“For many days we followed the path the white men came; resting only one day, which was a certain feast-day, we being of the Sufi Sect and worshippers of one god,” said the policeman. “We found sleeping places by the ashes of fires that the white men had kindled; also cartridges and other things which white men throw away.” “How many days’ journey did the white men come?” asked Sanders. “Ten days,” said the native, “for there were ten night fires where there was much ash, and ten day fires, and where there was only so much ash as would show the boiling of a pot. Also at these places no beds had been prepared. Two white men travelled together for ten days, before then were three white men.” “How do you know this?” said Sanders, in the vernacular. “Lord, that were an easy matter to tell, for we found the place where they had slept. Also we found the spot where the third white man had been left behind.” Lambaire’s lips were dry; his mouth was like a limekiln as, sentence by sentence, the native’s statement was translated. “Did you find the white master who was left behind?” asked Sanders. “Lord, we did not find him.” Lambaire made a little choking noise in his throat. Whitey stared, saying nothing. He half rose, then sat down again. “Was there a grave?” The native shook his head. “We saw an open grave, but there was no man in it.” Lambaire shot a swift startled glance at the man by his side. “There was no sign of the white master?” “None, lord, he had vanished, and only this left behind.” He dived into the inside of his stained blue tunic and withdrew what was apparently a handkerchief. It was grimy, and one corner was tied into several knots. Cynthia rose and took it in her hands. “Yes, this was my brother’s,” she said in a low voice. She handed it to Sanders. “There is something tied up here,” he said, and proceeded to unknot the handkerchief. Three knots in all he untied, and with each untying, save the last, a little grey pebble fell to the table. In the last knot were four little pebbles no larger than the tip of a boy’s finger. Sanders gathered them into the palm of his hand and looked at them curiously. “Do you know what these signify?” he asked Whitey, and he shook his head. Sanders addressed the native in Arabic. “Abiboo,” he said, “you know the ways and customs of Alebi folk--what do these things mean?” But Abiboo was at a loss. “Lord,” he said, “if they were of camwood it would mean a marriage, if they were of gum it would mean a journey--but these things signify nothing, according to my knowledge.” Sanders turned the pebbles over with his finger. “I am afraid this beats me,” he began, when Amber stepped forward. “Let me see them,” he said, and they were emptied into his palm. He walked with them to the window, and examined them carefully. He took a knife from his pocket and scraped away at the dull surface.