lmost white, waving thickly over a face that was
sunburnt to a high red, his blue eyes flaming with the delight of
battle, Jan burst in upon the mob of fighters. Several bodies lay on the
floor. One dark-faced, low-browed fellow, a Lascar apparently, with his
back to the wall and a bloody kreese in his hand, was putting up a
savage fight against five or six assailants, who seemed to be Chinamen
and Malays. The body of the Englishman whose voice Jan had heard lay in
an ugly heap against the wall, its head far back and almost severed.

Jan's practised eye took in everything at a glance. The heavy stick he
carried was, for a melee like this, a better weapon than knife or gun.
With a great bellowing roar he sprang upon the knot of fighters.

The result was almost instantaneous. The two nearest rascals went down
at his first two strokes. At the sound of that huge roar of his all had
turned their eyes; and the man at bay, seizing his opportunity, had cut
down two more of his foes with lightning slashes of his blade. The
remaining two, scattering and ducking, had leaped for the door like
rabbits. Jan wheeled, and sprang after them. But they were too quick for
him. As he reached the head of the alley they darted into a narrow
doorway across the street which led into a regular warren of low
structures. Knowing it would be madness to follow, Jan turned back to
the courtyard, curious to find out what it had all been about.

The silence was now startling. As he entered, there was no sound but the
painful breathing of the Lascar, whom he found sitting with his back
against the wall, close beside the body of the Englishman. He was
desperately slashed. His eyes were half-closed; and Jan saw that there
was little chance of his recovery. Besides that of the Englishman, there
were six bodies lying on the floor, all apparently quite lifeless. Jan
saw that the place was a kind of drinking den. The proprietor, a
brutal-looking Chinaman, lay dead beside his jugs and bottles. Jan
reached for a jug of familiar appearance, poured out a cup of arrack,
and held it to the lips of the dying Lascar. At the first gulp of the
potent spirit his eyes opened again. He swallowed it all, eagerly, then
straightened himself up, held out his hand in European fashion to Jan,
and thanked him in Malayan.

"Who's that?" inquired Jan in the same tongue, pointing to the dead
white man.

Grief and rage convulsed the fierce face of the wounded Lascar.

"He was