"It's ashamed, so it closes up," Rick said. "That's charming. Tagalog must be a picturesque language."

The Filipino nodded. "It has a certain flavor. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Colonel Felix Rojas of the Philippine constabulary."

Rick took his first good look at the Filipino and immediately recognized the soldierly bearing and lean fitness of the professional soldier. He introduced himself and Scotty.

Colonel Rojas smiled. "The young men who are going to dine with the esteemed a.s.sistant Secretary tonight, eh? Welcome to our country." He bowed and walked away, leaving them openmouthed. Then, as an afterthought, he turned. "Surprised? Don't be. We are interested in strangers until their intentions are known. Yours are above reproach."

His smile faded. "However, you may be interested in another bit of Tagalog." He spoke briefly a phrase that seemed to be mostly vowels.

"What does it mean?" Scotty asked.

The colonel's eyes searched theirs. "What good is hay to a dead horse,"

he said and walked away.

The boys stared at each other.

"A very good question," Rick said at last. The colonel had vanished into the Manila Hotel. "Scotty, what good is hay to a dead horse?"

"The deceased equine has little use for hay," Scotty said. "Obviously.

Was that a warning?"

"I don't know what it was," Rick said. The phrase could have been a warning, but of what? And how had the colonel known where they were dining? He put the question aloud.

Scotty shrugged. "Doesn't the constabulary come under the Department of the Interior? Maybe Lazada told him. A colonel would be pretty high rank in the constabulary; he could even be the commander."

The Philippine constabulary had a long and distinguished history. It was similar to a police force, but was a military organization. It was, Rick thought, something like a cross between the American state militia, the Texas Rangers, and any good state police force.

"I'm snowed," Rick said at last. "The only thing I'm sure of is that he wasn't looking for information when he asked what good is hay to a dead horse. Come on. Let's start for Lazada's."

The way led across busy Taft Avenue, named for the American president, across the Ayala Bridge which spanned the Pasig River, and past Malaccan Palace. The palace was the equivalent of our White House. In its time Spanish, American, and j.a.panese conquerors of the Philippines had lived there. Now it housed the president of the Republic of the Philippines.

It was very dark by the time they pa.s.sed the palace. They left the street-lighted area and entered an area of old Spanish houses. The Pasig River was very close. They could smell the water hyacinth which floated endlessly down to the sea.

The air was heavy with unshed rain. The boys had long since shed their jackets and were carrying them. Now the heat seemed to push down on them, m.u.f.fling even the sound of their leather soles on the cobbles.

They pa.s.sed a solitary street light and Rick read the sign. They were on the right track. The hotel clerk's directions, obtained before they ate, had been very good.

"Almost there," Rick whispered, then wondered why he hadn't spoken aloud.

Apparently Scotty was feeling the same physical oppression because he didn't comment on the whisper.

The houses were two-story, old Spanish style, with much wrought-iron fancy work. Few lights showed. Such houses presented only blank faces to the street. The life inside them found its open air in secluded patios in the rear.

"We must be getting close," Scotty said. His voice was very low.

Rick unsnapped his key ring. It had a pencil flashlight attached. He shot the light over the house fronts, searching for a number. A cream-colored lizard darted frantically out of the circle of light into protecting darkness.

"Two more numbers," Rick said. "Must be the house after the next one."

He flashed the tiny light ahead and froze as he saw the shape of a man.

Beside him, he felt Scotty tense.

It was silly to stand frozen. Rick moved ahead, slowly, and the shape took form. Turban, flowing tunic with sash. Fiercely whiskered face. A Sikh guard.

He breathed a sigh of relief. Sikhs--Indians--were noted for their bravery and fighting ability, and they could be found in most cities of the Far East, usually employed as private guards or police.

The Sikh came to attention and Rick noted that he was rather small for his race. Most Sikhs were big men. He had kept the light on the bearded face, noting that the beard was neatly tied in the Sikh fashion. Brown eyes stared unblinkingly. A hoa.r.s.e voice said, "This ees house of Meester Secretary Lazada. Please to enter."

Suddenly the voice changed and Rick nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Go right on up the stairs, meatheads. Scotty must be hungry. He always is."

Rick choked.

"Chahda!"

CHAPTER III

The G.o.ds of Banaue

Scotty reached out for the Hindu boy, but Chahda stepped nimbly aside.

"Not time for horseplay now," he said. "Or talk either. Houseboy will hear. It important I stay under cover. You go up and eat. Later, if I can, I will come to Manila Hotel. If I cannot, I will meet you in Baguio."

The boys knew better than to argue. They each punched Chahda affectionately as they pa.s.sed him, then Rick knocked on the door, which was instantly opened by a Filipino houseboy.

The houseboy led them up a steep flight of stairs into a huge living room, spa.r.s.ely furnished after the tropical fashion, but with exquisite and expensive Chinese furniture of rosewood and teak. Tony Briotti came to meet them, then introduced them to Dr. Remedios Okola and the Honorable Irineo Lazada.

Dr. Okola, obviously, had a great deal of Spanish blood in his ancestry.

He was tall and lean, with a deeply lined face and a magnificent hawklike nose. His hair was iron gray. He wore black dress trousers and an open-neck slipover shirt of a very fine, almost transparent, fabric heavily embroidered down the front. The shirt hung outside his trousers in traditional style. This was the _barong_ Tagalog, the native Filipino costume.

Where the Filipino archaeologist showed his Spanish blood, the Honorable Irineo Lazada's face betrayed his Chinese ancestry. He was round of face, and his eyes had the typical Mongoloid fold. He was dressed in an expensive white sharkskin suit with a white American-style shirt and a black tie. The tie was held in place by the biggest diamond Rick had ever seen. He a.s.sumed it was real; no one would wear a phony one that big.

Lazada had a huge Manila cigar in one hand and a fan in the other. By some feat of legerdemain he managed to shake hands with the boys without letting go of either.

"Come in, come in," he said genially. "Welcome to the Philippines. You will have some refreshment? How about a c.o.ke?"

That suited the boys fine. Lazada waved a pudgy hand and a slippered houseboy appeared like a genie, carrying two iced gla.s.ses of c.o.ke. Rick was not in the least surprised. He had had his favorite American beverage in more unexpected places than this.

Tony Briotti explained, "Dr. Okola and I just got here. We had a most interesting day at the university. I was beginning to go into the details of our expedition with Mr. Lazada."

"Please continue," Lazada said expansively.

Rick, who was sensitive to voices, had the impression that Mr. Lazada's voice pa.s.sed through a bath of highly refined oil before it emerged from his thick lips. It wasn't exactly oily--just sort of overlubricated.

Lazada alternately smoked and fanned. "You were telling me of Spindrift Island. Am I to gather that you are the only Spindrift scientist on this expedition? And that these young men just came for the voyage?"

"By no means." Tony set Lazada straight. "Rick is our pilot and electronics technician. Scotty is mechanic and camp manager."