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was in a fair way to have a flourishing garden. Akso was one of those blacks we occasionally meet who give some hope of the future of their race: though he was a simple enough fellow, he had a head on his shoulders, and could set his mind to a job like a white man. He was immensely proud of his garden, and might have been seen, in the cool of the evening, personally conducting parties of his friends round his domain. He was still looked up at night; but his wife was a good deal about the place, and I think she was generally locked in with him by mistake; and altogether, you know, my prisoner awaiting execution came to be generally considered as my gardener, and the jail as the gardener's cottage. Everybody except myself had pretty well forgotten poor Mackay's murder: there were times when I almost forgot it myself.

I remember the sort of sick feeling with which I opened the post-bag, expecting to find Akso's sentence confirmed. Instead, I got an acid official letter from the Attorney General asking why no sworn interpreter had been appointed. Good Lord! When there wasn't a single soul in all Yambo who knew anything but the local dialects except myself and some of the Maazouns, who were by way of having a bowing acquaintance with Arabic. Who was to interpret what, for the benefit of whom? I knew all the dialects well, they're very easy to learn; and the only other soul

who knew any English at all was Akso himself, who knew about twenty words, though "damn" was the only one he often used.

However, it was a respite for another couple of months at least; and I had some faint hope that they might quash the sentence on the ground of irregularity, and order me to send Akso down to Port Collingwood for trial. If they did, he would probably succeed in bolting on the way. I sincerely hoped he would get off somehow, though I had sentenced him myself, and was prepared to see him hanged myself if the sentence W&S confirmed.

As it turned out, the delay was a good bit longer than two months. I really forget the details: I think somebody wrote "kindly" kindly" instead of "please" in an official letter; and somebody else wrote back that "please" was a request, but "kindly" was an order, and that he didn't take orders from the other man: you know the sort of rot. Anyhow, I got no news for month after month, and really was in a fair way to forget all about it.

And Manuyama, the Head Chief, died and was buried with his fathers, and Magoro his son reigned in his stead. There had been another son, Azindo, an ill - conditioned young whelp, always too much in with the witch-doctor to please me; but he had a certain following, and I had rather expected rows when old Manuyama died. But he seemed to have cleared out:

at any rate I heard nothing of him.

Meanwhile the garden flourished exceedingly, and Akso was rapidly developing into a trusted and confidential servant. Our only real failure was with the cabbages: do

what we would, the white ants ate them; and this was the more annoying as I am particularly fond of cabbage. I was actually holding forth to Akso on the subject when the mail came in, with his deathsentence confirmed.

You may imagine what a shock it was to me to find that I had to take my excellent gardener out and hang him. I had been hoping that something would happen to prevent it; but there was the Governor's confirmation in black and white, and my duty was plain. It was no good delaying or beating about the bush, so I said

"Akso, the order has come from the Government that you are to be hanged. It will be to-morrow morning."

Akso said, "As your will is. But I couldn't help the white ants eating the cabbages."

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I said, "What is this talk of cabbages? You are to be hanged for shooting the white man, Mr Mackay.' He said, "I did not shoot the white man. And besides, who is going to look after the garden if I am hanged? Quatso is no use. He is too old, and the others are more stupid than bulls."

I said, "It is an order," and left him. I rather hoped he would bolt, but he didn't.

Next morning early the procession started from my house. Mohammed Hassan, the Maazoun, and Magoro, the new VOL. CXCI.-NO. MCLVI.

IV.

Head Chief, walked with me; behind us came poor Akso, between two policemen, and my old sergeant. All the men in the village had been turned out to see the execution. we came to the place the sergeant stepped in front of me, halted facing me, and saluted. "Well," I said, "what is it?"

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Of your kindness," said the sergeant, "Akso Wad Dok, your slave, could not prevent the white ants from eating those cabbages. It is well known that they cannot be kept out of any garden. Also, he is a good gardener: I taught him,"

There was a murmur of approval from the crowd. Magoro said—

"Perhaps your Excellency may think a flogging would be sufficient. Of course it is for your Excellency to decide."

I said, "No more of this talk. Akso Wad Dok has been convicted of the murder of the white man, Mr Mackay. The Court has sentenced him to death, and his Excellency the Governor has confirmed the sentence." I read out the sentence and the confirmation in a loud voice, so that the whole crowd might hear.

N

Everyone looked at me in the story my father told me. blank amazement. The ser- As for Azindo, he was killed geant grumbled, half to him- in Baghirmi a month since, self: "All the world knows through his own folly. A that Azindo shot the white merchant has given me word man with Akso Wad Dok's of it." gun."

I turned to Mohammed Hassan for an explanation. "Indeed," he said, "this is the common report. It is said that Azindo listened to the tale of that mad fellow from the Congo, who boasted of shooting a white man. Then he went in the night and stole Akso Wad Dok's gun, and in the morning he shot the white man, being himself a fool, like that other. When he had shot him he threw down the gun, being afraid, and went to his father, Manuyama, the Head Chief, and told him all. Then Manuyama, fearing for the honour of his house, suborned witnesses against Akso Wad Dok, and sent Azindo to 8 far country.

I said, "Why have I not been told of this sooner? Did you know of it at the time of the trial?"

"At that time," he answered, "I did not know. Afterwards, your Excellency made Akso Wad Dok your gardener, and one of the chief of your servants. We thought that all was known to your Excellency, but that nothing was said out of regard for Manuyama, the Head Chief."

"Is this story true, Magoro?" I asked.

"I was away, buying corn," said Magoro. "But this is

I was simply amazed. Akso Wad Dok grinned grinned at me cheerfully. They all grinned. Everyone began talking at once, explaining and amplifying the story. They were quite respectful and polite; but they were instructing me, as an outsider, in a matter which seemed to be perfectly well known to everyone else in the place. I once heard some cricketers in the Pavilion at Lord's explaining the elements of the game of cricket to a foreign Prince; this was just the same sort of thing. And I had been in charge of the district for years, and thought I knew if a squeaked! It is easy to be wise after the event; but of course I ought to have spotted the point about the gun. Akso Wad Dok, if he had shot Mackay, would never have thrown down his gun and left it there. He would have bolted into the bush and taken it with him.

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Well, we all went home again, quite happy, and held an inquiry, from which it appeared clearly that it was Azindo who had shot Mackay. I sent the new evidence down to Port Collingwood, with a recommendation for a free pardon for Akso Wad Dok, and in due course he was pardoned.

But, by Jove, what a wigging I got from the AttorneyGeneral!

GEORGE WENDERN GAVE A PARTY.

BY JOHN INGLIS.

CHAPTER VI.

WENDERN's private room at the office of the Bangor Estates Syndicate in Great St Helen's, James Dawson there alone, busy sorting letters. There was one with the Naples postmark. "From Mr Christopher Lant; we shall hear something about this old Syndicate at last," he said to himself, and his spirits rose. He was a spare man of nearly forty, with a worried expression, devoted to Wendern, but sceptical as to the Australian manager, though it was Lant who had known him first and suggested that the Syndicate would be an excellent home for a saved-up £200. Concerning his modest speculation he had no anxiety, for, with Wendern as English manager, he felt convinced that whatever happened his money would be safe. But there was one shareholder who was sorely on his mind. "Something will have to be done about fatherin-law Teesdale," he said to himself, "or life won't be worth living. If I'd known what he was like before I married Polly I'd have thought twice about it." He looked up at the map of the Bangor territory hanging over the fireplace. A railway, designed to run down to the coast, was marked out; but nothing had been heard of it lately.

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"Is it a swindle?" "Swindle! Really, sir" Dawson was overcome with astonishment.

"Perhaps you'll answer my question."

"Mr Wendern is not here; but you may rest assured-—”

"I may rest assured, I suppose, that I've lost my five hundred? I mean to find out before I leave." He sat down and the chair creaked. ."It isn't the money I mind, but I've never made a mistake in my life, and I'm not going to begin.'

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Copyright in the United States of America.

All rights reserved.

It's

"Well, I shouldn't have let him do it if I didn't believe in the Syndicate myself, sir. all he has in the world." "Probably he'll lose it, and serve him right. Fools and their money are soon parted, it knows better than to stay with them; nothing like money for keeping prudent company in the long-run.”

my letters.

Will you try

these?" he held out his cigarette case.

"No, thank you," Digby grunted-a different sort of grunt from Parker's-and made his impatience evident.

Wendern turned to the letters, read two or three, and threw them on one side. There was a cable; he had not

"But he'll be ruined if he noticed it at first; he tore it loses it."

"He oughtn't to have risked it."

"You risked yours, sir." "Because I've plenty to get it back with if necessary. A man who has only £500 ought to put it into a Building Society, and take care that it's a good one before he does, or a Savings Bank, while he sets to and earns more to go with it. Perhaps you are in this deal yourself?"

"I've invested my own money in it, of course," Dawson was severe but imperturbable. "I think I hear the chief's step-here he is, sir; he will answer your inquiries himself."

Wendern, leisurely as ever, entered. He looked at the visitor with interest but without surprise.

"Good morning, Dawson," he said, and then turned to the big man, who had risen. "Mr

?"

"Digby, that's my name, I came to talk to you about this Syndicate.'

"I shall be delighted to talk to you, my dear sir, but this is my private office, to which I have not invited you, so I must ask you to wait while I open

open quickly, "The Derryford Dock case comes on next Monday," he said to Dawson, "and is expected to last several days."

"Is that anything to do with us?" the visitor asked.

Nothing at all to do with you, but it is highly important to me.'

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Digby's temper was giving out. "I want to talk to you about this Syndicate, and my time is as precious as yours," he said. "I'm not satisfied with what I've heard; and a good many aren't. As for the reports, we look upon them as bluff; do you hear, sir, bluff?"

"Most certainly I hear," Wendern was still unruffled; he pulled another letter from its envelope; it its envelope; it was typewritten, and had several signatures. "Perhaps this will interest you, Mr-Mr Digby?" He read aloud

"DEAR SIR,-We, the undersigned, not being satisfied with our position on the Bangor Estates Syndicate, or with the rumours concerning its prospects which are circulated in the City, propose calling upon you at your office

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