The leaves slipped away easily and Sir Ralph gaped at what he saw before him: a pair of worn boots he had last glimpsed hanging over the edge of a hammock in his garden. He took the boots and held them tenderly against his chest. He saw the Dyaks shaking their heads sadly.

‘Englung man,’ said one of them. ‘Lost, you see, rajah. Vultures eat face. We put this lost man in the ground. Branches above: his cradle.’

The rajah said nothing for a while, then in a hoarse whisper asked, ‘Did you kill him?’

‘No, Sir Raff,’ said the oldest of the Dyaks, ‘we told you, this was a lost man.

In Borneo, lost men die.’

NO NEARER TO CERTAINTY

When Valentine Ross arrived at Henrietta Street, to be told by Sir William that Jane had taken the early train for London, a first feeling of disbelief turned swiftly to anger. He’d walked with passionate strides from Edgars Buildings, in joyous haste to see his fiancée and to present to her at last, in front of her father, a valuable emerald and diamond ring that had once belonged to his mother. He had spent part of the night polishing the ring in methylated spirits and he saw it afresh as a thing of great beauty. But now, without any word or warning, its intended recipient had abandoned him.

‘Why?’ he cried out. And then could not prevent himself from adding crossly, ‘London? She did not have my permission to go to London!’

Sir William looked at him with a calm but accusing stare. ‘She did not need your permission, my dear Ross,’ he said. ‘Her Aunt Emmeline has suffered a heart attack and is gravely ill. She sent for Jane. As you know, Emmeline and Jane are almost like mother and daughter. Jane could not hesitate.’

Ross turned away and stared out at the street. The sun was shining on the soft colours of the stone and putting a bright glaze on the black-painted railings. Though struck by the calm beauty of this scene, he felt that such beauty had no value, but was merely a meaningless arrangement of once-pleasing but now pointless things, if Jane had indeed left the city. The ring seemed to burn in his pocket. In the weeks when he’d walked about in the euphoria of at last possessing his mercurial Angel, he had felt himself to be the most fortunate man in England. Now, she had suddenly left him again, and he could not stop a black fury from descending on him.

‘Did Jane leave me no note?’ he asked. ‘I would have thought this was a courtesy she might have considered.’

Sir William, if not surprised by Ross’s anger, then slightly surprised that he wasn’t able to conceal or control it, laid a consoling hand on Ross’s arm.

‘My sister’s condition appears grave,’ he said quietly. ‘Worry on this score took all else from Jane’s mind except how she might get to London as quickly as possible. You will have to forgive her the lack of a note. She will return as soon as Emmeline recovers.’