“I'll bet a fiver it isn't loaded,” Bertie proposed warmly. The other shook his head. “Then I'll show you.” Bertie started to put the muzzle to his own temple with the evident intention of pulling the trigger. “Just a second,” Captain Malu said quietly, reaching out his hand. “Let me look at it.” He pointed it seaward and pulled the trigger. A heavy explosion followed, instantaneous with the sharp click of the mechanism that flipped a hot and smoking cartridge sidewise along the deck. Bertie's jaw dropped in amazement. “I slipped the barrel back once, didn't I?” he explained. “It was silly of me, I must say.” He giggled flabbily, and sat down in a steamer chair. The blood had ebbed from his face, exposing dark circles under his eyes. His hands were trembling and unable to guide the shaking cigarette to his lips. The world was too much with him, and he saw himself with dripping brains prone upon the deck. “Really,” he said, “... really.” “It's a pretty weapon,” said Captain Malu, returning the automatic to him. The Commissioner was on board the Makembo, returning from Sydney, and by his permission a stop was made at Ugi to land a missionary. And at Ugi lay the ketch ARLA, Captain Hansen, skipper. Now the Arla was one of many vessels owned by Captain Malu, and it was at his suggestion and by his invitation that Bertie went aboard the Arla as guest for a four days' recruiting cruise on the coast of Malaita. Thereafter the ARLA would drop him at Reminge Plantation (also owned by Captain Malu), where Bertie could remain for a week, and then be sent over to Tulagi, the seat of government, where he would become the Commissioner's guest. Captain Malu was responsible for two other suggestions, which given, he disappears from this narrative. One was to Captain Hansen, the other to Mr. Harriwell, manager of Reminge Plantation. Both suggestions were similar in tenor, namely, to give Mr. Bertram Arkwright an insight into the rawness and redness of life in the Solomons. Also, it is whispered that Captain Malu mentioned that a case of Scotch would be coincidental with any particularly gorgeous insight Mr. Arkwright might receive............. “Yes, Swartz always was too pig-headed. You see, he took four of his boat's crew to Tulagi to be flogged--officially, you know--then started back with them in the whaleboat. It was pretty squally, and the boat capsized just outside. Swartz was the only one drowned. Of course, it was an accident.” “Was it? Really?” Bertie asked, only half-interested, staring hard at the black man at the wheel.