The author of this remarkable story has contributed several articles to this magazine, and we have always found him quite reliable. Concerning the present narrative he states: "During my long sojourn in the Philippine Islands I made notes of a number of incidents occurring in the secret service, with the idea of later weaving them into readable matter. This story is true in all essential details, but I can only allow you to publish it on condition that my name is suppressed, owing to my former official connection with both the military and civil government of the Philippines."

IGHT in the mouth, so to speak, of Manila Bay lies the Island of Corregidor, absolutely commanding the approach to Manila by water. This island has been so strongly fortified by the United States Government that it is known throughout the Orient as "The Gibraltar of the East." The heaviest and most modern guns frown invisibly from the heights of this rocky isle, and woe betide the hostile vessel that tried to pass these mighty weapons day or night — to say nothing of the destructive mines that could, in a few hours, be thrown across the channel on either side of the island.

       Without Corregidor the possession of the Philippine Islands would be of doubtful value for a foreign Power. True, there are several other fairly good harbours along the Philippine coast-line, but they are so poorly situated to command the islands that no enemy would think of occupying them to the exclusion of Manila. The military and naval commanders in the Philippines have never had the least trouble in convincing Congress that Corregidor is vital to the defence of the islands, and must have first attention in the scheme of fortifications being carried out in that quarter of the globe. Corregidor, therefore, has become what army men proudly proclaim impregnable.

       This being so, you will understand what it would mean if the plans of this island of cannon, this city of batteries, this magnificent storehouse of ammunition and provisions, should fall into the hands of a foreign Power, and you will also realize how carefully such plans would necessarily be guarded by those in charge.

       At the time I write of, the Post-Commander at Corregidor was a stern, old, grizzled veteran, a hero of the Civil War, the Spanish War, and the campaigns in the Philippines against Aguinaldo and in China against the Boxers — Colonel Henry Milner. Colonel Milner was honour and integrity from the top of his head to the soles of his feet; he was also wise and cautious. He was exceptionally well liked by officers and men — in fact, one of the best-beloved officers in the entire United States Army.

       Colonel Milner kept the complete plans of the fortifications of Corregidor in his small private safe in his headquarters office, and they were never visible except to the Colonel himself, or to his aide or staff when discussing matters that concerned them. No one else ever so much as saw the heavy brown envelope in which the precious plans lay when at rest. Colonel Milner alone knew the combination of the safe, and he alone carried the single key to the inner compartment in which the plans lay.

       In spite of the facts just stated, and of the further fact that there was not an officer on the island who would not readily swear on a stack of Bibles that it was impossible for information concerning the plans to leak out, twice within the past six months it had been brought painfully home to the Colonel and his officers that valuable information had actually passed into forbidden hands. First of all there was the finding, several months previously, of a blue-print of one of Corregidor's most important batteries in the streets of Calcutta by a British Army officer, who forwarded the same, like the gentleman he was, to Washington. The affair had caused quite a stir for a time, and was then forgotten by the public — but not by Colonel Milner, who was still writhing mentally over the communication he had received from Washington on the subject, and whose spare moments were still occupied in trying to solve the mystery of the lost blue-print.

       That mystery, by the way, will make another good story when its approaching solution is ready to be announced.

       Recently it had been persistently rumoured that a certain foreign Power, with headquarters not many thousand miles from Manila, had come into possession of some of the secrets of Corregidor, but the rumour could not be traced to anything definite. It had, however, such a strong colouring of truth that the harassed Colonel had received another official note from Washington, reminding him, in view of the Calcutta incident, of his responsibility; and the worried Colonel in turn had reminded the officers of the garrison of their sacred duties as guardians of the mighty Eastern Gibraltar and its secrets. Colonel Milner had gone so far as to take the roll of officers and consider these gentlemen one by one, but he gave it up as a bad job. They were all honourable men and above suspicion.

       The deep furrows in the Colonel's brow grew deeper; it was plain he was undergoing a tremendous strain, and at his age this meant something. He might have been relieved from duty at this post, but he would not. He insisted to himself, with a vague uneasiness, that it was his duty to remain until the mystery was explained, and the traitor caught and punished. How he ached to get his hand on the culprit!

       Thus matters stood when the next startling incident of the series occurred.

       I must explain here that Corregidor lies thirty miles from Manila in a bee-line across Manila Bay. The headquarters of the Philippines Division of the United States Army are in old Fort Santiago, on the Pasig River, in the Walled City. The secret service department of the army is known as the Information Division, and employs a number of shrewd American operatives and some Filipinos. The work of this division is seldom heard of, and many persons doubtless do not even know of its existence. Nevertheless, the division manages to keep its employés pretty busy. Within recent years they have caught subjects of a certain foreign Power red-handed, sketching and photographing the naval station at Olongapo and harbours all around the islands, and taking soundings at various places on the Philippine coast-line. Moreover, if you can realize it, they have even recently discovered a wireless telegraph station set up by these same subjects of the same foreign nation, on a headland in the far northern and seldom-visited part of the Island of Luzon. This station was practically ready for service.

 

       Colonel Milner was at his desk early one morning when his telephone-bell rang. He caught up the instrument, and learned that Captain Burton, Chief of the Information Division in Manila, was talking. Captain Burton asked a question; the Colonel seemed startled, half rose from his chair, and asked him to repeat the question. There was no mistake. The Captain's voice came clearly and slowly over the telephone:—

       "Are the plans safe? Please make sure and let me know."

       The Colonel was shocked. Something told him that another disaster had fallen on him. He felt in his heart that he would not find the plans in the safe. Rising mechanically, he walked to the safe, opened it like one in a dream, nervously thrust his hand inside and unlocked the compartment, then felt hopelessly for the brown envelope. It was gone!

       He looked again; he tore everything out of the safe. He knelt there on one knee, looking blankly in front of him. His mind seemed benumbed. The telephone-bell rang again — long and imperiously — before he stirred. With a start he jumped forward, caught the telephone, and cried, hoarsely:—

       "Heaven help me, Captain! The plans are gone!"

       Then the 'phone crashed from his shaking hand to the floor. How long he stood there the Colonel could never have told; he was utterly unconscious of his surroundings; his mind was in another world, and in that other world he was facing dishonour, disgrace, and black ruin.

 

       Now, what was happening over there in Manila that had caused Captain Burton to disturb the Colonel's peace of mind so rudely? Briefly this — and you will note how much chance, or fate — whatever you care to call it — has to do with important events and the solving of mysteries. I believe it was Napoleon who said that life was three-quarters fate, and the Little Corporal was usually right.

       One of Captain Burton's best assistants was a young man commonly known as "The Pirate." If you had seen his bristling hair, his fierce moustache, and the savage look he often assumed, you would have guessed the reason for his nickname — and you would have guessed wrong. This gentleman was extremely shrewd, and had, moreover, a good knowledge of Spanish and half-a-dozen native dialects.

       On the evening prior to the Captain's telephone conversation with the Colonel, the Pirate had finished his dinner and left the dining-room, lighting an aromatic Philippine cigar, and wandered aimlessly about the streets. He walked through the Walled city and found himself at last in a crowd composed mainly of Filipinos, evidently bound for the famous evening seaside promenade — the Luneta. He noticed casually an American soldier walking with a native girl, and wondering to himself why some American soldiers would persist in getting mixed up with the natives, he found himself following the couple. Nearing the Luneta, they passed directly under an electric arc-light, and the girl looked back for an instant. The Pirate saw her quite plainly, and started.

       "Great Scot!" he exclaimed almost aloud. "If it isn't that little wretch, Nena de Mota! Then this must be a new victim. I will have a look at him; it may be useful some time."

       With this intention he kept about level with the pair trying to get a good look at the soldier's face without attracting attention.

       If he succeeded in the latter design, he failed in the former, much to his chagrin; for the couple having passed the light, turned under the dark avenue of low, sweeping palms known as the Malecon, and sat down on a bench where they were enshrouded in deep gloom. The Pirate had discovered only one thing; on the man's collar he had seen "1—th Co., C.A.C." By this he knew the soldier to be a member of a company of the Coast Artillery Corps, stationed on Corregidor.

       As it was obviously out of the question to make the acquaintance of the girl's escort directly, and he did not want to arouse suspicion by loitering in their neighbourhood, the Pirate strolled slowly up the Malecon to its ending at the Luneta, waited a few minutes and then retraced his steps, his mind strangely occupied with the pretty girl he had just seen. As he cogitated the girl's fair image floated before him. He saw her perfect oval face, her splendid wavy black hair, her large, soulful, innocent eyes, her slender, willowy form, her alluring, fascinating movements. Then the recollection of the wickedness existing behind that whitewashed mask of beauty roused him to anger.

       "That girl," he soliloquized, "has ruined more good Americans than bino ever did; her pretty face and her innocent, childish ways are responsible for goodness only knows how many degradations and deaths. Queer what a hold she gets on a man — and on honest, strong-willed men at that. Once her eyes strike them, she holds them; there is no escape. Their salaries go first, then their savings. Then come gambling, graft, theft, burglary, reputation torn to shreds; finally, Bilibid Prison, murder, or suicide, and Nena is free for another victim — and he's not long in coming. It has been the same story over and over again. And now comes this soldier, the smallest game she has had yet, to my knowledge. It's odd — very odd; his pay is not large, and wouldn't satisfy the girl for two days. By Jove!" he added, fiercely. "There's something bigger here than I can see. This loving couple will bear watching, and it begins right here and now."

       Arrived at this conclusion, the Pirate stepped into the deepest shadows of the inner row of palms and cautiously continued his walk toward the spot where he had left the soldier and the girl, intending merely to spot them and follow them when they left the Malecon. No moon or stars were out and the promenade under the heavy, low-sweeping palm-branches was in deep gloom. Behind the inner row of trees a field of high, waving cogon grass stretched back to the moat outside the ancient walls of old Manila. A full-grown person could easily find a perfect hiding-place in this grass, even in broad daylight.

       From time to time the Pirate stopped to try to catch the sound of voices and get his bearings. He felt sure he was nearing the spot. For a brief second he thought he saw the outline of a figure against the distant skyline, but it disappeared so quickly that he concluded he was mistaken. Presently he found himself half-way between two trees, and was certain the couple must be very near. Moving forward, his knee came in contact with something hard. It was one of the stone benches — the very one, the thought came to him, that the couple should be occupying. He was in some doubt; he did not believe the couple had got up and given him the slip, and accordingly he sat down for a moment with his back to the grass.

       Just then his quick ears caught a slight rustle, and he turned swiftly. Too late! He merely saw a figure with an upraised arm, a woman standing close by; then — crash! — a million stars leapt up before his eyes, and he fell to the ground with a low moan and lay still.

       It was lucky for him, however that he had turned, as the movement served to divert the full force of the blow, and as a consequence, although he could not move, he could and did hear what went on. He knew in a moment that his assailant was examining his face by the aid of a lighted match. He heard, too, as from afar off, a woman's soft voice say laughingly, in broken English, with the quaint Filipino accent: "Did you fix him, Jock?"

       And he heard the harsh reply: "Yes, I got the sneaking puppy all right. But I don't know him. I believe he belongs to the secret service, though, and I ought to kill him, for there ain't no telling how much he knows."

       Then the same wickedly sweet voice asked: "Well, why don't you do it, Jock? If he do belong to the secretos, and he hear you tell me about de plans —–"

       "Hush! For Heaven's sake, hush!" growled the man, hoarsely. "Let's go. I don't know him, and he probably don't know me. It may be one of your old lovers, for all I know, trying to get back at you. Anyway, I've never killed a man yet, and I can't begin now. I'll take my chances on him this time, but I shall know him when we meet again all right."

"He saw a figure with an upraised arm, and a woman standing close by."

 

       Once more the Pirate heard the low, charming voice, the enticing laugh; then came silence. He was alone. He did not know how long he lay without moving. He heard clearly the automobiles and carriages passing along the driveway a few yards away, with now and then the eruptive rattle and roar of a motor-cycle. Several times he heard the low voices of people on the promenade at his side — pairs of sweethearts, no doubt, for it was a famous lovers' lane. But he could not move a muscle. Gradually his senses seemed to sink into slumber, and when he awoke daylight was flooding the east.

       Before he had collected his confused wits he was sitting up, noting the miasma rising from the dank moat. Slowly the events of the night came back to him. His head pained him fearfully. He raised his hand and drew it away covered with clotted blood. Rising unsteadily, he tied his handkerchief about his wounded head and made his way to his room, where he bathed his injuries and lay down for a rest.

       In spite of the pain in his head, the Pirate slept until the old cathedral bells pealed out the hour of seven, when he rose and went direct to headquarters. He felt that he had blundered somewhat, and expected a "ragging" from his chief.

       Captain Burton was at his desk — he always was; he believed that work, and plenty of it, was not harmful to any man, even in the Tropics. The Captain's keen eyes at once took in the situation, and, motioning the Pirate to a chair, he said, brusquely yet kindly:—

       "Out with it, man. What has happened to you?"

       The Pirate narrated the occurrence of the previous night, and when he repeated the girl's words the Captain looked startled, raised his hand for silence, swung round in his chair, caught up the 'phone, and the conversation with Colonel Milner at Corregidor followed, as already detailed.

       The Captain's one thought for months had been the mystery — or, rather, mysteries — of the plans of Corregidor. For hours at a time he had pondered on the finding of the blue-print in Calcutta, and lately the persistent rumours about the leaking out of further official secrets had worried him greatly. He was now plainly excited — more so than the Pirate had ever seen him; yet all he did was to simply glare at his favourite operative for a moment, then relax his muscles and drop at ease in his chair.

       "You missed a big thing, my boy," he said, simply. "You understand, don't you?" he added immediately.

       The Pirate did.

       "The thing to do now is to find that girl," the Captain went on, in the tone of a man who is braced for a hard job. "If you could identify the man, the whole thing would be easy, but it would be worse than useless to try to pick out one man from a hundred and ten when you have nothing to go on, and by trying the culprit would be alarmed and change his plans. Can you find the girl?"

       "Yes, sir," replied the Pirate, jumping to his feet. "I'll have her here by noon."

       The Captain looked him curiously in the eye. "Very well," he said, curtly. "It's up to you. Now that the villain has the plans he won't delay turning them over to the other parties and getting the money, and then he will doubtless try to make a quick get-away. Every hour is valuable. Oh, by the way," he added, as the Pirate was about to depart, "if I am not here when you get the girl, bring her to my house."

       The Pirate went out, while the Captain sat thinking.

       Next he turned to the 'phone again, and gave the Colonel the benefit of his assistant's experience. The Colonel said he would look carefully over the roster of the 1—th Company, and advise results.

       The Captain was thinking rapidly, going over past events. Presently an idea struck him.

       "Those two Japs!" he said, suddenly. "I've always suspected them; I'm positive they are not merchants, as they claim — they are too military in their bearing. They will bear further watching — at least for to-night."

       He rang a bell. A bright, athletic young fellow came in.

       "Smith," said the Captain, promptly, "you remember those two Japs you were trailing a few days ago? You do, of course. Well, go back on their trail at once, and don't let either one out of your sight until to-morrow morning. Take any other man with you that you choose."

       "Yes, sir."

       Smith saluted, turned on his heel, and was gone.

       I should explain here that the Information Division keeps an eye on all foreigners coming into the islands until it is satisfied of their intentions. About three weeks prior to this time it had been noted that two strange Japanese were making their headquarters at one of the Japanese stores in Manila. Upon investigation, the proprietor stated that these men were partners with him, and were in Manila to get an idea of Philippine products, and were then going back to Japan to open an office there to promote the exchange of Japanese and Philippine goods. Captain Burton had kept them under surveillance for about ten days, but, as nothing had developed to cast doubt on their assumed characters, he had discontinued the watch. Now, as the reader knows, he had decided to resume it — at least for this one night.

       About an hour after Smith had left Colonel Milner called up on the 'phone to inform the Captain that the 1—th ompany, C.A.C., was the crack company of the post; that he, with its officers, had gone carefully over the roster, but could not fix on anyone as the possible traitor. A few of the men were known to drink a little too much of the native wine, bino, once in a while, but beyond that there was nothing against anyone in the company.

       Captain Burton hung up the 'phone wearily. He was greatly perturbed and badly worried. He knew that a crisis had come in the lives of several hitherto highly honoured officers of the United States Army in the Philippines; he knew that failure to recover the plans meant disgrace for that well-beloved veteran, Colonel Milner — a court-martial with severe consequences. He knew, further, that failure meant a new Chief of the Information Division — a post of which he was very proud, and which he meant to keep for some time to come.

       He looked at his watch. It lacked fifteen minutes of twelve. He shook his head doubtfully.

       "He won't do it," the Captain said, at last. "I know her better than he does."

       Twelve o' clock sounded from the cathedral near by. Captain Burton rose slowly, picked up his hat, and passed out.

       "The Pirate has lost," he thought to himself, not without a tinge of disappointment. "The girl is too clever for him."

       At 2 p.m. the Captain was back at his desk. No word came from the Pirate. He had hardly seated himself, however, when his telephone-bell rang sharply. It was his man Smith. The news he had sent a gleam to the Captain's eyes and a flush to his face.

       "I have learned," reported mith, "that the parties in question have engaged passage on the steamer Kumano Maru, sailing for Hong-Kong to-morrow at noon. Have you any special instructions?"

       "Bronson is working with you, is he not?" the Captain asked, quickly.

       "Yes, sir."

       "Then just follow out my original instructions — do not let either of these fellows get out of your sight until to-morrow morning. I shall be here until eight o'clock to-night, and after that you can reach me at my house. Notify me by 'phone of anything that develops."

       "Very well, sir."

       Captain Burton leaned back in his chair with a sigh of satisfaction — the first for many weeks.

       "I've got a presentiment," he soliloquized, "that to-night is the fatal night. Going away to-morrow, are they? Humph! Things are beginning to move at last. There will be a 'hot time in the old town to-night,' if I know anything." And the Captain turned to some other official documents on his desk with more interest than he had shown for days.

       He was still busy with these documents some time later when he looked up to see Colonel Milner coming in. Without any preliminaries, and in a tone of deep anxiety, the Colonel asked:—

       "Have you learned anything, Captain?"

       The Captain looked sympathetically at the Colonel's drawn face and shook his head evasively. He placed a chair for the latter, and said, cheerily:—

       "Don't worry, Colonel; things are beginning to come our way. In fact, I have a strong idea that this night's work is going to settle the whole business and see the precious plans back safe in your hands. By the way, Colonel," he asked, almost sharply, "have you told anyone but me of this affair?"

       "Not yet," the Colonel replied, slowly. "But to-morrow I shall assemble all the officers and acquaint them with the facts. I also have a cablegram which I shall send to Washington this afternoon."

       "Pardon me, Colonel, but you know what that will mean to you?" said the Captain, sadly.

       The Colonel was silent for a moment, then he lifted his head and said, quietly:—

       "Yes, I know — court-martial, disgrace, dishonour. And after forty years' service! It's hard, Captain, mighty hard; but I guess I deserve it."

       "You can still think of no way in which the plans might have been stolen — of no one whom you might suspect?"

       "I must answer 'No' to both your questions," answered the Colonel. "I alone have the combination to the safe, and I alone carry the key to the inner compartment. I alone am to blame."

       Captain Burton looked at the old soldier before him long and intently, thinking deeply the while.

       "Colonel," he said, at last, "don't send that cablegram to Washington to-day."

       "What's that?" asked the Colonel, quickly. "What's that, Captain?"

       "I am merely suggesting, Colonel, that you do not send that cablegram to-day; wait until to-morrow. Stay with me to-night, and to-morrow morning, if you still wish it, we will send it off."

       It was hard to get the Colonel to agree to this programme; he felt that he was at fault, and that the sooner Washington knew it the sooner he would feel relieved. It was on his mind, and he wanted to get rid of it. In the end, however, he gave in, and even came to share some of the Captain's hopefulness as to the night's possible revelations.

       Captain Burton inquired how many men of the 1—th Company, C.A.C., were in Manila. The Colonel had brought with him a record of their names and general reputation on a slip of paper furnished by the commanding officer of the company. There were six in all; four of them had fair reputations, one of the remaining two was the model man of the company, neat, obedient, moral, and religious; while the sixth and last man was, strangely enough, considered the worst man in the company — a fair soldier, but with too strong a love for bino and inclined to untidiness. The model man was John Church; the untidy one, William Thomson.

       Captain Burton, in his mind' s eye, saw Bill Thomson passing over the plans and receiving a bag of gold in exchange, and then disappearing from view to spend his ill-gotten gains at the various beach-combers' resorts around the islands. But how had he got the plans?

       Colonel Milner remained with Captain Burton until evening, when he accompanied the latter to dinner at the well-known Restaurant de France, on the Escolta. As they were about to pass through the portals of this popular place four soldiers swung round the corner and caught the Colonel's eye. He clutched the Captain by the arm, and whispered, sharply:—

       "There are four of them now!"

       Captain Burton thought rapidly. Four from six left only two to be accounted for.

       "Colonel," he said immediately, "don't object to anything I say or do now, but fall in with me."

       "Boys!" he called out, as the four were about to pass with a salute.

       They stopped.

       "Have you had dinner?" he pursued.

       They replied in the negative.

       "That's good," said the Captain, cheerily. "The Colonel and I want you to take dinner with us, and afterward we've got something we want you to help with."

       The four looked at each other, then at the two officers. Then one, acting as spokesman, said:—

       "Very well, sir."

       The Captain rushed dinner somewhat, as he wanted to get back to his office as soon as possible. In the meantime the Colonel informed him that neither John Church nor Bill Thomson was among the four men who were with them. When questioned casually, each of the four soldiers stated that he had nothing particular on for the evening, and Captain Burton was convinced they were telling the truth. The matter evidently lay between the two absentees.

       They were now all silently waiting in the Captain's office, where Burton was noting the time rather nervously. At last the cathedral clock struck the hour — one, two, three, four, five, six —– Just then, sharp and clear, the telephone-bell rang. It was Smith.

       "At seven-thirty," he reported, "one of the parties left, and Bronson is trailing him. I then went to the rear of the store, the proprietor having closed the front doors, and I managed to get on the roof of the bodega, and through a crack in it I could look down into the store. The other party was in the small office with the proprietor, and between them they were counting a large amount of paper money. I will remain and trace party, unless you have other instructions. I am telephoning from Clarke's, across the street."

       "You have done very well," called back the Captain. "I have no other instructions. 'Phone me at my house, and I will have an automobile ready to come at once to any point you name."

       Captain Burton turned to the Colonel triumphantly.

       "Everything is going right, Colonel," he said. "I am now quite sure that you won't have to send that cable. We shall catch the traitor to-night and recover your plans." And again poor Bill Thomson floated before the Captain's eyes.

       "But what," he added, a trifle anxiously, "has become of the Pirate? It looks as though we sha'n't need that girl after all; I wish I had let her go. However," he concluded, "the Pirate can take care of himself, I'm sure."

       Captain Burton then explained to the four soldiers that he wished them to accompany him to his house, as there was prospect of a night adventure which would require their services. The young fellows seemed quite pleased. Thereupon the six men proceeded to No. —–, Calle Palacios, the Captain's home, where all proceeded to make themselves comfortable in the cool sala of the old Spanish house.

       Two hours passed. The officers were silently puffing away at their cigars, while the four soldiers were seated close together, regaling themselves with startling tales of adventure and travel. Suddenly the sound of the old brass knocker disturbed the stillness.

       The Captain jumped to the door and swung it open. Before him stood the Pirate and a female figure with a black mantilla round its head. The Pirate, without a word, pushed the woman before him into the sala, and with one movement swung her under the light and removed the mantilla. The Captain beheld the beauteous Nena de Mota, her long, silken, black tresses hanging in graceful disorder about her Madonna-like face, her large, lustrous black eyes fairly shooting forth hatred at the Pirate.

"He swung her under the light and removed the mantilla."

 

       The Pirate drew his feet together and saluted.

       "I have the honour to report, sir, that, after considerable trouble, I found the party you sent me after, and have brought her to you, as ordered."

       He enjoyed effect, and he realized that he had it in this instance, and was correspondingly happy.

       At the Captain's request the Pirate explained what had occurred, first offering the girl a chair, which she contemptuously refused with a toss of her head and a stamp of her foot.

       The Pirate knew where Nena had been living; the secretos of Manila know where everybody lives, I might say. He went directly there, only to find she had fled. He could find absolutely nothing about her flight from any of the neighbours; for hours he was unsuccessful in getting any clue, when quite accidentally he ran across a small Filipino boy who had been Nena's servant some time before. He had enlisted this boy's services, and, after more hours of following up clues, the fair Nena had been located in the Trozo district, with a relative. When the Pirate slyly stepped into the room and confronted her, Nena became a tigress, trying several times to stab him with one of the wicked fan-knives so popular in Manila, and when at last he had approached and disarmed her, she had bitten and scratched like a wild-cat, compelling him to gag her and tie her hands. Then, finding herself helpless, she had changed her tactics, and tried to fawn on the worthy Pirate and enthral him with her personal charms; but, as the clever Pirate expressed it, it is rather difficult for any woman, however attractive, to be fascinating with her hands tied behind her and a gag in her mouth. He had discovered, also, that Nena was evidently contemplating flight (and this gave Captain Burton much satisfaction), as she had her things packed for quite a journey.

       The Pirate concluded by removing the gag from Nena's mouth, when she immediately burst forth with a torrent of abusive words in Spanish, Tagalog, and English.

       The two officers and the four soldiers had listened attentively to the Pirate's interesting story, and when he concluded the Captain nodded approvingly, and remarked:—

       "Now we shall see what the fair lady knows."

       He turned to the girl with a stern face.

       "Young lady," he said, deliberately, "I am going to ask you a few questions, and it will be to your advantage to answer truthfully. Do you understand me?"

       The girl looked him over spitefully, threw back her head, and said, very distinctly:—

       "Yes, Señor Captain, I understand all dat you say. Ask to me de questions, and, if I like, I make de answer."

       "Very well," proceeded the Captain. "First, who was the soldier you were with last night on the Malecon?"

       Nena whirled round to the Pirate, and, spitting viciously at him, cried out:—

       "So you are the man, the pig what see me on the Malecon las' night with my querido Jock! Oh, what big fool, that Jock! I tell him to kill you, and he got big heart, and not do eet. Now you make for him all dis trouble. You wait; some day I kill you!"

       And those who looked on did not doubt her desire or ability to do what she threatened, provided Fate gave her the chance.

       The Captain broke in.

       "Enough of that, young woman," he said. "Answer my question."

       She turned to him again, looked him over scornfully, and said, her red lips curling upwards:—

       "Maybe the good Señor Captain can find out."

       "Yes," replied the Captain, curtly, "the good Captain could find out, but never mind that question. I've got another that will beat it. Now, then, my young wild-cat, I warn you that this question must have an answer. Where, and at what hour to-night, were you and your soldier friend going to meet the two Japanese who were going to pay your friend much money?"

       The girl's eyes dilated; she trembled. The shot had gone home. The Captain saw that at once, and knew he had won. He was watching her narrowly, and thought for a moment that she was on the point of telling all she knew. Then he saw her lips draw firmly together in a straight line, a stubborn look come to her eyes — and he knew she was still bent on frustrating him. He felt that now was the time to act; he regretted it, but would not allow his pity to govern what he felt was his duty.

       "Are you going to answer my question?" he asked.

       Again the haughty, scornful look appeared on that pretty face; then she repeated, with marked insolence:—

       "Maybe the good Señor Captain can find out."

       "Yes, I can and will," asserted the Captain. Stepping close to the girl, he asked her, quietly: "Did you ever hear of the water-cure?"

       The question was magical, the effect instantaneous. The girl's flushed face seemed to turn paler; her lips trembled.

       "But the good Señor Captain would not do that?" There was little of insolence now in her tones, and some supplication.

       The "good Captain" drew himself together, and, keeping his eyes fastened sternly on the girl's countenance, he said, harshly:—

       "The good Captain will do even that if the fair señorita refuses to answer when questioned."

       "The water-cure — and to a woman?" continued the girl, with every trace of impudence now gone, and fear showing in her eyes.

       "Yes, señorita," replied the Captain, severely. "Even to a woman, if the honour or safety of my country is at stake. This is not a time for trifling. Tell me now, without further delay, which is it to be — the answer to my question, or" — and he paused a moment to let the full significance sink in to her brain — "the water-cure? Speak quickly!"

       Then, as the girl still hesitated, the Captain motioned to the Pirate and said, decisively:—

       "Go into the bathroom and bring in a bucket of water."

       Nena's expressive eyes now took on a pleading, pitiful look; her face went still whiter; her bosom heaved spasmodically. She did not know exactly what the water-cure was, but she did know it was considered a terrible thing; she knew it would cause great pain, and that it would possibly mar the beauty of the wonderful face she was so proud of. She recalled the fearsome Spanish methods of torture and punishment; more than anything else in the world she loathed physical pain and disfigurement. Besides — and the thought came to her with relief — from the Captain's words it was plain he knew the main facts, and to save herself punishment she might as well tell what she knew. The soldier's plans were discovered; she could expect nothing more from him. Why should she try to shield him further and bring trouble on herself? Bah, it was not worth while! She could easily get another Americano with more money to pander to her ideas of a life of ease. Yes, she would tell all.

       She looked at the Captain; she saw in his steely eyes only grim determination. He seemed to be reading into the very depths of her heart, and she cringed. She saw no mercy in that hard, tense face before her. She felt herself weakening; she dropped to her knees, and, with a broken spirit whined out that she would tell everything if the good Señor Captain would not have her tortured or punished.

       Then followed what she knew. She did not know the soldier's real name; she had merely been told to call him Jock. She knew he had in some manner come into possession of valuable official documents, and had arranged to sell them to some Japanese for a large sum of money; that the meeting was to take place this very night at 11.30 o'clock in a long-deserted house on the Tondo Beach.

       She had hardly finished the miserable tale when the telephone-bell rang — Smith again. He reported that the other party had led him to the Tondo Beach, naming the vicinity of the place that Nena de Mota had mentioned, and that he had left Bronson in charge, the latter's quarry having carried him to the same spot. He (Smith) had hurried to the nearest drug-store to 'phone the Captain. He also stated that a third party had been awaiting the two Japs at the deserted house, but that neither he nor Bronson had been able to identify him by the slight view they had had.

       The Captain directed Smith to return to his vigil with Bronson, and informed him that he (Burton), with others, would come at once in their motor-car. All seven of the men then piled into the big, high-power car at the Captain's door, and in five minutes were within a block of the rendezvous. The Captain placed the Pirate and the four soldiers in such positions as to completely command the house, and then, slowly and with great care, he and the Colonel approached the front entrance. The door was closed and barred, but through a crack they saw three men seated round a rickety table in the centre of the room, evidently counting a mass of paper money by the light of a small cocoanut-oil lamp such as Filipinos use. One of the men held a package in his hand, which, even in the dim light, the Colonel's straining eyes recognized as the precious brown envelope containing the plans of Corregidor.

       The Captain nudged the Colonel and placed his shoulder to the door. The Colonel understood, and at a signal one mighty push sent the old door flying from its hinges, and the two officers were in the room, revolvers in their hands, pointed dangerously near the three startled conspirators. The culprits jumped to their feet, the Japs, without a word, calmly folding their arms across their chests. The other man let out an oath and hung his head in shame. Paper money was scattered about the floor; the brown envelope lay on the table.

       Neither officer had yet been able to see the soldier's face, and as they advanced Captain Burton was about to call out Thomson's name when the Colonel, who, in his eagerness, had preceded him a step, stopped suddenly, lowered his weapon, and cried, in utter horror and astonishmcnt: "Church!"

       The Captain was so surprised that he, too, lowered his arms, when the Japs, whose restless eye had been watching events, apparently without interest, made a swift rush for the door — only to meet our friend the Pirate with a revolver in each hand.

       "Don't leave so early, my friends," he said, with a wave of the revolvers towards the centre of the room. "My superior officers wish the pleasure of your company for a few minutes."

       The Orientals submissively turned and stepped back a few paces, and there waited with the same air of nonchalance as before.

       "Church!" repeated the Colonel. "You — you — contemptible — puppy!" he spluttered, shaking with rage. "You with your smug face, your high morality — you, the model man of the company! It is you who are the traitor — who would sell your country, place all your comrades under suspicion, and trail the flag of your country in the mud! You cur!"

 

       There is little more to tell. The brown envelope contained the plans complete. The Colonel was saved, and retired not long after wards as a brigadier. The Captain was saved also; he is now Major Burton, of the Information Division. And the explanation of the mystery, when it came to be told, was astonishingly simple.

       Church, the traitor, told the same old story of fascination by a girl — Nena. He was so infatuated he said that he could not refuse anything she demanded. She asked continually for money. His pay was nothing, and she told him he must find some means of getting more money, or she would throw him over. One night he lay awake in his quarters, thinking restlessly over this problem. The night was warm, and he simply could not get to sleep. Finally he arose and walked aimlessly out, and, before he knew it, found himself at Headquarters Building. Now, Headquarters Building was in the centre of the post, and was not then, as now, closely guarded, the sentry not passing within fifty yards of the main entrance to the building.

       Church saw someone in pyjamas passing through the door, and, his curiosity aroused, he slipped in after the figure. It went to the Commandant's office. Church was close behind. It went to the desk, turned on the shaded light, and then went to the safe. Church, from the doorway, recognized the Colonel himself. He also saw that the Colonel's eyes were closed, and at once realized that he was in the presence of a somnambulist. The Colonel opened the safe, took out the brown envelope, walked back to the desk, and dropped into the chair. Church slipped into the office and waited. The sleeper set the envelope down in front of him, leaned slowly forward, and gradually let his head fall on his outstretched arms. Church quickly moved over to the desk, picked up the envelope, thrust it into his shirt, flitted over to the safe, closed and locked the inner compartment and closed the outer safe door, which locked itself as it shut. Then, silent and swift as a shadow, he passed to the sleeping Colonel and placed the key to the inner compartment beside him on the desk. Finally, he flew through the door back to his quarters.

       Church did not know what he had secured, but he was confident that the brown envelope contained papers of value, and he surmised they were plans. A brief examination disclosed the contents, and at once the evil intent of selling them and thus getting the needed money entered his head. Once there, it could not be dislodged. He had little trouble in getting in touch with the two Japs, who had been sent to Manila expressly to spy and get all information possible regarding the great forts and cannons of Corregidor, at whatever cost necessary. With the money thus obtained Church and Nena de Mota had planned to leave the islands forever.

       The Colonel had evidently gone back to his quarters without knowing what he had done. These were the real facts in the case, but the charges publicly made against Church, and on which he received his severe sentence, were of trying to burglarize the commanding officer's safe and trafficking with the Japs to sell valuable official secrets.

       The two Japanese spies were kept in the military prison for some ten days or more, but as at that time there was no law covering espionage in the United States or its possessions, they were released on formal protest of their Consul, and sent to Hong-Kong. It is interesting to know, however, that one of these men was a major and the other a captain in the Japanese regular army.

       What of Nena? I am not quite sure, but I have reason to believe she was killed in a drunken brawl at one of the road-houses which used to infest the suburbs of Manila. Some persons tried to connect the traitor Church with the blue-print found in the streets of Calcutta, but this theory was completely routed when the real truth developed. But that is another story.

(END OF FIRST STORY)

       This remarkable narrative is, in a way, a sequel to "The Stolen Plans," which we published four months ago. That story concerned the disappearance of the plans of Corregidor — the "Gibraltar of the East" — the great island fortress which guards Manila Bay. Mention was then made of the fact that certain "blue-prints" of one of the most important batteries were mysteriously discovered in the streets of Calcutta, and that a story lay behind the find. Here is the story — and a very extraordinary one it is. The author has given us assurances as to its absolute authenticity, but, as before, has been compelled to suppress his name owing to his former official connection with the Government of the Philippines.

H, look, Ota-San!" cried a shrill, childish voice. "See the big black spider! Ain't he the awfullest, biggest spider you ever saw?"

       Ota-San, who had been solemnly contemplating the heaving waters of the China Sea turned quickly, and in a few steady steps reached the child. With a startling exclamation "Sodiska! yes; it is a very much big spi-du," she kicked off one loose slipper, and with a rapid movement reduced the insect population of Corregidor by one.

       Then she turned a smiling face to the child, who viewed with horror the mangled remains of one of those immense spiders so numerous in the Philippine Islands, but which are said to be harmless.

       "Big spi-du ve'y bad; yes, sodiska! Lil Gu'l nevvy touch. When see big spi-du, allee time call Ota-San quick, ve'y quick. Lil Gu'l no call Ota-San, Mastu Captain no likee. Un-nu'stan'?"

       Lil Gu'l understood, and with her hand in Ota-San's large, brown, chubby one, went slowly down the slope — not, however, without more than one horrified backward glance towards the unfortunate spider.

       Lil Gu'l (little girl) was the sweet baby daughter of Captain and Mrs. Roy Blackmer. The Captain was an officer in the Coast Artillery Corps, U.S.A., stationed on rocky Corregidor, at the entrance to Manila Bay. He was noted for his mastery of the difficult science of military engineering, and was often assigned to special duties requiring highly specialized knowledge and skill.

       It may be remarked in passing that the Captain, like many other intellectual men, became, when engaged in the study of knotty technical questions, completely absorbed in his work and utterly oblivious to his surroundings. If called away for a moment he would leave his desk in a most appalling state of disorder, and attend to the summons, still mentally solving his problem, probably returning to his desk without dropping a stitch of his reasoning and almost without realizing that he had been away.

       The Captain followed this course of action regardless of the nature or value of the documents in his possession, which were thus left exposed to theft or destruction. But how could anything happen to such documents when they reposed in the Captain's study, in his private quarters, which no one ever entered save the Captain's self, and once in a while, his charming wife or his pretty little daughter, with the bland, ever-faithful Japanese amah Ota-San? Yes, indeed; everything in the Captain's study was perfectly safe.

       Ota-San had been a legacy from a departing brother officer. She was a most intelligent Japanese woman, of uncertain age, with a limited knowledge of the English language, when it came to speaking it herself, but an apparently unlimited knowledge when spoken to. Ota-San thoroughly knew her place and her duties as an amah. She soon made herself invaluable to Mrs. Blackmer, taking absolute charge of Lil Gu'l, and even overseeing the two native servants also kept by the Captain.

       Furthermore, unlike some of her sister Japanese, Ota-San refused to adopt American dress and clung tenaciously to her quaint becoming native costumes. She looked very neat and competent in her kimonos, Japanese stockings with the divided foot, and Japanese straw slippers. In true Japanese fashion, she always dropped the' slippers at the door on entering the house, and moved about in her stockinged feet as noiselessly as the Captain's cat.

       The Captain's quarters consisted of one half of a pretty cottage on the eastern slope of Corregidor. Captain Craig, of the 1—th Co., C.A.C., occupied the other hall. At this time Captain Craig was alone in his quarters, attended by his native servant, his family being in the States.

       Corregidor — as the reader bas already gathered from "The Stolen Plans" — is the main fortress of the American Army in the Orient. Mounted on the summit of the "Gibraltar of the East," invisible to the outside eye, are some of the heaviest and most modern batteries in existence. Two of these batteries occupied a most advantageous position to command the approach to Manila for miles out into the turbulent China Sea; and lying parallel to each other and mounting the same number, calibre, and power of guns, they were known by the name of the "Twin Sisters," though officially they were "Battery A" and "Battery B." They were the latest and most powerful of all the batteries that bristled on Corregidor. One shot from either of these batteries would destroy the largest battleship afloat at a distance of many miles.

       Mention was also made in the same WIDE WORLD story of the care with which the plans of the fortifications were guarded; also of the consternation that befell the Commandant, Colonel Milner, and the head of the Military Information Division in Manila, Captain Burton, on learning of the receipt at Washington, from an English Army officer, of the "blue-prints" of some of the batteries of Corregidor, the said officer having found these plans in the streets of Calcutta, India.

       It was stated at the same time that the explanation of the matter would soon be forthcoming. In the following narrative the promise is fulfilled.

       To those who have doubts as to the authenticity of either the present account or the prior one, I can only say that both cases were current talk in Manila at the time of the occurrence, and if the right back numbers of the Manila newspapers are secured, the desired verification will be found. The newspaper accounts, for excellent reasons, were brief; such matters can never be given out for publication in detail.

       It was suggested in my former story that suspicion concerning the theft of the blue-prints rested upon the traitor who took Colonel Milner's plans, and even though the suspicion could not be verified in any way, there were some who persisted in believing that he would be found to be involved in both cases. This belief, however, was entirely wrong, as will be shown.

       Among those who did not think the man had anything to do with the theft of the battery plans was Major Burton, the capable Chief of the Information Division, U.S.A. The basis for the Major's opinion will soon be discovered by the reader.

       Major Burton and Colonel Milner had spent hours discussing the stolen plans, but only to separate without changing their opinions or formulating any satisfactory plan of action; and when Colonel House became Commandant at Corregidor, succeeding Colonel Milner, the matter had been gone over several times in all its details, but with the same fruitless result. The case was mysterious in the extreme, offering no clue to work from.

       It was not the mere theft of the blue-prints that was aggravating; that was perhaps of the least consequence, for these blue-prints were merely duplicates, the original plans reposing securely in the fateful brown envelope in the Commandant's safe; and this fact was the reason the loss had not been discovered by the vigilant Commandant himself.

       The really important and alarming fact was that the stolen prints, being exact duplicates, were precisely as valuable to a foreign Power as the originals would have been.

       Furthermore, the clever spy who had stolen the blue-prints in question would possibly — given time — be able to obtain other equally valuable documents.

       Let us now see how there came to be duplicates of the plans of the "Twin Sisters."

       First however, let me mention another detail. On receipt of the prints from the British officer, the Honourable Secretary of War cabled to Colonel Milner, whereupon the latter astounded, took out the "brown envelope" and found the plans complete. He cabled for further details, and the reply showed beyond doubt that duplicates had been made of the plans of "Battery A" and "Battery B." We may now revert to our tale.

       One day Colonel Milner sat in earnest consultation with the expert engineer, Captain Blackmer. Before them were spread certain plans of the island fortifications. On these plans might have been seen the legends, "Battery A" and "Battery B." Shortly after Captain Blackmer's arrival at Corregidor he had brought up the question of the position of these batteries, maintaining they were not so placed as to be served with the highest efficiency in tune of need.

       The Captain considered the matter a serious one, and one that should be remedied at once; and he was now striving to impress his view on the Colonel. In the end, the latter yielded to the extent of requesting the Captain to draw up as soon as possible what he considered to be the best plans for the two batteries. For this purpose the Captain was entrusted with the precious plans of "Battery A" and "Battery B," and very soon he had made blue prints and returned the originals to their guardian.

       One afternoon Captain Blackmer was at work on the prints in his study. This study, it should be said, was a small apartment just off the living room. It communicated with a roomy portico by means of a large French window, which was open to permit the pleasant ocean breeze to sweep through the house. Artistic glass-bead portières separated the living room and the study. These portières were quite heavy, with the strings of beads set close together. The beads were vari-coloured and skilfully worked into a design representing a pretty Japanese maid in a garden of wistaria.

       Mrs. Blackmer was attending a bridge party somewhere in the Post; the native boys were in the kitchen, presumably asleep, it being their siesta hour; the cherished Ota-San was out on the portico with Lil Gu'l. Everything and everyone was well disposed for favourable brain-work by the master of the house.

       It transpired later that Captain Craig, the occupant of the other side of the quarters, was in Manila on this date, and his native boy had taken advantage of that fact to visit friends in the barrio of San José.

       The Captain sat at his handsome narra-wood table with his back to the portières, facing the French window. Besides the prints he was considering, several newspapers lay on the table, as well as a stack of loose manuscripts, covering various technical subjects, which he expected to publish some day. At his side was his roll-top desk, open and littered with loose papers and correspondence. In this desk, which could be securely locked, he placed all his papers at night. At his feet stood a convenient bamboo wastepaper basket.

       I might have said that the French window was the only window in the study, and that the study was at the rear of the house, and therefore looked up the slope, so that the occupants of the houses higher up could see into the study through the window, but could get no other view into the lower part of the house.

       The Captain had nearly finished his work, and stopped writing with a sigh of satisfaction. He sat idling a moment, fingering the prints the while; then unconsciously he picked up a small hand-mirror lying on his table and glanced into it. Slowly the thoughtful look died from his eyes, his brows contracted, and he jumped from his chair and hurriedly crossed to the bead portierès. Parting them, he looked into the living-room. There was no one there. He passed through the living-room and on through the house to the front portico.

       There, at the foot of the stairs, was pretty Lil Gu'l, and at her side the smiling, faithful Ota-San, her usual calm unruffled.

       The Captain returned to his study in some perplexity. He seated himself, and picking up the diminutive mirror again looked into it long and earnestly. First from one angle he tried it, then from another, but he was disappointed with the result.

       Then he arose and faced the portières, walked towards them, then away, first to one side and then to another, and finally resumed his seat, laughing softly and — shall I say? — nervously.

       "Queer," he mused. "I could swear I saw a head between the portières, right by the side of the one in the design — and it was a Japanese head, too, mightily like that of our own Ota-San. It's just possible that my eyes went off a little, from the strain I have been putting on them, and that I saw double; but, if so, it's the first time. But if it were Ota-San, what could be her object? If she were a man I should be suspicious, but poor little Ota-San doesn't know a blue-print from a carabao! However, I'll take extra good care that even she doesn't get a chance at these papers. To-night they will go into the Colonel's safe, and every night hereafter!"

       And no doubt they would have done if — well, you will soon see why they didn't.

"He picked up a small hand-mirror lying on his table and glanced into it."

 

       Captain Blackmer resumed his calculations. Indeed, he became so completely absorbed in them that he did not hear the shriek of terror and pain in front of his quarters. The Captain’s powers of concentration were wonderful, as I have stated. They shut out completely the commotion right at his door; they shut out even the call at his back, everything but the sense of actual contact. When that was supplied by someone clutching his arm he jumped out of his chair, and heard Ota-San say, calmly and evenly:—

       "Captain, I tink Lil Gu'l hu't he'self maybe."

       The Captain glared at the speaker, only half understanding. Then, as the girl's meaning broke through his wakening thoughts, he abruptly rushed through the living-room and down the steps of the portico in front. There, on the ground, lay his little daughter, pride of his heart, white and moaning in pain.

       He tenderly raised the child in his arms, stopping a moment to cuddle her and ask her where she was hurt; then he carried her up the stairway, Ota-San now at his heels, telling him with as great a show of distress as an amah may exhibit how Lil Gu'l had fallen off the portico in trying to tease her good amah.

       In a comfortable seagrass chair the Captain carefully examined the child, Ota-San standing by in some fear and apprehension. To his relief he found the child had only sprained her ankle, just badly enough to cause considerable pain. The pleasure that shone in Ota-San's innocent face when she understood her Lil Gu'l was but slightly hurt was worth making a voyage to behold; the Captain actually felt indebted to her for it.

       Then Ota-San showed the superior wisdom of the 0riental. She knelt down by the Captain's chair, gently, very gently, took off Lil Gu'l's small, white canvas shoes, lovingly removed the little stockings, and disclosed the ankle, somewhat swollen and discoloured.

       Then, in the effective manner known to the Japanese, Ota-San took Lil Gu'l's small injured foot in her strong hands and softly but skilfully massaged the bad ankle until the swelling seemed reduced, the discoloration less, and the drawn look of pain on the little sufferer's face disappeared, and she actually sighed in relief and comfort. And all this was achieved in just a few minutes. The Captain was on the point of giving his charge back into the amah's hands when his native boy Pedro came running out on the portico, crying out:—

       "Captain, Captain! Tiene incendio adnetro!" (The house is on fire.)

       Ota-San caught Lil Gu'l from the Captain as he rushed into the house after Pedro. As he entered the living-room the smoke came rolling through, and he saw at once that the fire was in his study. He sent the boy for help, while he rushed forward to save the prints and his other precious papers — the prints bearing the result of his hours of study, and his manuscripts for publication.

       The smoke filled the study. He pressed through it to his desk and table. He could hardly see, his eyes smarted with pain; but he saw that his table was the centre of the merry blaze. Next he noted that all the papers and documents on table and desk were almost totally consumed, nothing but a few scraps of paper and ashes being left. He must make sure, however, that the blue-prints were really destroyed; that was most important. In spite of the biting pain in his eyes and the stifling atmosphere the Captain searched around the floor as well as he could. All that he found were some scraps of paper which felt like blue-print paper, and which, therefore, he thrust into his pocket. All this, of course, happened in a very few seconds of time.

"In spite of the biting pain in his eyes and the stifling atmosphere, the Captain reached round the floor."

 

       The Captain then rushed into the sala, seized the patent fire-extinguisher from its hook, and was using it to good effect when the Post fire brigade arrived on the scene and quickly put out the fire, which had really done very little damage apart from the destruction of the papers.

       Captain Blackmer made a further close examination of his study, and found that there was not a scrap of paper in the room that had not been reduced to ashes. The blue-prints were gone; so, too, were all his private papers. He drew from his pockets the scraps he had picked out of the flames, and examined them carefully. They were bits of the blue-prints. Thank goodness that fact was settled; it was a relief, a great relief. With the certain destruction of the prints, bad as it was, there was no possibility of official secrets passing into forbidden hands. For this once, at least the "Twin Sisters" were saved from becoming the subject matter of foreign complications.

       So thought Captain Blackmer; so, too, thought Colonel Milner when the matter was reported to him. Thus these capable officers remained unsuspecting, without any feelings of apprehension.

       The origin of the blaze was inquired into. It was unknown. But as the Captain liked good cigars, and he could not recall whether or not he had been smoking in his study, it was presumed that he had been, and that the fire had started from a carelessly dropped match or cigar-stump. The Captain leaned to the belief that he had not been smoking, but he was not sure enough to contradict the presumption.

       There was one thing, however, about the condition of his room that had attracted his attention, and that he could not explain. He saw that the window-shade had been pulled low down so that no one from the higher slope could have seen into his study. He was positive that he had not pulled this shade down; he knew it was up when he left the study to attend to Lil Gu'l. It must, therefore, have been lowered by someone after he had left, but before the fire started, and this meant that the fire was not accidental.

       And if not accidental, who was responsible? And why was it done? What had anyone to gain from the fire — save the prints? And, the prints being destroyed, in what manner would anyone benefit?

       The Captain thought this matter over and over again, but without mentioning it to anyone else. Inasmuch as nothing serious seemed to have resulted, and the chances were that he himself would be credited with lowering the shade in his abstraction, he concluded he was justified in his silence. He also thought it wise not to mention his hallucination that he had seen Ota-San peering through the bead portières.

       Needless to say, Captain Blackmer again took up his work on the plans of the "Twin Sisters," but this time in the Colonel's private office. In due time the Colonel approved the changes, and they were made. Thus, if the blue-prints had passed into hostile possession, they would not be as valuable as they might have been, although still quite dangerous to the safety of the "Eastern Gibraltar."

       Some months passed, and then there came a surprising cablegram from Washington to the effect that the missing prints had been found in Calcutta, and Colonel Milner and the entire headquarters staff were simply stunned.

       It was at once surmised by the astute Captain Burton, of the Secret Service, that the prints found must be those supposedly burned in Captain Blackmer's study. The shrewd "Secreto" pointed out to Colonel Milner and Captain Blackmer that the whole thing was a most clever trick of Ota-San. She, without a doubt, was the thief.

       She was, of course, a spy for her Government, although so far as the "Secreto" knew this was the first time a woman had been so employed by this particular Government. Ota-San had purposely caused the accident to Lil Gu'l, had gone to call the Captain, and with remarkable native quickness had seized the prints, tearing off several corners intentionally, and setting the papers on fire. (And — Captain Blackmer thought to himself bitterly — she had also pulled down the shade to shut out the vision of the people up the slope.) Ota-San had cleverly planned and most cleverly executed her plans. This was the "Secreto's" theory, and he was positive that it was correct.

       It was accordingly decided to call Ota-San and interrogate her, little good though it was likely to do.

       But Ota-San was no longer Captain Blackmer's amah! She had, a few days previously, pleaded her long residence in the Islands and the sickness of near relatives in Japan as reasons for a visit to her country — and had gone. It would be some time before their yearning eyes would be gladdened by the sight of Ota-San's cheerful, guileless countenance.

       Captain Blackmer was much depressed. He had reason to be. He recalled the face surreptitiously peering through the portières. He had not been mistaken, then; it was Ota-San. It was Ota-San, too, who had so cleverly fooled him in everything. What a triumph she had had, and what an idiot he had been!

       Not only that, but he was very seriously compromised in the matter and Washington would hold him to account. Unpleasant visions were passing through his mind when, happening to glance out of the window, he beheld the much-desired Ota-San, serenely talking with Mrs. Blackmer and Lil Gu'l.

       The Captain arose and fairly gaped out of the window. The "Secreto" saw, and took a long look. The Colonel, too, recognized the entertaining amah. All three men looked at each other in astonishment and gratification. Ota-San was there before them. Ota-San must be heard.

       Ota-San was certainly surprised to be summarily hauled before the three distinguished o fficers, but one would never have detected her surprise; it was so subtle and fleeting. She made a gesture of profound respect to her former master, another sweeping bow to his two companions, and then waited smiling. To see her, one would have thought she had come with the express idea of being present at this conference. In reply to her master's question, she stated that she had had trouble with her transportation, and had returned to get from him a letter that would clearly show her status.

       Ota-San was then put through an inquisition that would have done credit to the famous police "third degree," but in the end her inquisitors knew no more than in the beginning. They could not pierce her smile-protected Oriental serenity. She did not know what a "blue-print" was; she had never seen one. She had never seen any of her master's papers; she knew nothing of guns or batteries; she knew nothing of any army matters.

       Ota-San finally did seem the least bit annoyed at the long questioning to which she was being submitted but like the true daughter of Nippon that she was, she suppressed her feelings pleasantly and successfully, and she took advantage of a pause to inform the austere committee sweetly and naively that when "I take look see for fathu and for mothu, some days, maybe one month I like come back ve'y much and take care Lil Gu'l one more time.

       The committee at last dismissed Ota-San as a hopeless case, and it must have been intensely gratifying to the gentlemen to note her sincere thanks for the honour they had done her. Was she guilty of sarcasm? Nobody but an Oriental can answer that question. Needless to say, she obtained the letter for which she had returned to Corregidor, and departed with her characteristic smiles and bows; and much deep, sibilant intaking of breath.

       The committee was divided in opinion. The "Secreto" Chief was still certain that Ota-San had stolen the prints; the Colonel was inclined to favour the same view. Captain Blackmer, however, demurred; he felt sure that Ota-San could not be guilty. As his trump card, he pointed to the fact that the prints had been found in Calcutta. If Ota-San had stolen them, they certainly would not have been found in Calcutta; if she had taken them, they would have gone direct to Tokio. Was not this fact in itself sufficient to establish the innocence of Ota-San? Captain Burton admitted the difficulty presented by this point, but maintained his firm belief, nevertheless, that it was Ota-San who had stolen the prints.

       Thus it was that the first meeting of the officers, after receipt of the news from Washington, ended in nothing definite, and succeeding consultations resulted likewise.

       The previous case had now been disposed of, as described in my former story, and Captain Burton had become Major Burton. The Major had, when alone, time and again considered the Calcutta incident, but without result, until one day Dame Fortune threw a clue in his path. I should explain that meanwhile Ota-San had returned to Corregidor and taken her former place in the Blackmer household. This fact caused our Major some surprise, as he had never expected to see Ota-San again.

       I have mentioned that Captain Blackmer had two native boys in his house. One of these was the cook, the other the "housemaid."

       Of Ildefenso, the chef, no more need be said; he was a model in all respects.

       Concerning Pedro, however, the gay, laughing "housemaid," there is a great deal to be said. Pedro never missed an opportunity to be present at the national sport of cock-fighting, and betting his limit on his favourite rooster. This limit was necessarily small, as Pedro's salary was but fifteen pesos monthly, and Pedro had reached that stage of civilization that demands American clothes, choking collars, brilliant ties, and all the other necessary adjuncts of style.

       In spite of the handicap on his purse, our good Pedro was able to be present at the modest cock-pit in San José about twice a month, and at least once monthly in one of the more pretentious cock-pits over Manila way, and he invariably had quite a half-peso to gamble with.

       Major Burton's favourite assistant, nicknamed the "Pirate," occasionally visited the cock-pits around Manila for the purpose of "sizing up" the gamblers, both native and foreign, these rounds of observation being part of the Pirate's duties.

       On a certain Sunday — the cock-pits under American dominion being allowed to operate only on Sundays and legal holidays — the Pirate jumped into a native "carromata" and drove out to the San Juan cock-pit, one of the largest and most famous near Manila. Entering the pit, he found a favourable point of observation near the lower pit, and within a few feet of the inner circle of gamblers — those who did the actual betting. There are always present at the pits a large number of persons who are spectators only — probably not altogether from choice.

       The first person to attract his notice was the far-famed "Queen of Caloocan" an enormous native woman, who lived in a barrio of Manila known as Caloocan. She was an inveterate gambler, having no other occupation or visible means of support. As the cock-pits were limited in operation, as stated above, she was compelled to devote much of her attention to other forms of gambling, chief among which was the Filipino card-game called "Pangingi."

       This woman had the reputation of being remarkably fortunate at all games of chance, and as it appeared she had no other known source of income, and was always well supplied with pesos and literally covered with valuable diamonds, her reputation for luck was probably well founded. There sat the lady in front of the Pirate, her hands full of the small, distinctive, and very convenient Philippine paper currency, intensely interested in the belligerent roosters.

       As the Pirate glanced over the motley array of excited, howling gamesters, including representatives of almost every nation, a small, dapper native youth stepped airily up to the "Queen" and flashed a roll of money in her face.

       The roll was of considerable proportions, and the Pirate gazed searchingly at its possessor, but although the "Secreto" was acquainted by sight with all the prosperous native gamesters, and indeed with all the leading Filipinos of Manila, he could not place this flashy individual. Here, then, was something he did not know, that smelt of the mysterious, and that is enough for any aspiring detective. Wherefore the Pirate bestowed considerable attention on the young gambler.

       Our "Secreto" now stepped into the lower pit directly behind the "Queen." He admiringly noted the splendid diamond pendants in her ears, the magnificent diamond brooch on her throbbing bosom, the valuable diamond rings blazing on every fat finger of her two fat hands.

       The young Filipino was talking with the woman in the Tagalog dialect, which our "Secreto" understood very well. The "Queen" asked the young man, whom she called Pedro, where he got all his money, and twitted him with his former poverty. Pedro puffed himself up in true native style, and remarked with the usual rhetorical flourish that he had been left a fortune by a late-lamented aunt, and that henceforth he would take his proper station in life, and the valiente Capitan Blackmer would have to get another muchacho; he, Don Pedro, was done with menial labour for ever.

"The youth stepped airily up to the 'Queen' and flashed a roll of money in her face."

 

       The name "Blackmer" caught the Pirate's attention. He knew the Captain, and he also knew of the stolen blue-prints. He further knew there was falsehood in Pedro's statement regarding his sudden riches; he knew the native character too well to be deceived by Pedro's bluff and bluster. To make brief work of hi musings, the Pirate decided to keep the boastful Pedro under his eye and arrest him when he left the pit.

       He carried out his scheme, meeting, as he expected, Pedro's assumed scorn and haughty threats, but when he refused to relent and caused the young man to enter a "carromata" with him ordering the cochero to drive to a certain number in the Walled City, he could see that Pedro was not quite so jaunty and that he seemed concerned . They had proceeded up Calle Sangleyes and turned into Calle Cervantes, when Pedro spoke.

       "Please tell what for you arrest me?" he asked, brokenly.

       "Because I think my Jefe (chief) wants to talk to you," replied the Pirate.

       "Kindly speak to me who your name is, señor," continued the native, with plainly increased respect.

       "Sabe 'Secreto'?" asked his captor, shortly. Pedro nodded, and looked distinctly troubled, even afraid. The average Filipino has a holy horror of the very sound of the word "Secreto." He remained silent studiously surveying his companion for some minutes. Then he said, softly:—

       "Señor, are you rich? Hab you much money?"

       The Pirate's eyes learned with pleasure. He saw the drift.

       "No," he said, sadly. "I am very poor. Why do you ask?"

       Pedro looked pleased.

       "I ask it to you, señor, because I mak dee thought dat may-bee señor you like be berry rich; muy rico señor, and I Pedro, can mak you berry rich."

       The Pirate appeared amused.

       "My dear friend Pedro," he replied, "you are very loco — mucho loco. How can you make anyone rich? You are only a pobre muchacho for Captain Blackmer at Corregidor, with about fifteen little pesos to spend in one long month. Why do you talk about making me rich? Why don't you make yourself rich first? Pooh! you are mad, Pedro!"

       And the worthy Pirate fairly snorted in contempt.

       Pedro was much distressed; that was evident. He leaned towards his captor and said, in a manner intended to be most impressive:—

       "Ah, señor you mak dee big mistook. Me, Pedro, got much money. You promise no tak Pedro to see to your Jefe, me gib you, señor, much dinero. You no beleeb, señor? Look now what I to you show!"

       And he produced a roll from his pocket.

       "Dis morning wen I go to Gallera (cock-pit) I hab in mi boldillo one tousand pesos. Si, señor. Now no got so much, señor," he added, with a careless laugh.

       The Pirate appeared to be thinking; then he shook his head discouragingly.

       "No, Pedro," he said. "It takes more money than that. A few hundred pesos is nothing for an Americano, as you well know. Why, friend Pedro, I can get rid of more than that in one evening at the Elk's Club!"

       Pedro was perplexed. He was anxious to avoid the proposed interview with the much-feared "Jefe de Secretos," and this Americano was not to be bought with a few paltry pesos. He must make the stake larger; all Americanos had their price.

       "Señor," he said, finally, "you no tink Pedro hab dee money. You come wid me, and me, Pedro, mak you visto to dee money. Den, señor, I gib you two tousand pesos — si, señor, dos mil pesos — for not to tak me to visto dee Jefe. Wat you tell to dat, señor?" he ended, anxiously.

       The Pirate spoke with a shade of eagerness in his voice, which did not escape our bright Pedro.

       "Well, Pedro, my boy, that sounds better — much better. In fact, that is mucho bueno, sabe? You are very liberal, Pedro. I see we ought to be friends. Come, Amigo Pedro, take me to all this money, and then I can surely fix it up about the Jefe."

       Pedro was elated, and the Pirate managed him so skilfully that in the end Pedro took him to a small nipa hut out on the Paranaque Road, and dug up from the interior an old tobacco-tin, containing over four thousand pesos (the reader may remember that one peso is equivalent to fifty cents United States currency), this amount being a fortune to a poor native like Pedro.

       This sum Pedro proposed to "split" with his companion, but the wily "Secreto" gathered in both the pesos and Pedro and landed them in the private home of Major Burton, Calle Palacios, Intramuros, Manila.

       The circumstances explained, the Major's shrewd mind saw the possibilities, and also the destruction of his pet theory. With the aid, possibly, of threats of the formidable "water-cure," Pedro was induced to unfold the following wonderful tale:—

       Pedro, we now know, was Captain Blackmer's "housemaid." In the discharge of his household duties he moved about in his bare feet, consequently without noise. Ota-San also moved about in her stockinged feet, quite as noiselessly. Pedro was a bright lad with a shrewdness probably inherited from a far distant strain of Chinese blood.

       Pedro was fond of good cigars; so also was the Captain. Pedro knew just where the supply reposed in the Captain's study; Pedro also knew that the Captain would never miss a "Preferencia" once in a while. Wherefore, Pedro would slyly slip into the study and help himself, and as slyly slip out again. The plan worked beautifully.

       The Captain was at work on the blue-prints one morning when Captain Craig called from the other side of the quarters. Captain Blackmer rose hastily, after the repeated calls had permeated the mental atmosphere surrounding him, and strode out to answer, leaving his desk and table covered with papers, the central attraction being the prints of the "Twin Sisters."

       Pedro's cigar-taste was on him this morning, and he slipped like a shadow to the study, to find honest, cheery Ota-San before him. She was carefully studying the prints. Pedro stepped back quickly. Oh, if he could only catch that Japanese girl in something wrong! What a delight it would be to report her to "El Capitan," and have her "fired."

       There always seems to be bad feeling between the Orientals of different races, and the Filipino, however poor and humble, considers himself vastly superior to both Chinese and Japanese. In this instance the bad feeling was perhaps greater because Ota-San presumed at times to command the native boys, especially Pedro.

       But Ota-San touched nothing, and after a very brief survey turned and glided softly out, Pedro being barely able to escape her notice.

       Pedro was puzzled. Ota-San had touched nothing, taken nothing. So that there was really nothing to report to "El Capitan." Then why was Ota-San there in the Captain's study? Pedro could not divine the reason. He would be silent then, and wait, watching Ota-San meanwhile closely and carefully, without her knowledge.

       In the Captain's household it had always been "costumbre" for the servants to take their siestas in the afternoon from twelve until about three-thirty, and the "costumbre" had, I doubt not, never been violated. But Pedro broke the ancient habit.

       The next afternoon his espionage disclosed the cute Ota-San again slipping through the living-room and peering cautiously through the portières into the Captain's study, then turning like a flash and gliding out with wonderful agility. The Captain was close after her in point of time, but not in distance, Ota-San being artlessly engaged amusing the dear Lil Gu'l on the portico stairway when the Captain spied her.

       Then occurred the accident to Lil Gu'l, and Ota-San rushing in to notify the Captain. Pedro saw what the master did not. He beheld Ota-San, with lightning-like rapidity, draw down the window-shade, thrust some papers into the obi at her waist, sweep the mass of documents from the table into the waste basket, drop a lighted match among them and reach the scene of the accident shortly after the distracted father.

       All this Pedro saw, and in his glee at having caught the hated amah in wrongdoing he was on the point of giving the news to "El Capitan," when his crafty nature halted him. What was it that Ota-San took, and why did she take it? These were things worth knowing. And besides, it would give him a chance to tease and worry the Japanese girl, and the ordinary Filipino nature gloats and revels in this brand of pleasure.

       No, he decided; he would not tell "El Capitan" just now. He would wait until he had badgered Ota-San sufficiently, find out why she took the papers, and then dramatically declare all he had seen, with the proper embellishments.

       That very night, when the unsuspecting amah came tripping into the kitchen for her simple meal of rice and fish, Pedro stepped to her side, and before she could prevent it placed his hand at her side upon her obi. Paper crackled under his touch. Ota-San angrily knocked the boy's hand away, but before she could say anything he asked her pointedly, looking very wise meanwhile:—

       "Wat you do wid dose papers you dot dere?"

       Ota-San for once was startled out of her usual imperturbable calm. Pedro smiled significantly, and went on with aggravating politeness.

       "Posee-blay, me, Pedro, visto dee bonita Señorita Japonesa tak dee papers from dee table ob dee Señor Capitan, no? Cosa?"

       Ota-San was almost ruffled, but she quickly recovered her habitual poise, and smiling amiably upon the triumphant Pedro she whispered:—

       "Yes sodiska! Pedro saw Ota-San tak some papers. Ye-es, may-bee. Now, Ota-San ask Pedro does Pedro likee mak some money, mucho dinero, yes, sodiska?"

       Ota-San drew in her breath with a whistling sound.

       Here was a new situation for Pedro to consider. Would he like to make money? Would he, indeed? Cock-pits are not very interesting unless one has money to bet on one's favourite rooster. Yes of course, Pedro would listen to even this hated Japanese girl if she could tell him how to get the coveted pesos, without too much physical effort.

       Then Ota-San told him that the papers she had stolen were worth a great deal of money, and Pedro being most insistent to know why this was so she had been compelled under threat of disclosure to inform him that her country would pay her well for the papers, as would several other countries — and she named one in particular, which I shall not specify here.

       Pedro said he would keep silence for a sum which Ota-San agreed to give him; but when he retired for the night he could not keep his mind from the stolen papers. He was cunning, was Pedro and as he thought a daring idea was born. Why should he permit this odious Japanese woman to get the bulk of the money, while he, Pedro a much worthier person, stood aside with the meagre sum she would hand him? Why not — yes, it was perfectly feasible — why not get the blue-prints, sell them himself, and get all the money? That was an idea that was worthy of him. It should be done. And it was!

       That night, when the house was wrapped in slumber, Pedro crept through the halls so softly that none could have heard, even had anyone been awake to hear. He knew exactly where Ota-San lay, by the side of the Lil Gu'l's bed. Despite what you may have heard to the contrary, the Japanese are not all light sleepers, and Pedro had little difficulty in abstracting the prints from Ota-San's obi without disturbing her. Of course, you must bear in mind that Pedro was an Oriental, with deft fingers and eyes that can see in the dark.

       If this story is true — and it was so accepted by those who were most concerned — just imagine the situation in the Captain's household in the morning. The Captain was serene in the belief that the prints had been destroyed. Without doubt Ota-San missed the prints at once. She knew who had them, also, and Pedro knew that she knew this. But he knew further that the smiling Ota-San dared not say anything.

       Besides, Ota-San probably reasoned that by keeping silence she might get another chance at documents of similar value, and no doubt she fully intended trying to recover the lost papers. But Pedro was too wily for that. That very day, on the plea of a dying grandmother in Cavite, he got two days' leave of absence, donned his best clothes, and went to Manila.

       Here Pedro visited the Consul of a certain great nation, and without exhibiting the papers managed to make the gentleman understand the nature of his errand. The Consul would not deal with Pedro directly, but told him to return at a certain hour in the evening. Pedro did so, and found another gentleman waiting. The Consul was not present.

       The gentleman insisted on seeing the papers, and Pedro brought them to light reluctantly. The gentleman, who was very military in his bearing, questioned Pedro sharply as to how he obtained the papers, examined them attentively, and after a moment of thought slipped them into his pocket, drew a heavy wallet from an inner pocket, and relieved it of a thick wad of paper currency which he pressed into the astonished Pedro's hands. Then he caught the boy by the shoulders, pushed him roughly through the door, and said gruffly:—

       "There, you dirty native, take your reward and get out, and never come back here again!"

       The door slammed and Pedro was out in the street.

       As soon as possible he counted the money. There were five thousand pesos. Pedro was elated at his great good fortune. He felt immensely rich. He did not want to return to his menial duties at Corregidor. But we have said that Pedro was shrewd, and he knew that if he failed to return to duty some suspicion was likely to fall upon him. He therefore went back to his old work, and the incident passed as stated. Pedro waited several months, the idle fortune worrying him greatly, for there were many "galleras" anxious for his presence. Finally he decided he could quit his labours without risk.

       The disastrous ending to the excursion we have already related.

       It seemed that Pedro could not be tried by military court. There was some question as to whether he might be lawfully tried at all. But he was turned over to the civil authorities and given a prison sentence for "estafa," a very convenient count which, in the Philippines, covers everything that cannot be distinctly classified.

       The matter was of course discussed by Major Burton with Colonel House at Corregidor. The case was progressing, without a doubt. So far, so good. But there still remained two vital questions. How did the prints get to Calcutta, and through what hands had they passed meantime?

       The officers believed Pedro's story, and considered it advisable to cross-examine Ota-San again. She, as was expected, denied everything. Even when confronted by Pedro she stoutly maintained she knew nothing about the matter, and that Pedro's tale was all a falsehood so far as she was concerned.

       She wanted to be shown "blue-prints," so that she would know what they were talking about, and she added that Pedro's word was no better than hers. In the circumstances it was a question whether she could have been convicted of anything, even under the convenient count "estafa," and there is no question that Pedro could not have been convicted under any other less elastic charge.

       So Ota-San was returned to the Captain — with the secret admonition however, that her smiling presence was not desirable in Corregidor. She was then transferred to a family in Manila, and my information is that she later met a tragic death.

       We have now solved half the mystery; the other half is easier of solution than the reader may think. Major Burton spent countless hours of hard thought upon the subject, and then, sad to say, the final unveiling occurred without his assistance.

       I shall hereafter refer to the country that bought the "blue-prints" as the "certain nation."

       In Manila, the citizens of the "certain nation" had a handsome, commodious club-house, where the members gathered together every evening, and where from time to time popular receptions and balls were held. In Manila there were also a number of Americans who understood the language of the "certain nation" very well, and several of these Americans were therefore popular with the citizens of the "certain nation," and very much in evidence at its receptions. Among such Americans was one whose name, queerly enough, was practically identical with that of the Consul of the "certain nation."

       One day several warships of the "certain nation" steamed into Manila Bay, and forthwith a reception and dance was announced for the next night.

       The affair was a brilliant one, as such affairs always are. All officialdom was there — representative from every foreign nation, and the cream of Manila society both Filipino and otherwise. The commander of the vessels and his officers were resplendent in their gorgeous uniform and many decorations.

       As the evening wore on, many of the gentlemen drew apart in small groups and discussed the world and its doings over social glasses. The American with the Consul's name had proved very congenial to one of the officers — a good-looking but very pompous young man — and the latter hinting at a thirst, our American conducted him to one of the small private corners of the club and ordered liquid refreshments. I should explain here that the two were conversing in the language of the "certain nation."

       The citizens of the "certain nation" are, perhaps, somewhat noted for their love of the "cup that cheers" and as his hospitable companion kept him well supplied with the said cup the officer became quite loquacious. Each drink loosened his tongue a little more. He finally so forgot his dignity as to slap our American familiarly on the shoulder and ask him his name, saying he had forgotten it.

       The American gave his name, whereupon the other straightened up and said in surprise:—

       "Why that is our Consul's name. Are you a relative?"

       In a spirit of mischief the other replied solemnly:—

       "Oh, yes, a nephew — sort of secretary, you know," and laughed.

       The officer assumed as sober a look a possible, and, leaning over said in a stage whisper:—

       "Then you know about the Calcutta affair?"

       The American was astonished but his quick wit at once surmised that he was treading on the brink of something unusual, and he instantly decided he would learn all he could. He replied, confidently:—

       "I know a great deal, of course, but all at secondhand. Tell me just how it happened, won't you? My uncle, the Consul, is so short in his official information to me." And he leaned over and solicitously filled the officer's glass.

       The latter looked pleased to have such an attentive friend, and said, unsteadily:—

       "Well, my dear Blank, your worthy uncle, the Consul, sent the blue-prints of that old fort — what do they call it, Cargador? — something like that , anyway — to our Consul at Calcutta, to be delivered to our great General X—–, who was due in Calcutta in a few weeks, returning to Europe from a tour of inspection of our Asiatic possessions. Our good Consul at Calcutta duly received the prints of the batteries, and waited for the great General to come. The General was unavoidably delayed for some weeks, but finally reached Calcutta. Now, it's a funny thing, but our General has a habit — a very bad one, especially for a General — of carrying on his person a leather wallet in which he places such documents as he wants to consider while travelling by train. The officers all call the wallet the General's 'pet.'

       "Well, the Consul handed the print to the General, who very carefully put them into his 'pet,' so as to have them convenient for study in the train. The General left the Consul and went down to the railway station. When he got out of his cab in front of the station he thought he had forgotten a document he wanted to get from the Consul. Stopping, and with an aide on each side of him watching like hawks the General pulled out his 'pet' and opened it. Then — presto! - away blew the blue-prints right into the street. Before our great General or his aides could so much as bend their knees, a little brown imp of a Hindu had the papers and was out of sight a round the corner. Did you ever hear anything like that? Oh, the state our great General was in, and the money your good uncle had paid out for nothing! You know the rest — how the little thief ran right into an English Army officer and dropped the prints, and how the officer picked them up, put them in his pocket, and walked away, leaving our great General and his aides enraged and outwitted. It would be a great joke on anyone but our General, wouldn't it? Just one more drink friend Blank. Thank you."

"Before they could so much as bend their knees, a little brown imp of a Hindu had the papers."

 

       Needless to say, Blank managed to transmit this information to his friend Major Burton before the evening was past, and the latter was satisfied in his own mind that the mystery was now at an end, for he knew that the account given by the British officer in sending the prints to Washington tallied exactly with the account the officer of the "certain nation" had given to Blank.

       The clearing up of the case was extremely gratifying to the Commanding General of the Division, and especially so to the Commandant at Corregidor. It established the fact that no member of the Army had been guilty of either contemplated or accomplished treason. You can also imagine the relief of our expert engineer, Captain Blackmer. Best of all, the authorities at Washington were satisfied that no Power had derived any benefit from the incident.

       I may add that since the mystery was so fortunately cleared up, the safety of the plans of impregnable Corregidor has never been called into question, and I doubt if they will ever form again the centre-piece of such episodes as I have narrated.

(THE END)