the meeting. Vincent will come to the club to-night." When pressed to give his reasons the old man refused, but repeated the statement with absolute conviction. So, on the offchance as it were, the club was very full that night. By eight o'clock there was pretty nearly a full muster, but there was a feeling of uneasy expectation in the air of the bare main room, and nobody seemed anxious to begin playing bridge. The lamps blinked and sputtered and dripped above a gathering of people who stood or sat and gossiped idly, interrupting unimportant conversation to glance sharply to the verandah steps when a new arrival appeared. The night was airless and very hot, so that the sweat stood in beads on the faces of the men and of those women who were indolent with their powder puffs. Harmington arrived about a quarter past eight. He showed a slight surprise at the largeness of the gathering and the fact that there was no bridge being played; otherwise he gave no indication of being aware of any unusual feeling. He was dressed and turned out with his usual care, as easy and unhurried in his movements as he had ever been, as capable as ever of gossiping without being altogether banal. Having spoken to everybody in the room, he sat down in the middle of a group beneath the centre lamp. "This," he declared, indicating the dead or dying insects which fell from the lamp-glass on to the baize-covered cardtable beside him, "is the sort of little thing that I shall have to call deliberately to mind when I'm enjoying London in the season." And after that, refusing to play bridge on the score that he had only looked in to say good-bye, he insisted upon talking about leave and home. Although, in that uncomfortable place on that hot night, many people did not wish to think too much of England, although few people, if any, were interested in hearing of the polite circles and of the fashionable gatherings which Mr Esme St John Harmington would grace, they listened to him. He talked so insistently on the one topic, whereas it was his ordinary habit to accept any subject of talk offered to him and deal with it in convincing fashion, that the suspicion grew in people's minds that there was a definite motive behind his insistence. By elaborating the prospects of his leave, he might be attempting to convince himself that the reality could not escape him. The business was not unknown to those who regard leave as something beyond price or barter. Yet the fact that Harmington, a being of such superiority and address, should find it necessary to indulge in such an ordinary weakness increased the feeling of uneasiness. Beneath the polished exterior the man was clearly anxious, even alarmed. After half an hour or so of talk of home, Harmington got up to go. 66 "I was," he declared, carefully restoring an amber cigarette-holder to its case, a little anxious about my berth on the liner. But it's settled now. I have secured a single cabin, the one I wanted. There are advantages in being a maligned official . . ." He looked round on those of the company who were not maligned officials, and smiled amiably. By some curious trick he had managed to remain cool in his black dinner-clothes; there was neither moisture nor dampness on his face as he smiled at his audience. Then a car stopped at the foot of the verandah steps, and the eyes of the gathering turned from Harmington. Vincent came quickly into the bare room. He looked very tired, but his eyes were clear and full of determination. His white suit was uncreased and spotless; his chin was smooth ; he was very carefully turned out; and he carried himself with assurance. Except for the look in his tired eyes he had gone back to what he had been. As he came in he nodded and smiled at the people who stared at him, but his purpose was patently not with them. Harmington had his back towards the verandah, and was finishing his sentence. ... distinct advantages," he stated. "I've made use of them, and in four days' time I shall be enjoying the coolest and most comfortable cabin..." He stopped and turned, and his face altered as he saw Vincent. The boy crossed the room and stood in front of him, easily, with his hands in his jacket pockets. "I am afraid," Vincent declared, his voice very clear and steady, "that you will not." There was silence in the hot bare room. The torn punkah ceased to swing, for the native puller was naturally interested in the encounter. A large insect died by burning against the lamp glass, and fell with a light plop on to Harmington's shoulder. He took no notice, but continued to gaze at Vincent, who met his look squarely. Then Mrs Murray took in her breath sharply. 'What the devil do you mean?" Harmington asked haughtily; but there was alarm in his eyes and in his voice, and there were beads on his forehead. Although he must have recognised the alarm and rejoiced at it, Vincent's expression did not alter. He continued to meet Harmington's look steadily. "I am afraid," he said, "that in four days' time you will not be on leave." He spoke quietly, emphasising his words deliberately, his hands still in his jacket pockets. Williams on the right and Wharton on the left began to edge themselves close to his arms, and on the faces of all the watchers there showed strain. "And why shall I not be on leave in four days' time? Harmington asked. But the superiority in his tone was forced. He seemed to be asking a question to which he knew the answer, and in his eyes there was something like a hint of appeal. The boy's lips showed a trace, a slight trace, of a smile at that hint of appeal. Williams and Wharton closed in nearer. To the watchers the pause, as the boy stood with that faint smile on his lips, carefully, very carefully, studying his opponent, seemed very long. 66 because two natives are already dead, and I shall want your evidence as a witness of the accident to your car." The strain vanished from the faces of the watchers, and Williams and Wharton stepped back with conscious unconcern; but the interest with which the company awaited developments was hardly diminished. Harmington did his best. He eyed the boy as though he were something contemptible and obnoxious. He sought to exhibit his mastery over this unpleasant person, but he could not exclude from his voice a tone which suggested defeat. 66 You," he declared, making play with his eyeglass, "actually have the impudence to suggest that you are going to postpone my leave!" Then, to the delight of the onlookers, Vincent demonstrated that the miracle had happened, that he had regained his normal poise. His tired face showed that the coming back had not been easy The drawn look about his eyes proved that the danger of the last months had been very real; but it was clear that he had found safety. For he neither exaggerated his win nor made too light of it: he simply made it plain that he met his man on level terms again. "Not entirely me," he answered, and his grin was not affectation. "You've often proved that I don't know any classics, but I remember one perfectly good word. Latin, I think. Subpœna!" While Harmington glared furiously, while Vincent met the glare with complete assurance, while clammy white people exchanged glances of content, Williams, a man of no self-consciousness, said what politer persons were diffident to say "Somebody," he declared, apparently to the air of that hot bare room-" somebody is going to break a blinking tooth biting on that bullet." A FOX-HUNT IN KOWLOON. BY CAPTAIN Q. C. A. CRAUFURD, R.N. KOWLOON is to all intents and purposes a suburb of HongKong. The island of HongKong is separated from the mainland at Kowloon by a strip of water about a mile wide. Naval interests are divided between the main dockyard and the island and a subsidiary little dockyard for torpedo craft, usually known as Kowloon Depot. Fortune had deposited me as the Torpedo Lieutenant in charge of the Kowloon Depot at the time of this yarn. When I visited Kowloon some eight years later it had changed almost beyond recognition, and to-day, no doubt, the scene of the fox-hunt here described is a maze of buildings. The railway, which had no existence at that date, now runs through the more picturesque portions of the scene, which have been sacrificed to the march of commercial prosperity. In fact the Kowloon of which I write has disappeared except in the memory of those who, like myself, remember the charming little watercourse and perhaps even the hunt itself, for it acquired some fame. Some one had seen a fox in the hills at the back of Kowloon, and that was the excuse for organising a meet at the Cement Works. the Cement Works owned a couple of ponies, which he was in the habit of lending to his less fortunate acquaintances. He himself rode a waler, and a little Chinese pony that went by the name of "The Pig" often fell to my share. I was very fond of "The Pig." He suited my style of riding. Horsemanship is not a strong point of mine, and I always considered that "The Pig" was a gentleman. "Mr Giles" was allotted to my wife. He also was a great friend of ours, and while the Engineer was on leave "Mr Giles" had come to stay with us, and usually wandered about in the garden. He had his own ideas about taking exercise, and if he found my wife was inclined to spend too long sleeping in the hammock, which was slung outside the verandah on to a tree in the garden, he would take it upon himself to put an end to such laziness. He would come up and poke his head into the hammock so as to capsize its occupant. It was a method that proved singularly effective, for there is no time wasted in turning out of a capsized hammock. "Mr Giles" found that the mere fact of making his presence known was sufficient to ensure a hasty reveille, and The Engineer in charge of the consequence was he had it all his own way. When he wanted to be taken out in the afternoon he just said so. "Mr Giles," therefore, was an institution. The idea took definite shape in the Gunners' Mess, and was carried over the ferry into the precincts of the Hong-Kong Club. One of the main difficulties was how to secure a pack of hounds. Two of my shipmates in H.M.S. Tamar were fabled to possess dogs of a sporting description. "Smell dogs" would be the official naval term, derived from the Maltese, "a smell 'em dog, Signior." I telephoned over to the First Lieutenant. My job was in the depot at Kowloon, and I did not see much of H.M.S. Tamar beyond the monthly muster by open list. "Look here, old man, I want to get hold of a few smell dogs." Whatters? "Smell dogs." "What are they? "Drop it," I shouted. "Look here, this is serious. Put up a notice in the wardroom asking members for the Kowloon FoxHunt. There will be a small subscription, to pay the Chinese coolies. Nothing much, but every member must arrive mounted, and bring a dog of some description or pay a fine, say, five dollars. That'll shake 'em!" The telephone grunted. "Who's running this hunt business? You" it queried with tinny scepticism. "No, not me; I'm no huntsman. The soldiers here are at the bottom of it, and that fellow over at the Cement Works. Damned sporting, I call it. I'm all for it, and giving what help I can." The First Lieutenant of the Tamar was one of these wellmeaning but rather idiots who barge into trouble without thinking. He advertised the business as Craufurd's Sporting Tour," which rather tended to make the 66 "Oh, you know, dogs with thing ridiculous. Besides, as a sporting instinct." 66 Ah, smell dogs! Yes, the Paymaster's got a red setter, "Bobbie," and Willis has a sort of a plum-pudding dog. What do you want 'em for? "We're getting up a foxhunt." "But, good Lord, you don't hunt foxes with setters and gun dogs. You'd better ring up Melton Mowbray and borrow a hound or two." a matter of fact, I do not really know much about hunting from first-hand experience. However, the idea caught on. I 'phoned up to the Gunners' Mess that evening to announce twenty-three entries from the Navy, with roughly fourteen dogs, mostly small ones. The Gunners' Mess was rather incoherent on the telephone, and shortly afterwards a deputation arrived at my bun The First Lieutenant was galow on bicycles. trying to be funny. They were somewhat appre |