Stan was led away from the parked cars by a dozen of the little yellow men. His Siamese guards chattered and laughed and looked admiringly at the big white man they had captured. They had been much impressed by his terrible strength and by the way his fists shot out, inflicting black eyes and swollen jaws.

The guards led Stan into a great building which he guessed once had been a temple. They moved through a maze of columns. The place was fitfully lighted by lamps of colored glass containing rags dipped in grease. Everything was mingled and obscured by the gloom. Stan saw men moving in the shadows. They were naked, wild-eyed, wild-haired men with gaunt bodies. A foul odor of dampness and decay and filth121 filled the place. Leering idols looked out of dark crannies, their glass eyes gleaming in the flickering light.

Mentally Stan tried to check his course so that he might be able to escape if he should get loose. The yellow men followed a twisting course and the light was very dim. After a time they came out into a garden and Stan could see stars overhead. He was led across the garden and pushed into a room. A grease lamp burned on a stone table. Its light revealed one barred window, a wooden bench and a stool.

The yellow men chattered excitedly as they untied Stan’s hands. Stan braced himself for another fight with the little men. He drew back his fists to punch the man in front of him as the first move for a bid for freedom. The man ducked and drove his shiny head into Stan’s stomach. Stan went back and fell over another man who apparently was crouched behind him.

By the time Stan had leaped to his feet, the door had slammed and a bolt had shot into place. Stan could hear the little men laughing uproariously outside. He stood122 looking at the door. It was smooth teakwood and Stan knew it was as strong as steel. He moved to the window and tried the bars. They were a full inch in thickness and embedded in rock.

Stan seated himself on the stool. He stared at the grease lamp. Slowly a grin spread over his face. The little yellow men had pulled an old school trick on him, one he had not seen used since he was a youngster. He wondered what O’Malley and Allison would do when he did not show up. They might get a clue from Munson’s black eye. He rubbed his sore knuckles thoughtfully.

Stan put out the light. The lamp gave little illumination and its smell was very bad. There was no guard at his door and he could see no one in the garden. He stretched out on the hard bench and closed his eyes. He slept fitfully but he did get a little rest.

Daylight found Stan sitting by the window. He had given up trying to sleep on the hard bench. He watched the garden come to life. There were palms, cinnamon trees and mulberry, and flowering shrubs growing in clumps and beds. The air was heavy with123 the scent of gardenia and crimson hibiscus blossoms. From behind a green shrub came the plaintive notes of a native flute.

Men and women began moving about in the garden. They were dressed in white cotton or flaming colors. They did not seem aware that the corner room held a prisoner who was condemned to die. If they knew Stan was there, they showed little curiosity.

The people seemed in no hurry at all. They moved languidly toward the arches of stone which formed openings in the high garden wall, or they came in and wandered about, then went out again. A young woman dressed in a flowered kimono crossed the garden. She was carrying a tray with a white cloth over it. Behind her walked four little men, naked except for yellow silk loin cloths. The girl walked to Stan’s door and tapped.

“Come in,” Stan called.

The door did not open but a panel slid back making an opening some six inches square. Stan was startled. He had not suspected there was a panel in the door. The girl’s face appeared and she gave Stan a124 red-lipped smile as she shoved the tray toward the opening. He took the tray in through the hole.

“Thanks,” he said.

“You are welcome,” the girl answered.

Stan blinked. “You speak English very well,” he said.

“Quite well, thank you,” the girl said.

“Where did you learn it?” Stan asked.

“Hollywood, California.” The girl then laughed and added, “I was in pictures. I played the part of a Siamese dancing girl.”

“Thailand to me,” Stan said.

“I went to America because I had work to do there,” the girl went on explaining, “I learned many things of interest.”

“How did you happen to go to America?”

“I am an educated girl. I am one of the new order. I was given a job by—” she hesitated, “the Japanese government.”

Stan’s smile faded. Another example of Jap thoroughness. The girl was in the intelligence service of the Japanese forces. He smiled at her again. It might be possible to outwit her, if he could make friends.

“If you could come in or I could go out, we125 could talk better—about Hollywood,” he said.

“You can come out if you promise not to run away,” the girl said demurely. “I will put you on your honor.”

“You think Americans have honor?” Stan asked.

“Surely, much honor. More than is good for them,” she answered. Then she gave him a wide smile. “Though I do not think you would run far. There are machine guns outside the garden archways.”

“Then why don’t you let me out?” Stan asked.

The girl slid back the bolt and opened the door. Stan stepped outside. The four yellow men had vanished. A peacock screamed shrilly on the far side of the wall. The girl seated herself on the door stone and looked up at Stan.

Stan sat down and put the tray on his knees. He lifted the white cloth and saw a bowl of rice and chopped chicken, a bowl of fruit, and a pot of tea with a shell-thin cup tipped over a little image on the lid. He dipped into the fruit bowl.

126 “What’s your name?” he asked.

“I am called Niva,” she answered.

“You spoke about machine guns. Are there soldiers, Japanese soldiers?” Stan asked.

“Yes, many of them,” Niva answered. “Here, hidden in the jungle is a big base of shells and planes and war materials.” She looked up at him wide-eyed.

“And Te Nuwa is in command of the Japanese forces?” Stan asked.

“Te Nuwa is in command until the general comes. When the general is here, Te Nuwa is just the fat one.” She spread her hands and smiled.

“Is the general a little man with a scar over his right eye?” Stan asked.

“Oh, you know our general?” Niva asked, surprised.

“I have met him,” Stan replied and grinned as he remembered how the little general had ordered Allison and himself shot the day they had flown the Martin on a false alarm flight. “I owe a great deal to the general,” he said as he dipped into the bowl of chicken.

127 Niva looked at Stan questioningly. It was clear the t............