Stan halted before entering the dark archway. He had seen a movement in the moonlight which filtered through the leaves of a big tree beyond the wall. Slowly Stan moved forward and as he went his hands lifted until his fists were pressed at each side of his head.

He felt something soft strike his shoulder, something that looped around his neck like the coils of a snake. There was a quick and powerful jerk that lifted him off the ground. His fists were pressed into his neck with terrific force. It required all of Stan’s strength to keep the silken cord from cutting off his breath and choking him. His feet touched the ground, then he was lifted again and held dangling in the air.

Stan held the cord away from his throat135 and let his body go limp. He did not struggle. The expert on the top of the wall was muttering in guttural tones, repeating strange words in a low mumble. Stan realized that the strangler had intended that his first terrific jerk and twist should paralyze his victim. For what seemed a long time, Stan dangled there.

Slowly he was lowered to the ground where he let himself collapse with every muscle relaxed. As the cord slackened he spread it and removed his fists, then tightened the cord again until it almost choked him. After that he lay still and waited. From the wall above came a low bird call. The call was answered from across the garden.

Out of the gloom appeared a man swathed in a black cape. Behind him strode two squat, burly fellows. The man in the cape knelt and felt the taut cord around Stan’s neck with icy fingers. Then he uttered a grunt of satisfaction, removed the cord and stood up. He spoke softly to the two fellows beside him, turned, and melted into the night.

The two men caught Stan by the arms and136 dragged him through the archway. They passed near a large building, brightly lighted, and entered a darkened shed with a low roof and open walls. A band of moonlight played across an earthen floor.

The men dragged Stan to a low plank platform and dumped him there. One of them kicked him in the side with a wooden sandal. Stan did not stiffen his body. The man bent and searched Stan’s pockets, taking out his knife, compass and a handful of silver coins.

The two then seated themselves in the band of moonlight to argue over the division of their loot. They wrangled and snarled, coming near to blows before the coins and articles had been divided. Stan smiled as he thought about his wrist watch. It was the only thing of value he carried and they had missed it.

Finally the two men settled their argument. One of them stepped to a corner of the room and came back with a cotton cloth. He flipped this over Stan. A moment later Stan heard their wooden sandals clicking over the hard floor as they left the shed.

Pushing the cloth back from his face, Stan137 listened. He heard a profusion of sounds, a woman’s laugh, men talking and a night bird calling. None of the sounds were near the place where he lay. Stan felt sure most of these natives feared the dead and would stay away from this morgue. What he did not know was how soon grave diggers would come to dispose of him.

He was about to sit up when he saw someone approaching. Stan got ready for a fight. A lone figure wrapped in a white robe crossed the floor and passed through the moonlight. Above the robe rose a turban of white cloth. Bending down, the visitor pulled back the shroud and laid something on Stan’s breast. Stan looked up into the face of Niva.

With a noiseless movement, he caught her wrist.

“Don’t scream,” he said softly.

The girl tried to wrench her hand free. She did not scream or make any sound, but she fought fiercely. Suddenly, she dropped to her knees beside Stan. He could feel her body tremble.

“You are not dead?” she whispered.

138 “No, I am not dead,” Stan answered. “Won’t you help me to get out of here? I need a guide.”

She looked into his face for a long moment. Her voice was very low when she spoke.

“I am glad you are not dead. I watched from outside the garden. The shadow men never fail. They have great pride in their way of killing. I was sure you were dead. I bought a prayer at the temple and brought it here. I thought you would need it. You had no one to buy a prayer for you.” She paused.

Stan released her hand. “That was kind of you. But I’ll really need a prayer unless I get out of here.”

“They will not come until daylight to get you,” she said. “That is the way it is done. There is a ceremony going on in a dark temple room right now. When it is over, they will come.”

“Fine,” Stan said. “Now if I can just get away from here.”

“You could not get far in those clothes. I will bring you white robes and a turban.”

139 “Good for you, Niva,” Stan whispered. “I’ll just lie here and wait.”

Niva got to her feet and vanished into the night. Stan sat on the platform and listened. After a time he heard footsteps and lay down. Niva slipped into the shed along the dark side. She knelt beside him.

“Put this on your hands and face. It will make you brown,” she whispered.

She poured liquid into his cupped hands out of a bowl. Stan smeared his face and hands. The stuff smelled bad and burned like fire.

“What is it?” he asked.

“It is polish for the harness of the sacred elephants,” she said and he heard her giggle. “I could find no other brown stain.”

Stan stood up and let her help him into the white robe. He bent down and she fixed his turban into place.

“You will do very well,” she said. “But it is best that you walk stooped a little. You stand too straight, too much the soldier.”

“Will you get into trouble over this?” Stan asked anxiously.

140 “If I am caught, yes,” she admitted. “But no one would charge me with making the dacoit strangler fail. No one can make a dacoit fail. Unless we are seen and recognized, the dacoit and the priests will say the body of the white man was stolen by thieves. They would not admit failure.” She smiled up at him.

“But what will they do with you if you are caught?” Stan insisted upon knowing.

“I will die,” she replied simply. Her smile did not fade as she said it.

“I’d take you with me, but I have to go through the jungle,” Stan said. “I may be a long time getting back to my base.”

“You wish to go through the jungle?” she asked.

“That is the only way I can get out of here, isn’t it?” he asked.

“Te Nuwa has a flying machine. You are a flying man,” she laughed softly. “Te Nuwa prizes his big bird greatly.”

“Can we get to his hangar?” Stan asked.

“We can go to the field where he keeps his flying machine and his elephants. It is across the village from the Japanese field141 where they keep their war machines. Te Nuwa and the general are always quarreling about it. The general says he will make a field of his own out of it,” Niva explained.

“I’d like to know where the Jap flying field is, too,” Stan said eagerly. Even though he was in danger he was, first of all, a soldier and alert for information.

“It is mostly in the jungle where the big machines can hide, but there is a wide road for them to run on when they leave or come in. I will show you.” Niva seemed willing enough to help, even to giving information.

She led the way out of the shed and down a dark lane which ended in a street lighted by a few lamps stuck on poles. The street was crowded with people. The girl caught Stan’s arm.

“We must not hurry. We go slowly. I will answer if we are spoken to. I am dressed as a low-caste boy and you may well pass as my father.” Niva pulled her white robe around her with one hand. Her dark eyes peered out at the passing people.

Stan pulled his robe around him and held it. They moved down the street slowly. It142 teemed with dark-skinned people dressed in garments of flaming colors. Dark-eyed women looked lazily down from tottering, wooden balconies. Guttering tallow lamps and flaring torches half illuminated the interiors of shops and dwellings, giving Stan a fleeting glimpse of life in a Siamese village. The street was narrow and crooked. They were jostled as they moved along, but no one gave them even a second glance. Stan saw no soldiers and no police.

They followed the street for a quarter of a mile, then turned off into a darkened lane shaded by big trees. Niva looked up at Stan. She had let her robe fall back and he saw she was dressed in a modern gown.

“I took you through the native quarter of the town because it is not open to the Japanese soldier yet,” she explained.

“Aren’t the Japanese your people?” Stan asked.

“No,” she answered. “I am Burmese. I would now get away from the Japanese War Office if I could. I had a job which a woman could not get in my homeland. I traveled and I was well paid. But now there is war143 and Japan will destroy my country and my people. They plan to move into Burma soon.”

“You’re dead right in quitting them,” Stan agreed.

Niva caught his arm and pulled him out of the road. They crouched beside a bush while a squad of soldiers walked past. They were talking and laughing as they went along. Stan was not sure, but he did not think they were Japanese.

They came to a wide opening where there were a few lights. The moon flooded a large field. Near the edge of the field stood a plane. One glance at it was enough to tell Stan what it was. Te Nuwa’s prized flying machine was an ancient Curtiss Robin. Stan doubted that the ship could be in good flying condition, for it would be difficult to obtain spare parts for a Robin out here. But it was a plane and one that Stan knew how to handle. It had wings and wings were what he desired.

Several guards stood about near a shed. No one seemed to be guarding the plane, but the men were close to it and they were armed144 with rifles. Stan sat down and pulled off his turban. It bothered him because he was not used to such a mass of cloth on his head. He looked the field over carefully. The night was hot and the Robin’s motor should start without much trouble, though that depended upon its condition. But the engine would take a few minutes to warm up even if it started at once. The problem was to get the needed time.

Niva seated herself beside him on the grass. He was wondering if Te Nuwa ever made early morning hops. If he did, he would have the engine warmed up and idling for some time. He turned to the girl.

“Does Te Nuwa ever make dawn flights?”

“He used to fly in the early morning, but now the Japanese will not let him. He must fly in the afternoon. If he flies before there is good light, they will shoot at him.” She laughed softly. “Te Nuwa is a very smart man for one so fat. He has the markings of the United States on his wings so he can fly to Rangoon and other places. The Japanese shoot at such markings.”

Stan continued to study t............