en a figure appeared in
the doorway, a figure in a tight yellow robe and short embroidered
jacket, the dancing girl who had ensnared him. But even as he opened
his mouth eagerly to speak to her, he was silenced. The figure was
drawing aside the muslin veil from its head. As the soft shimmering
folds of the delicate wrapper slipped away, Jack's heart leaped within
him. He knew that face. This was no dancing girl. It was the
half-caste in disguise. It was Saya Chone, the man who had stopped him
on Rushmere Heath, the man who had slipped out of his clutch at
Brindisi.

"Ah," said the half-caste, squatting down in front of Jack, "I have no
need to ask if you know me. I see recognition in your astonished face.
Well, does it now surprise you that a dancing girl should know so much
of your business up in these hills?"

"So it was you, you rascal, was it?" said Jack, drawing a deep breath.
"You, all the time."

"I, all the time," chuckled the half-caste, clicking consonants
between his teeth.

"If you'd have spoken out, I should have known you," said Jack.

"Ah, possibly," said Saya Chone; "but then for my purpose the soft
voice, the gentle whisper, was the only thing."

"What do you mean by this, and what do you want with me?" demanded
Jack.

"Orders, orders, I am acting under orders," murmured the half-caste,
waving his brown hand in the air. "And I do not want you at all. It
is merely my business to hand you over to my patron U Saw. It is he
who wants you, not I."

"And what does he want me for?" said Jack.

"Ah," murmured Saya Chone, "that I shall not tell you now. It is not
good for the servants of U Saw to interfere too much in their master's
business. Well, I must prepare for the march."

He clapped his hands, and a tall, thin man in white robes came in.
Saya Chone said a few words to the newcomer, and the latter sat down
and fixed his dark, menacing eyes on Jack.

"This is a Malay, who is entirely devoted to U Saw's service," said
the half-caste, with an evil grin. "He is a very useful man, for he is
absolutely the cleverest hand with the strangling noose that I have
ever known. I believe he could strangle a child in its mother's arms
and she would know nothing about it. You have already had a slight
taste of his skill on two occasions. Once on that heath in your queer,
cold England, and again to-night. But as he was under strict orders on
both occasions not to take your life, he spared you the last touch