that, if the truth were only known, you're this mysterious Nineveh."
We walked for some distance in silence. Presently my friend began to talk again—this time, however, in a new strain and perhaps with a little more caution.
"You have been a great traveller, I understand, Mr. Hatteras."
"A fairly great one, Mr. Baxter. You also, I am told, have seen something of the world."
"A little—very little."
"The South Seas, I believe. D'you know Papeete?"
"I have been there."
"D'you know New Guinea at all?"
"No. I was never near it. I am better acquainted with the Far East—India, China, Japan, etc."
Suddenly something, I shall never be able to tell what, prompted me to say:
"And the Andamans?"
The effect on my companion was as sudden as it was extraordinary. For a moment he staggered on the path like a drunken man; his face grew ashen white, and he had to give utterance to a hoarse choking sound before he could get out a word. Then he said:
"No—no—you are quite mistaken, I assure you, I never knew the Andamans."
Now, on the Andamans, as all the world knows, are located the Indian penal establishments, and noting his behaviour, I became more and more convinced in my own mind that there was some mystery about Mr. Baxter that had yet to be explained. I had still a trump card to play.
"I'm afraid you are not very well, Mr. Baxter. Perhaps the heat is too much for you, or we are walking
