Bude took the message from the hands of the Maori bearer.  As he deciphered it his fingers trembled with eagerness.  ’Oh, Heaven!  Here is the Hand of Destiny!’ he exclaimed, when he had read the message; and with pallid face he dropped into a deck-chair.

‘No bad news?’ asked Logan with anxiety.

‘The port of rendezvous,’ said Bude, much agitated.  ’Come down to my cabin.’

Entering the sumptuous cabin, Bude opened the locked door of a state-room, and uttered some words in an unknown tongue.  A tall and very ancient Maori, tatooed with the native ‘Moka’ on every inch of his body, emerged.  The snows of some eighty winters covered his broad breast and majestic head.  His eyes were full of the secrets of primitive races.  For clothing he wore two navy revolvers stuck in a waist-cloth.

‘Te-iki-pa,’ said Bude, in the Maori language, ’watch by the door, we must have no listeners, and your ears are keen as those of the youngest Rangatira’ (warrior).

The august savage nodded, and, lying down on the floor, applied his ear to the chink at its foot.

‘The port of tryst,’ whispered Bude to Logan, as they seated themselves at the remotest extremity of the cabin, ‘is in Cagayan Sulu.’

‘And where may that be?’ asked Logan, lighting a cigarette.

‘It is a small volcanic island, the most southerly of the Philippines.’

‘American territory now,’ said Logan.  ’But what about it?  If it was anybody but you, Bude, I should say he was in a funk.’

‘I am in a funk,’ answered Bude simply.

‘Why?’

‘I have been there before and left—­a blood-feud.’

’What of it?  We have one here, with the Maori King, about you know what.  Have we not the Maxims, and any quantity of Lee-Metfords?  Besides, you need not go ashore at Cagayan Sulu.’

‘But they can come aboard.  Bullets won’t stop them.’

‘Stop whom?  The natives?’

‘The Berbalangs:  you might as well try to stop mosquitoes with Maxims.’

‘Who are the Berbalangs then?’

Bude paced the cabin in haggard anxiety.  ‘Least said, soonest mended,’ he muttered.

‘Well, I don’t want your confidence,’ said Logan, hurt.

‘My dear fellow,’ said Bude affectionately, ’you are likely to know soon enough.  In the meantime, please accept this.’

He opened a strong box, which appeared to contain jewellery, and offered Logan a ring.  Between two diamonds of the finest water it contained a bizarre muddy coloured pearl.  ‘Never let that leave your finger,’ said Bude.  ‘Your life may hang on it.’

‘It is a pretty talisman,’ said Logan, placing the jewel on the little finger of his right hand.  ’A token of some friendly chief, I suppose, at Cagayan—­what do you call it?’

‘Let us put it at that,’ answered Bude; ‘I must take other precautions.’

It seemed to Logan that these consisted in making similar presents to the officers and crew, all of whom were Englishmen.  Te-iki-pa displaced his nose-ring and inserted his pearl in the orifice previously occupied by that ornament.  A little chain of the pearls was hung on the padlock of the huge packing-case, which was the special care of Te-iki-pa.