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east bank were lost in gloom while their highest branches swayed gently in the departing sunlight.  The air felt heavy and cold in the breeze, expiring in slight puffs that came over the water.
    Almayer shivered as he made an effort to speak, and again with an uncertain gesture he seemed to free his throat from the grip of an invisible hand.  His bloodshot eyes wandered aimlessly from face to face.
    “There!” he said at last.  “Are you all there?  He is a dangerous man.”
    He dragged at the cover with hasty violence, and the body rolled stiffly off the planks and fell at his feet in rigid helplessness.
    “Cold, perfectly cold,” said Almayer, looking round with a mirthless smile.  “Sorry can do no better.  And you can’t hang him, either.  As you observe, gentlemen,” he added gravely, “there is no head, and hardly any neck.”
    The last ray of light was snatched away from the tree-tops, the river grew suddenly dark, and in the great stillness the murmur of the flowing water seemed to fill the vast expanse of grey shadow that descended upon the land.
    “This is Dain,” went on Almayer to the silent group that surrounded him.  “And I have kept my word.  First one hope, then another, and this is my last.  Nothing is left now.  You think there is one dead man here?  Mistake, I ‘sure you.  I am much more dead.  Why don’t you hang me?” he suggested suddenly, in a friendly tone, addressing the lieutenant.  “I assure, assure you it would be a mat — matter of form altog — altogether.”
    These last words he muttered to himself, and walked zigzaging towards his house.  “Get out!” he thundered at Ali, who was approaching timidly with offers of assistance.  From afar, scared groups of men and women watched his devious progress.  He dragged himself up the stairs by the banister, and managed to reach a chair into which he fell heavily.  He sat for awhile panting with exertion and anger, and looking round vaguely for Nina; then making a threatening gesture towards the compound, where he had heard Babalatchi’s voice, he overturned the table with his foot in a great crash of smashed crockery.  He muttered yet menacingly to himself, then his head fell on his breast, his eyes closed, and with a deep sigh he fell asleep.
    That night — for the first time in its history — the peaceful and flourishing settlement of Sambir saw the lights shining about “Almayer’s Folly.”  These were the lanterns of the boats hung up by the seamen under the verandah where the two officers were holding a court of inquiry into the truth of the story related to them by Babalatchi.  Babalatchi had regained all his importance.  He was eloquent and persuasive, calling Heaven and Earth to witness the truth of his statements.  There were also other witnesses.  Mahmat Banjer and a good many others underwent a close examination that dragged its weary length far into the evening.  A messenger was sent for Abdulla, who excused himself from coming on the score of his venerable age, but sent Reshid.  Mahmat had to produce the bangle, and saw with rage and mortification the lieutenant put it in his pocket, as one of the proofs of Dain’s death, to be sent in with the official report of the mission.  Babalatchi’s ring was also impounded for the same purpose, but the experienced statesman was resigned to that loss from the very beginning.  He did not mind as long as he was sure, that the white men believed.  He put that question to himself earnestly as he left, one of the last, when the proceedings came to a close.  He was not certain.  Still, if they believed only for a night, he would put Dain beyond their reach and feel safe himself.  He walked away fast, looking from time to time over his shoulder in the fear of being followed, but he saw and heard nothing.
    “Ten o’clock,” said the lieutenant, looking at his watch and yawning.  “I shall hear some of the captain’s complimentary remarks when we get back.  Miserable business, this.”
    “Do you think all this is true?” asked the younger man.
    “True!  It is just possible.  But if it isn’t true what can we do?  If we had a dozen boats we could patrol the creeks; and that wouldn’t be much good.  That drunken madman was right; we haven’t enough hold on this coast.  They do what they like.  Are our hammocks slung?”
    “Yes, I told the coxswain.  Strange couple over there,” said the sub, with a wave of his hand