his weakness and his strength, and he swam in all waters and was invited
everywhere. Mrs. Wilder, who knew exactly who to treat with distant
condescension and who to ignore entirely, invariably included him in
her intimate dinners, and the Chief Commissioner, also a bachelor,
invited him frequently and discussed many topics with him as the wine
circled. Even Craven Joicey, the banker, who made very few acquaintances
and fewer intimates, was friendly with Hartley; one of those odd,
unlikely friendships that no one understands.

The week following upon the thunder-storm had been a week of grey skies
over an acid-green world, and even Hartley became conscious that there
is something mournful about a tropical country without a sun in the sky
as he sat in his writing-room. It was gloomy there, and the palm trees
outside tossed and swayed, and the low mist wraiths down in the valley
clung and folded like cotton-wool, hiding the town and covering it up to
the very top spires of the cathedral. Hartley was making out a report on
a case of dacoity against a Chinaman, but the light in the room was bad,
and he pushed back his chair impatiently and shouted to the boy to bring
a lamp.

His tea was set out on a small lacquer table near his chair, and his
fox-terrier watched him with imploring eyes, occasionally voicing his
feelings in a stifled bark. The boy came in answer to his call, carrying
the lamp in his hands, and put it down near Hartley, who turned up the
wick, and fell to his reading again; then, putting the report into a
locked drawer, he drew his chair from the writing-table and poured out a
cup of tea.

He had every reason to suppose that his day's work was done, and that he
could start off for the Club when his tea was finished. The wind rattled