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He had been ordered to lie there a month before returning to Malata. And the month was nearly up. He landed in the morning at the bottom of the garden and found peace, stillness, sunshine reigning everywhere, the doors and windows of the bungalow standing wide open, no sight of a human being anywhere, the plants growing rank and tall on the deserted fields. What had happened?
With his hand full of pieces of paper he returned on deck and scattered them overboard on the dark water, in which they vanished instantly. He did it slowly, without hesitation or remorse. H. Walter, Esqre, in Malata. The innocent Arthur What was his name?
Whatever its meaning it was not for that man he had picked up casually on obscure impulse, to get rid of the tiresome expostulations of a so-called friend; a man of whom he really knew nothing and now a dead man. In Malata. Oh, yes! He was there secure enough, untroubled in his grave. In Malata.
The blackness of the island blotted out the stars with its vague mass like a low thundercloud brooding over the waters and ready to burst into flame and crashes. "And so this is Malata," she repeated dreamily, moving towards the cabin door.
Of course he isn't here! But Geoffrey's schooner is here. She can be sent at once to fetch him here. No! Stay! There's a better plan. Why shouldn't you all sail over to Malata, professor? Save time! I am sure Miss Moorsom would prefer. . ." With a gallant flourish of his arm he looked for Miss Moorsom. She had disappeared. He was taken aback somewhat. "Ah! H'm. Yes. . . . Why not.
But it was he who had first helped Renouard in his plans of exploration: the five-years' programme of scientific adventure, of work, of danger and endurance, carried out with such distinction and rewarded modestly with the lease of Malata island by the frugal colonial government.
"And you complain of her interest?" The accent of the all-knowing journalist seemed to jar on the Planter of Malata. "No!" he said, in a deadened voice that was almost sullen. But after a short silence he went on. "Very extraordinary. I told her I came out to wander at large in the world when I was nineteen, almost directly after I left school.
We have even kept them out of the paper to oblige old Dunster. But we shall put your arrival in our local celebrity." "Heavens!" "Yes. Mr. G. Renouard, the explorer, whose indomitable energy, etc., and who is now working for the prosperity of our country in another way on his Malata plantation . . . And, by the by, how's the silk plant flourishing?" "Yes." "Did you bring any fibre?"
"Don't you believe me? Oh, you modest creature. Well, let me assure you that under ordinary circumstances it would have been a good shot. You are sufficiently remarkable. But you seem a pretty acute customer too. The circumstances are extraordinary. By Jove they are!" He mused. After a time the Planter of Malata dropped a negligent "And you know them." "You have met those people?" he asked.
The Moorsoms did manage to catch the homeward mail boat all right, but had only twenty-four hours in town. Thus the sentimental Willie could not see very much of them. This did not prevent him afterwards from relating at great length, with manly tears in his eyes, how poor Miss Moorsom the fashionable and clever beauty found her betrothed in Malata only to see him die in her arms.
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