“A story about a big fight at Igut,” the other responded promptly, “or rather a lot of stories. The first was that old Felizardo had burned the place, massacred every one, except the Scout officer’s wife, whom he had carried off. Now they say he was beaten, after all. Do you know anything?”
Captain Hayle smiled. “A little. It was my fight,” then, in the briefest terms, he outlined the story. “And now,” he added, “you had better get ashore ahead of us, and telephone up to have these fellows, Enrique Vagas and the others, watched right away. And tell them to send down a strong guard for my prisoners. I don’t want to march through the streets with every one staring at me; besides, my little chaps are in rags. We’ll give you half an hour’s start.”
It did not take long for the news to travel round Manila. Commissioner Furber heard it by telephone from the police, and was dumbfounded. “Do you think it can be true?” he asked of Senor Guiterrez, his secretary, who had gone deadly pale.
“Shall I go and find out more details? I might go down to the coastguard, and tell Captain Hayle to come up at once,” the secretary murmured, and, barely waiting for a reply, he hurried away, though not in the direction of the coastguard quay. He took a carromato, which is the local libel on a cab; but, on looking back, he saw that another carromato was following his. He told the driver to take a sharp turn into the Walled City, and found the other vehicle took the same turn; then, realising that the game was up, he took a very small revolver out of his hip-pocket, and shot himself dead.
Down at the Custom House, Senor Enrique Vagas heard the news, and suddenly discovered that he had left some papers aboard the Hong Kong mail steamer, which was just leaving. He slipped out of a side entrance, of the existence of which the detective, who had just arrived, did not know, got aboard the mail-boat unperceived, and from that point onwards he disappears from the story. Senor Simeon Talibat, the judge, heard the news, and merely smiled, knowing well that they dare not indict him.
Commissioner Furber was sitting very grim and silent when Basil Hayle was shown in. This was, without exception, the worst blow the Civil Government had received, and in the first outburst of bitterness he felt he would sooner that Igut had been destroyed, so that the blame could have fallen on Felizardo, rather than have had this exposure of the treachery of his Little Brown Brothers. Any sort of concealment was practically impossible now, in view of the suicide of his secretary, of which he had just heard. The whole city had heard of it too, and had put its own construction on it. Consequently, he did not feel kindly towards Captain Basil Hayle, and showed so by his manner. The wonderful forced march from Silang, over the pass to Igut, the sudden, paralysing attack, the relentless justice meted out to the insurrectos, were, he knew, things which would appeal to the mob; but they left him and his colleagues cold. They were contrary to the interests of the Party—and of themselves.
The interview with Basil was a brief one. Basil himself had come intending to say nothing of Felizardo’s intervention, feeling certain that, by mentioning it, he would only increase the bitterness against the old chief, and lay himself open to suspicion, which would result in his removal from the district. He had ample proof that it was the insurrectos who had made the attack—proofs, in the form of certain papers found on the prisoners, which he did not mention to the Commissioner.
“Make out a formal report, and let me have it as soon as possible,” the Commissioner said, after Basil had given him an outline of what had occurred.
Basil got up. “And the prisoners?” he asked.
“They will be brought to trial, of course,” the other snapped. “I presume you have good evidence.”