Pryce did not wait to dress. Thrusting his feet into a pair of slippers, he hurried into the garden. There on the terrace the King stood, pointing downward and seaward. But there was no need to point.

Far below, amid the dark of the trees, a giant flame leaped hungry and quivering into the air. A column of smoke rose vertically, the head of the column spreading out in all directions against a grey sky; it looked like some monstrous swaying mushroom.

“Good God!” said Pryce. “It’s the club.”

“Scarcely fifteen minutes ago; and now look. I’m going down there directly, taking all the men here with me.” The King spoke in a quiet, even voice.

Pryce shook his head. “No good,” he said. “You can save nobody. The men who are not out of that place already are dead. The whole show will be burned to the ground in less than half-an-hour—you know how it’s built. Wonder what started it. Some careless boozer, I suppose.”

The King put one hand on his arm. “No,” he said. “The fire started in two places at once, at either end of the building. It has come at last—the rising of my people.”

From below came faintly the sound of a crash, and for a moment the stalk of that swaying mushroom was spangled high with a million sparks.

“I had seen signs, but I thought I held them still. The leaders I know—three brothers—men who—”

A shrill cry came up from the dark trees by the burning house, followed by a roar of voices; and then, short and sharp, the bark of the revolvers. For a moment the King lost all his self-possession. He wrung his hands. He flung his arms wide. “O my people, my people!” he cried.

“Yes,” said Pryce, grimly, “your people seem to have left you out of this bean-feast. They’ve forgotten you, Smith.”

The King turned on him savagely. “And they must be made to remember. That is why I go. If need be, of ten men nine must die, that the tenth may remember for ever.”

“If that was Hanson shooting just now, you’ll find some of the nine dead already. But you’re taking all the patrol with you—well, what’s left for this place?”

“This place is taboo. They dare not come.”

“Yesterday you would have told me that they dare not burn down the club and murder the white men. There’s liquor in the club, any amount of it, and you may bet your life your precious people have looted it. They respect the taboo when they’re sober, but they’ll respect nothing when they’re mad with drink.”

“What am I to do? As it is, I have only seventy-five men against many hundreds.”

“But they’re the only seventy-five who have rifles and can use them. There’s your own prestige too, and all the hocus-pocus and mummery that you know how to work on them.”

“I need all. I must win to-night and at once. If I fail, the prestige is gone and we are all dead men to-morrow. Besides, I shall be between this house and the rebels. How many of them will get past me? Very few. And you shoot well, Pryce.”

“Oh, I’m not going to shoot any worse than I can help. But I can’t be at fifty different points at once.”

“Well, yes,” the King admitted, “there is a risk. And, whatever happens, I cannot lose Lechworthy.”

“I shouldn’t,” said Pryce. “Valuable man, Lechworthy.”

“Look here, Pryce. I cannot stay another moment. I leave you six men with rifles. You must do the best you can.”

Pryce shrugged his shoulders. Six were not enough, he thought, not nearly enough. But he could see that the King was right. Unless the rebels were overawed and crushed at once, all would be lost.

“Very well,” he said. “Pick out six that can shoot better than they can run.”

“You shall have six good men. You’ll see Lechworthy and put as good a face on it as you can. Ah, they’re bringing my horse. Good-bye, Pryce.”

“Good-bye and luck to you,” said Pryce, and turned back to the house. As he dressed, he could hear voices in the big room at the front of the house, and was not surprised; the noise had been enough to waken anybody. The sound of firing had ceased now, but that vague tumultuous roar of voices went on continuously, mingling with the sound of the surf.

He was rolling a cigarette as he entered the big room. It had struck him that white drill might be inconveniently conspicuous and he wore a suit of dark flannel. He carried no weapon, and his movements were rather slower and more leisurely than usual.

Tiva and Ioia cowered in a corner and wept. Hilda, in a dressing-gown with her hair loose, sat on the table and nursed a morocco-covered case. Pryce knew what was in it. They had practised shooting together. Lechworthy, fully dressed, paced the room, his hands locked behind him.

“Noisy crowd down there, ain’t they?” said Pryce, cheerily.

“What on earth is happening, Pryce?” asked Lechworthy. “It’s—it’s terrific.”

“Some of the natives seem to have turned a bit unruly—started bonfires and crackers, and little jokes of that kind. Disgraceful behaviour. Smith has gone down with the patrol to check their enthusiasm. They’ll all be quiet enough presently. They’re in a mortal funk of the King.”

“I’ve been out on the verandah,” said Lechworthy, “and it seemed much worse than you say. There was the sound of firing quite undoubtedly.”

“Very likely,” said Pryce. “Some of these chaps are fond of loosing off their guns when they get excited. I daresay it looked and sounded far worse than it really is. By the way, Hilda, I thought your medical attendant told you to go to bed not later than half-past ten.”

“So I did,” said Hilda. “I—I was disturbed.”

“Well, this little picnic won’t last long, and really it’s not worth sitting up for. You ought to be in bed, you know.”

“You don’t think there’s any chance the rioters will come this way?” asked Lechworthy.

“No,” said Pryce, boldly. “We’re taboo. The ordinary native would sooner stand up and be shot at than set foot inside this garden. Besides, Smith will hold them. And if by any chance a few should be lucky enough to get through and mad enough to come this way, Smith has not taken all the men; he’s left a small army to protect this place with myself as their general, and I wonder what funny job I shall take on next. Come, I don’t want to hurry anybody. But you can all sleep peacefully in your beds, and the sooner you go to them the sooner I can look after my chaps.”

Lechworthy seemed quite reassured. He said good-night to Pryce and Hilda, and went off, taking Hilda with him.

Pryce turned on Tiva and Ioia. He laughed heartily at them. He made comic imitations of their wailing and lament. They ceased to weep, and became very angry. And suddenly Dr Pryce became very serious. He spoke to them in the native tongue. He gave them various instructions. There were some simple things which he wanted them to do, but they were things that might make a good deal of difference. They were quick to understand. They had great faith in Dr Pryce, even if he sometimes made them very angry. As he sent them off, Hilda came back into the room again.

“What were you saying to them?” she asked.

“Oh—telling them not to be silly.”

She clutched his arm. “I want to come with you, dear. Let me. You know that I can shoot.”

He was very gentle with her. “Yes,” he said, as he caressed her hair, “you’re a good shot, and this is splendid of you. Well, it will only be waiting and watching for a long, long time yet. And if you were there, I’m afraid I should be watching you most of the time, instead of—other things. Most probably there’ll be nothing happening at all, and you’d be up all night to no purpose, and I should feel bad about it. But if the very worst did happen, and one of these idiots did get past me and up to the house, it would be a great comfort to know that there was a revolver there waiting for him, and waiting where he would least expect it.”

He managed to persuade her that it was in the house that she would be of the greatest help. “I wish you could get to sleep,” he said.

She shook her head. “I would if I could,” she said simply. “I like to do everything you say.”

“Well, lie down at any rate.”

“I will. You know my window. You might come there sometimes, if you get a chance, to tell me how things are going.”

“Right. I expect there’ll be nothing to tell. Good-night, darling.” For one moment he held her in his arms and kissed her, and then hurried out, picking up his revolvers as he went.

He found his six men waiting for him. One of them held a torch, and Pryce made him put it out at once. Then he stationed his men at the different points from which they were to keep a look-out, not far from one another, along the hedge-crowned bank at the foot of the garden. Of course an attack from some other direction was quite possible, but the place was too large and the men at his disposal too few to keep a watch all round. It would have been impossible, even if he had made use of the boys who acted as house-servants, and he had decided not to use them for this purpose at all. They had no training and too much temperament; they would have been certain to see what was not there, and to make a noise at the critical moment when silence was essential. He kept them within the house, where under the direction of Tiva and Ioia they filled buckets and soaked blankets in order that they might deal at once with any attempt to fire the place. This being done, Tiva and Ioia, as Pryce had directed, extinguished every light in the house.

On the whole, Pryce was not ill-satisfied. The rebels, he could see now, had lit torches; a hundred points of light circled among the dark trees below him. If they came carrying torches, they would be a clear mark. Also, if they came at all, they would be mad with liquor, and the strategy of the drunken is not to be feared. They would take the shortest and nearest road, and make a frontal attack at the point where Pryce’s men kept watch. Here between the high bank and the plantations beyond was a broad belt clear of cover, and there was plenty of reflected light at present; it seemed unlikely that any party of the rebels could get across the clearing without being seen. Pryce was pleased, too, with the six men that Smith had left him. They were very keen, and they were quick to understand what was expected of them.

Going off by himself to see that all was right at the back of the house, Pryce was a little surprised to encounter Lechworthy, wearing his semi-clerical felt hat and calmly enjoying his briar pipe.

“Hullo!” said Pryce. “Thought you were in bed.”

“No,” said Lechworthy. “You don’t mind, do you? I said nothing just now, because I didn’t want to make Hilda nervous, but I should like to be in this. I can’t shoot, but I can keep a look-out for you. My eyesight’s good and I can do what I’m told.”

“Right,” said Pryce. “I’m glad to have you. I was just thinking that I could do with another man. Come along with me and I’ll place you. By the way, you might knock that pipe out. There’s a breath of wind got up and those beggars have keen noses. You see, my idea is that if they do come they shall think we are quite unprepared—all in bed and asleep, trusting to Smith and the men with him. Gives us a better chance, eh?”

Lechworthy’s pipe was already back in his pocket. “I see,” he said. “Quite sound, I think. Is this my place?”

“Yes. You watch the road. Neither to right nor to left—just the road. If they come at all, I hope they’ll come by the road. It’ll mean they’re being pretty careless. If you see anything on the road, don’t shout. Move along the bank to your left till you come to one of the men of the patrol, and tell him; he knows what to do. It’s rather dull work, but don’t go to sleep; the thing one’s looking for generally comes ten seconds after one has stopped looking.”

“Quite so,” said Lechworthy. “I do not think I shall go to sleep.”

The rebels constituted about three-quarters of the native male population of Faloo. But, as the three brothers who led them were well aware, they were very little to be depended on. And for this reason the leaders had not dared to disclose the whole of their plan. The Exiles’ Club was to be burned down, and those who escaped from the flames were to be slaughtered. The leaders found it expedient to declare that no attack on the King or the King’s property was intended, and that although in this destruction of the white men they would be disobeying the King’s orders, they would really be carrying out his secret wishes, and would readily be forgiven. The feeling against the men of the Exiles’ Club was immensely strong, and so far the leaders felt confident.

The second part of their plan they did not venture yet to disclose, for only in the excitement induced by victory and by liquor looted from the club could they hope to find followers to take part in its execution. It was proposed then to attack the King’s house; the two white men there were to be killed, and an exact vengeance was to be taken on the white woman. The King’s safety was to depend on the terms that he would make with the rebels. Now the taboo was a real thing to the natives, and equally real was their loyalty to the King and their superstitious fear of his powers; even their hatred of the men of the Exiles’ Club would not have led them to enter upon its attack at all, if they had known what sequel to it was intended.

The first part of the plan was not well executed, and with prompt action it is probable that many of the members of the club would have escaped. Had any precautions against fire been taken, it is possible that even the club-house, in spite of the inflammable material used in its construction, might have been saved. The task of firing the club-house had been entrusted to natives who were club-servants, and in their eagerness they started the two fires at least an hour before the time agreed upon, and before the cordon of armed natives had closed round the club-grounds. Several of the members had not yet gone to bed and were still in the card-room; Sir John Sweetling and Hanson were among the number. But though the fires were discovered almost immediately, there was no fire-extinguishing apparatus and no adequate water-supply. The attempts made to beat out the fire failed completely and only wasted time. With such rapidity did the flames spread that, although the alarm was given at once, there were still men in the bedrooms when the sheet of fire swept up the flimsy staircase. Most of them made a jump from the windows and escaped. One, a little man who had passed by the name of Pentwin, broke his leg in his fall and lay fainting with agony in the long grass at the back of the house.

Those who had escaped wasted much time in saving such furniture and stores as they could, dragging it on to the lawn. And there they stood around it stupidly, wondering what would happen next. Half of them did not know how the fire had originated, and did not realise that the native rising, so long talked of, had taken place at last. Mast knew perhaps, but he was demented and useless. Sir John and Hanson knew, but they were chiefly concerned in seeing that all had escaped safely from the fire.

It was bright as day on the lawn. There was a card-table, brought out just as it was, with loose cards and used glasses on it. There were heaps of Standard oil-tins. There were casks of spirits and rows of bottles with gold-foil round their necks. There was a jumble of bent-wood chairs and lounges, with legs shot cataleptically outwards and cushions shed abroad. There were piles of table-linen and full plate-baskets, mirrors in gold frames and a mezzotint of “The Soul’s Awakening.” Lord Charles Baringstoke went from one man to another, displaying a small square box of plaited grass with some exultation. “See that?” he said. “That’s my lizard. I saved the little beggar. He lost me half a quid only last night, but I saved him—damn him.” Nobody took much notice of him. Most of them stood quite still, without word or movement, staring at the fire as if under a spell. Some were bare-footed and in pyjamas, just as they had come from their beds.

They were equally unmoved when Mast, his eyes blazing with insanity, climbed up on a chair, flung his arms wide and raved. “The judgment of God is upon us,” he shouted, “the judgment of God! This is the day of Tyre and Sidon. Not with hyssop but with fire must we be made clean of our sins—this is the commandment revealed to me. Come then to the baptism of fire!” He stepped down and would have thrown himself into the burning building, but Sir John flung him roughly to the ground, and he lay there weeping. Sir John had a club-list in his hand and Hanson at his shoulder. Together they checked the list to see if any were missing. A little distance away the parrot jumped and fluttered on its perch, rattling its chain furiously, drawing innumerable corks.

“Five not here,” said Hanson, “and all men who slept in the house. I’ll run round to the back to see if I can find any of them.”

There he found a little man with a broken leg, moaning with pain. A canvas envelope had jerked out of the man’s pocket as he fell. It lay on the grass with the contents half out of it. Amongst them was a visiting-card printed in blue, and by the light of the fire Hanson read it. The maimed man made a clutch for the other papers but it was Hanson who got them. He glanced through them quickly, neglecting those that were written in cypher, and then flung them into the fire.

“You’ve not played a bad game,” he said, “Mr Parget of the C.I.D.”

Parget lay still now with closed eyes, breathing hard.

“You might have won,” said Hanson, “or again you might not, for I had my doubts about you. Anyhow, our friends have pitched the board over, and it can’t be played out. I bear no malice. We can’t take you with us with that broken leg, and I don’t like to leave you to the natives. Better put you to sleep, eh?”

Parget nodded his head twice. There was blood on his lower lip, as he bit hard on it.

“Keep your eyes shut,” said Hanson. He took his revolver from his pocket and shot the man through the head. The crash of a falling floor drowned the sound of the shot. A volley of sparks flew skyward.

Hanson rejoined Sir John. “Only one man there, and he’s dead—Pentwin. We’d better get together, go round to the back and make a dash for it. We might be able to get through.”

A few minutes before, this might have been done, but it was too late now. The fire had given the signal, and the whole place was surrounded. Before Hanson and Sir John could get their men together, there was one loud yell and then an answering roar of voices, as from all sides out of the dark of the trees the natives poured in upon the white men.

Some of the natives had antiquated firearms, but the greater number were armed with knives and spears. They were without discipline; they fired almost at random, and in consequence native killed native. Rotten barrels burst at the first shot. But numbers prevailed; a few revolvers could do little against this great tide of maddened humanity.

Yet, with no chance for their lives, the exiles fought desperately. Hanson, who had dropped on one knee behind a barrel, emptied his revolver twice and effectively before he went down, stabbed from behind in the neck. Sir John had already fallen, passing his weapon as he fell to an unarmed man behind him. Lord Charles Baringstoke was the last to go, and for a few minutes he seemed to bear a charmed life. He stood erect and smiling, his eyes alert and watchful; he never wasted a shot, and never missed a chance to reload. Possibly for the first time in his life he had realised his situation; certainly there was a nobility in his bearing that none had seen there before. His personal degradation seemed to have slipped from him, leaving only an ancestral inheritance of quiet and courage in the face of death. He was quick, quick as light; three times he swung round rapidly and dropped the native whose knife was almost on him. Then all around him came a gleam of white teeth and lean brown arms dragging at him. He was surrounded and went down. His smoke-grimed hands clutched hard at the ground. “How could I help it?” he gurgled as he died, and spoke maybe his fitting epitaph.

Now torches were lit from the burning building. The casks of liquor were set flowing, and a dense crowd gathered round them, treading the dead men under foot, stretching out cups made of the half-shell of a cokernut. The noise was terrific, and the leaders were powerless to restrain the men who had followed them. The three brothers stood apart and conferred together, quarrelling violently. So far they had won, but two of them thought that nothing further could be done with this disorganised mob. The youngest was for marching immediately on the King’s house. He had a small personal following on whom he thought he could depend. His elder brothers shrugged their shoulders. Of what use would those few be against the King and his well-armed men?

They did not know that even as they spoke the King was not a hundred yards away from them. The reckless victors had kept no watch of any kind, and the King had been able to bring his men into the orange-grove unperceived.

Suddenly into the great mob that sang and struggled round the casks on the lawn, there poured a volley from sixty-nine rifles. The noise of shout and song stopped abruptly; there were moans from the wounded on the ground and no other sound at all. Scarcely knowing what had happened, astounded and helpless, the survivors looked to their leaders. But before they could speak there came a rush of big-built men from the trees. Two of the leaders were bound hand and foot; the third, the youngest of the brothers, managed to escape.

And now the King himself rode out on to the lawn. He worked his horse in and out through the crowd, speaking to them as he went. If they wished to live, he told them, they must remain where they were. They shrank from him in shame, turning their eyes away, like unruly schoolboys caught by their master. As he passed they squatted down on the earth and watched to see what he would do. He rode to the upper end of the lawn. The building had burned low now; there was a great mass of red-hot embers over the surface of which a light flame skipped, dropping down and bobbing up again. Here, in front of the fire, the two leaders were brought to him. He dismounted and looked at them long, till they grew afraid of his eyes. Then he gave the order and four men of the patrol took one of the brothers, swung him rhythmically and hurled him into the red-hot furnace.

With the other brother the King dealt differently. As he looked at him, he began to loosen the cord on the man’s wrists, speaking softly as he did so. “See,” he said, “what has happened to you. You can no longer move except as I will it. There, your hands are no longer bound; I have taken off the cord; but one wrist clings to the other and you cannot get them apart. Your feet also are no longer bound, but they are stuck tight to the earth so that you cannot raise them. The fingers of your hands are cramped and useless—quite useless. Here is a knife to kill me; you cannot grasp it and it falls to the ground.”

The crowd watched breathlessly. They saw the proffered knife, and their leader’s failure to hold it.

The King spoke to the man again. He told him that he was a very fine man and a great house should be prepared for him. “Turn round and you will see it.”

The man turned, expressionless, his eyes wide open; he stared at the pile of glowing timber.

“A beautiful house with many lights,” said the King, softly, and the man’s face smiled now in response. “They wait for you there. You are tired, and they will spread soft mats for you that you may sleep. Go quickly. You must.”

The man ran forward, floundered for a few steps among the red-hot embers, then threw up his arms and fell full length. The flakes of burning wood closed over him like a wave of crimson sea; a gross and yellow smoke rose where he had fallen.

The King mounted his horse and called aloud. “You have seen—remember it well, remember it well! To those who throw down their arms and go back forthwith to their huts, I grant their lives.”

Helped or driven by the men of the patrol, they threw down their knives and spears and slunk away down to the huts that were massed in a straggling street on the shore.