hoping to get ’backsheesh’. They do it every year; but nothing will come of it. They won’t risk their skins." However, this did not relieve my anxiety. I seemed to have a personal interest in little Miss Borsen, because, I suppose, she had come out from England with me, and possibly because we had quarrelled. One day Nicholson signalled across that he and Popple Opstein were bringing Mr. Scarlett across that evening. They came, he looking desperately ill, although his arm was practically well. When we four were alone he pulled out another letter—Jassim had evidently soon found where he had gone. "He offers me twenty thousand rupees," he said wearily. "It’s a lot of money." He thought that we should commence the same old arguments again, but, Nicholson winking at me, I went into the cabin, unlocked my drawer, and brought out the bracelet. I handed it to Nicholson, for it was "up" to him to tell the good news. He simply laid it on Mr. Scarlett’s thin knees and said quietly: "It’s been off your arm for ten days. I took it off when you had the operation." Mr. Scarlett shrank from it and clutched his arm. "But it’s there—I can feel it—I’ve felt it a hundred times in these last days." Nicholson smiled, pulled up his sleeve, cut through the bandage, and showed him the signal halyard.