After half an hour's marching we met a friendly native, who told us that we were to be ambushed some quarter of a mile farther on. On receipt of this cheerful piece of information we retraced our steps; we had had our fill of fighting for that day, especially as our instructions were to avoid bloodshed if we could possibly do so. The alternative route we determined to take added five miles to our journey, and I shall never forget the weariness and uncertainty of that long _détour_. The knowledge that, at any moment, a stealthy and wary enemy might suddenly start blazing away at us from five yards on either side of the path, which was shut in with dense undergrowth to right and left, surmounted with towering trees, made the journey seem endless, and the strain on our nerves was terrible. We marched for hour after hour in a gloomy twilight; not a single ray of sunlight filtered through the thick leafy canopy overhead. Then, all at once, the path opened out, and to our unutterable joy we entered the principal avenue of Openam. We were in friendly country once more--or as nearly friendly as anything in the Hinterland of Asaba could be. Here we rested for half an hour, while I attended to Townsend and our other wounded. We then set out on our final march, and without further incident reached Asaba at 8.30 p.m., all utterly tired out, but happy in the consciousness that we had accomplished our mission. The N.C.O. who had so mysteriously disappeared at Nburu-Kitti, and whom I had given up for lost, arrived at Asaba a few hours after the column. He came to my bedside and woke me from my well-earned sleep, whereupon I stared at him in utter amazement. On asking him to prove that he was not a ghost, he explained that, when he rushed into that end room in pursuit of the flying chief, he pitched headlong down the well and nearly broke his neck. The bottom, however, consisted of oozy mud, which considerably softened his fall. After lying stunned for how long he could not tell, he began to explore the pit, and discovered a tunnel about five feet from the bottom of the well. Crawling into this, he followed it without difficulty until he emerged into another compound beyond that of the chief's. It is to be supposed that the fugitive King must have made his escape in the same manner, but, as the N.C.O. naively said, he did not wait to inquire. ROUND THE WORLD WITH A BILLIARD CUE. BY MELBOURNE INMAN, BRITISH BILLIARD ASSOCIATION CHAMPION. In this amusing article the well-known professional describes some of the curious experiences that befell him during his recent tour round the world--a tour on which his "only visible means of support" was his cue. He met all sorts and conditions of men, and--what was more important--all sorts and conditions of billiard-tables, but, as this narrative shows, managed to extract not a little amusement from his misadventures.