other turned to flee, but there was a flash, a small curl of blue and grey smoke, and he fell forward on his face into the water and sank. The cavalier, still holding the pistol in his hand, went up to the first man. There was no doubt he was dead; so the Don put back his pistol, wiped his sword carefully with a handful of grass, and returned it to its scabbard; then he dragged the body to the creek and flung it in. After that he gave a last look at the foot of the Gautama, and, jumping into the boat, began to paddle himself away. "'Dead men tell no tales.' The words seemed to burst from Stevens. Instantly there was a blinding flash, and when we recovered ourselves the room was as before. The cloth and mirror had gone, and the old sorcerer was seated on his stool in the corner of the room, the lamp burning dimly beside him. "'You spoke,' he said. 'I can do no more.' "I looked at Stevens reproachfully, and he understood. His face was very pale, and his lips blue with excitement. After a little he recovered himself, and said, with a shake of eagerness in his voice: "'Cayn't this old cuss start fresh, an' give us another run?' "'I can do nothing,' replied the man to my inquiry. 'You must go now.' "We turned to depart, and when we got into the street Stevens said to me: 'I'll see you home. I'm afraid I busted the show.' "'I'm afraid you have; but it's no use crying over spilt milk.' "Stevens made no answer, and we walked back to my rooms without saying a word. At the door he left me abruptly, refusing all offers to come in. Once in my rooms, I tried to think out the matter, but gave it up and went to bed. Sleep wouldn't come, so I lay awake the whole night, picturing to myself over and over again the grim scene I had seen enacted in the mirror. Towards morning I dropped into a troubled sleep, and awoke rather late. I got out of bed thinking that the events of the past night were, after all, nothing more than a dream; but it all came back to me. When I went down to breakfast I found Stevens waiting for me, and he pressed me earnestly to join him in a search for the place we had seen in the looking-glass. I was in an irritable mood. 'Great Scott!' I said, 'can't you see that all this is only a conjurer's trick? How many thousand Gautamas are there in Burma? Are you going to dig them all up?' "'Some men don't know their luck, pard,' he said, as he left me; and, although I thought of him sometimes, I never heard anything more of him for a long time.