“‘The Doctor is right, my darling,’ it ran. ‘It’s just Fate, and there’s not much use kicking. I’m glad though that you know the truth—it helps. Good-bye, dear heart. God bless you.’” The Doctor paused. “Is that all?” said the Ordinary Man. “Very nearly,” answered the Doctor. “I had been right when I said two months, only the cause of death was not what I expected. How he got across the water so soon I don’t know. But he did—in a cavalry regiment. And he stopped one—somewhere up Ypres way.” “And the girl?” asked the Soldier. “Has not got over it yet,” said the Doctor. “And did she ever hear from him again?” demanded the Barrister. “Once, from France. Written just before—the end. She didn’t show me _that_ one. Pass the whisky, Actor-man. Talking makes one’s throat infernally dry.” _IV_ _The Ordinary Man’s Story, being The Pipes of Death_ “ANY of you know Burma?” asked the Ordinary Man, putting out his hand for the tobacco-jar. “I’ve been there,” grunted the Soldier. “Shooting. Years ago. West of the Irawadi from Rangoon.” “It’s years since I was there, too,” said the Ordinary Man. “More than a score. And if I wasn’t so beastly fat and lazy I’d like to go back for a visit. Only a visit, mind you. I’ve got to the time of life when I find that London is quite good enough for my needs. But the story which I propose to inflict on you fellows to-night concerns Burma, and delving into the past to get the details right has brought the fascination of the place back to me. “I was about thirty-five at the time—and my benevolent Aunt Jane had not then expired and endowed me with all her worldly goods. I was working for a City firm who had considerable interests out there—chiefly teak, with a strong side-line in rubies. “At that time, as you may know, the ruby mines in the Mandalay area were second to none, and it was principally to give my employers a report on the many clashing interests in those mines that I went back to England after a few months in the country. And it was in their office that I met a youngster, who had just joined the firm, and who, it turned out, was going out to Burma on the same boat as myself. Jack Manderby was his name, and I suppose he must have been ten or eleven years younger than I. He was coming to my district, and somewhat naturally I was a bit curious to see what sort of a fellow he was. “I took to him from the very first moment, and after we’d lunched together a couple of times my first impression was strengthened. He was a real good fellow—extraordinarily good-looking and straight as a die, without being in the least degree a prig. “We ran into a good south-westerly gale the instant we were clear of the Isle of Wight, which necessitated a period of seclusion on my part. In fact, my next appearance in public was at Gibraltar.