nay killed, since a man like he, though he could save himself by taking
flight at the order of his master, could not be expected to surrender
without a fight. He mentioned that in the exercise of his important
functions he knew how to glide like a shadow, creep like a snake, and
almost burrow his way underground. He was Jaffir who had never been
foiled. No bog, morass, great river or jungle could stop him. He would
have welcomed them. In many respects they were the friends of a crafty
messenger. But that was an open beach, and there was no other way, and
as things stood now every bush around, every tree trunk, every deep
shadow of house or fence would conceal Tengga's men or such of Daman's
infuriated partisans as had already made their way to the Settlement.
How could he hope to traverse the distance between the water's edge
and Belarab's gate which now would remain shut night and day? Not only
himself but anybody from the Emma would be sure to be rushed upon and
speared in twenty places.

He reflected for a moment in silence.

"Even you, Tuan, could not accomplish the feat."

"True," muttered Jorgenson.

When, after a period of meditation, he looked round, Jaffir was no
longer by his side. He had descended from the high place and was
probably squatting on his heels in some dark nook on the fore deck.
Jorgenson knew Jaffir too well to suppose that he would go to sleep.
He would sit there thinking himself into a state of fury, then get away
from the Emma in some way or other, go ashore and perish fighting. He
would, in fact, run amok; for it looked as if there could be no way out
of the situation. Then, of course, Lingard would know nothing of Hassim
and Immada's captivity for the ring would never reach him--the ring that
could tell its own tale. No, Lingard would know nothing. He would know
nothing about anybody outside Belarab's stockade till the end came,
whatever the end might be, for all those people that lived the life of
men. Whether to know or not to know would be good for Lingard Jorgenson
could not tell. He admitted to himself that here there was something
that he, Jorgenson, could not tell. All the possibilities were wrapped
up in doubt, uncertain, like all things pertaining to the life of men.
It was only when giving a short thought to himself that Jorgenson had no
doubt. He, of course, would know what to do.

On the thin face of that old adventurer hidden in the night not a
feature moved, not a muscl