“And then Jack Manderby came in, and I introduced him to two or three other fellows. I’d arranged to go up country that evening—train to Mandalay, and ride from there the following morning—and Jack, of course, was coming with me. He had said good-bye to the girl; he wasn’t going to see her again before he went up country, and we spent the latter part of the afternoon pottering round Rangoon. And it was as we were strolling down one of the native bazaars that he suddenly caught my arm. “‘Look—there’s Morrison!’ he muttered. ‘I distinctly saw his face peering out of that shop.’ “I looked in the direction he was pointing. It was an ordinary native shop where one could buy ornaments and musical instruments and trash like that—but of Morrison I could see no sign. “‘I don’t see him,’ I said; ‘and anyway there is no reason why he shouldn’t be in the shop if he wants to.’ “‘But he suddenly vanished,’ persisted Jack, ‘as if he didn’t want to be seen.’ He walked on with me slowly. ‘I don’t like that man, Hugh; I hate the swine. And it’s not because of Molly, either.’ “He shut up at that, and I did not pursue the topic. It struck me that we should have quite enough of Morrison in the next few weeks.” The Ordinary Man paused and lit a cigarette; then he smiled a little grimly. “I don’t know what I expected,” he continued thoughtfully: “I certainly never said a word to Jack as to my vague suspicions. But all the time during the first fortnight, while he was settling down into the job, I had the feeling that there was danger in the air. And then, when nothing happened, my misgivings began to go. “After all, I said to myself, what could happen, anyway? And perhaps I had misjudged Rupert Morrison. On the two or three occasions that we met him he seemed perfectly normal; and though, somewhat naturally, he was not over effusive to Jack, that was hardly to be wondered at. “And then one morning Jack came to breakfast looking as if he hadn’t slept very well. I glanced at him curiously, but made no allusion to his appearance. “‘Did you hear that music all through the night?’ he said irritably, half-way through the meal. ‘Some infernal native playing a pipe or something just outside my window.’ “‘Why didn’t you shout at him to stop?’ I asked. “‘I did. And I got up and looked.’ He took a gulp of tea; then he looked at me as if he were puzzled. “‘There was no one there that I could see. Only something black that moved over the compound, about the size of a kitten.’ “‘He was probably just inside the jungle beyond the clearing,’ I said. ‘Heave half a brick at him if you hear it again.’ “We said no more, and I dismissed the matter from my mind. I was on the opposite side of the bungalow, and it would take more than a native playing on a pipe to keep me awake. But the following night the same thing happened—and the next, and the next.