“Singapore is by no means herself again,” declared Jennings, looking about the lounge of the Hotel de l'Europe. “Don't you agree, Knox?”  
Burton fixed his lazy stare upon the speaker.
 
“Don't blame poor old Singapore,” he said. “There is no spot in this battered world that I have succeeded in discovering which is not changed for the worse.”
 
Dr. Matheson flicked ash from his cigar and smiled in that peculiarly happy manner which characterizes a certain American type and which lent a boyish charm to his personality.
 
“You are a pair of pessimists,” he pronounced. “For some reason best known to themselves Jennings and Knox have decided upon a Busman's Holiday. Very well. Why grumble?”
 
“You are quite right, Doctor,” Jennings admitted. “When I was on service here in the Straits Settlements I declared heaven knows how often that the country would never see me again once I was demobbed. Yet here you see I am; Burton belongs here; but here's Knox, and we are all as fed up as we can be!”
 
“Yes,” said Burton slowly. “I may be a bit tired of Singapore. It's a queer thing, though, that you fellows have drifted back here again. The call of the East is no fable. It's a call that one hears for ever.”
 
The conversation drifted into another channel, and all sorts of topics were discussed, from racing to the latest feminine fashions, from ballroom dances to the merits and demerits of coalition government. Then suddenly:
 
“What became of Adderley?” asked Jennings.
 
There were several men in the party who had been cronies of ours during the time that we were stationed in Singapore, and at Jennings's words a sort of hush seemed to fall on those who had known Adderley. I cannot say if Jennings noticed this, but it was perfectly evident to me that Dr. Matheson had perceived it, for he glanced swiftly across in my direction in an oddly significant way.
 
“I don't know,” replied Burton, who was an engineer. “He was rather an unsavoury sort of character in some ways, but I heard that he came to a sticky end.”
 
“What do you mean?” I asked with curiosity, for I myself had often wondered what had become of Adderley.
 
“Well, he was reported to his C. O., or something, wasn't he, just before the time for his demobilization? I don't know the particulars; I thought perhaps you did, as he was in your regiment.”
 
“I have heard nothing whatever about it,” I replied.
 
“You mean Sidney Adderley, the man who was so indecently rich?” someone interjected. “Had a place at Katong, and was always talking about his father's millions?”
 
“That's the fellow.”
 
“Yes,” said Jennings, “there was some scandal, I know, but it was after my time here.”
 
“Something about an old mandarin out Johore Bahru way, was it not?” asked Burton. “The last thing I heard about Adderley was that he had disappeared.”
 
“Nobody would have cared much if he had,” declared Jennings. “I know of several who would have been jolly glad. There was a lot of the brute about Adderley, apart from the fact that he had more money than was good for him. His culture was a veneer. It was his check-book that spoke all the time.”
 
“Everybody would have forgiven Adderley his vulgarity,” said Dr. Matheson, quietly, “if the man's heart had been in the right place.”
 
“Surely an instance of trying to make a silk purse out of a sow's ear,” someone murmured.
 
Burton gazed rather hard at the last speaker.
 
“So far as I am aware,” he said, “the poor devil is dead, so go easy.”
 
“Are you sure he is dead?” asked Dr. Matheson, glancing at Burton in that quizzical, amused way of his.
 
“No, I am not sure; I am merely speaking from hearsay. And now I come to think of it, the information was rather vague. But I gathered that he had vanished, at any rate, and remembering certain earlier episodes in his career, I was led to suppose that this vanishing meant———”
 
He shrugged his shoulders significantly.
 
“You mean the old mandarin?” suggested Dr. Matheson.
 
“Yes.”
 
“Was there really anything in that story, or was it suggested by the unpleasant reputation of Adderley?” Jennings asked.
 
“I can settle any doubts upon that point,” said I; whereupon I immediately became a focus of general attention.
 
“What! were you ever at that place of Adderley's at Katong?” asked Jennings with intense curiosity.
 
I nodded, lighting a fresh cigarette in a manner that may have been unduly leisurely.
 
“Did you see her?”
 
Again I nodded.
 
“Really!”
 
“I must have been peculiarly favoured, but certainly I had that pleasure.”
 
“You speak of seeing her,” said one of the party, now entering the conversation for the first time. “To whom do you refer?”
 
“Well,” replied Burton, “it's really a sort of fairy tale—unless Knox”—glacing across in my direction—“can confirm it. But there was a story current during the latter part of Adderley's stay in Singapore to the effect that he had made the acquaintance of the wife, or some member of the household, of an old gentleman out Johore Bahru way—sort of mandarin or big pot among the Chinks.”
 
“It was rumoured that he had bolted with her,” added another speaker.
 
“I think it was more than a rumour.”
 
“Why do you say so?”
 
“Well, representations were made to the authorities, I know for an absolute certainty, and I have an idea that Adderley was kicked out of the Service as a consequence of the scandal which resulted.”
 
“How is it one never heard of this?”
 
“Money speaks, my dear fellow,” cried Burton, “even when it is possessed by such a peculiar outsider as Adderley. The thing was hushed up. It was a very nasty business. But Knox was telling us that he had actually seen the lady. Please carry on, Knox, for I must admit that I am intensely curious.”
 
“I can only say that I saw her on one occasion.”
 
“With Adderley?”
 
“Undoubtedly.”
 
“Where?”
 
“At his place at Katong.”
 
“I even thought his place at that resort was something of a myth,” declared Jennings. “He never asked me to go there, but, then, I took that as a compliment. Pardon the apparent innuendo, Knox,” he added, laughing. “But you say you actually visited the establishment?”
 
“Yes,” I replied slowly, “I met him here in this very hotel one evening in the winter of '15, after the natives' attempt to mutiny. He had been drinking rather heavily, a fact which he was quite unable to disguise. He was never by any means a real friend of mine; in fact, I doubt that he had a true friend in the world. Anyhow, I could see that he was lonely, and as I chanced to be at a loose end I accepted an invitation to go over to what he termed his 'little place at Katong.'
 
“His little place proved to be a veritable palace. The man privately, or rather, secretly, to be exact, kept up a sort of pagan state. He had any number of servants. Of course he became practically a millionaire after the death of his father, as you will remember; and given more congenial company, I must confess that I might have spent a most enjoyable evening there.
 
“Adderley insisted upon priming me with champagne, and after a while I may as well admit that I lost something of my former reserve, and began in a fashion to feel that I was having a fairly good time. By the way, my host was not quite frankly drunk. He got into that objectionable and dangerous mood which some of you will recall, and I could see by the light in his eyes that there was mischief brewing, although at the time I did not know its nature.
 
“I should explain that we were amusing ourselves in a room which was nearly as large as the lounge of this hotel, and furnished in a somewhat similar manner. There were carved pillars and stained glass domes, a little fountain, and all those other peculiarities of an Eastern household.
 
“Presently, Adderley gave an order to one of his servants, and glanced at me with that sort of mocking, dare-devil look in his eyes which I loathed, which everybody loathed who ever met the man. Of course I had no idea what all this portended, but I was very shortly to learn.
 
“While he was still looking at me, but stealing side-glances at a doorway before which was draped a most wonderful curtain of a sort of flamingo colour, this curtain was suddenly pulled aside, and a girl came in.
 
“Of course, you must remember that at the time of which I am speaking............