the lad's face suddenly blazed
with anger. He ran to the dog, which had silently collapsed like a
punctured bag of silk, drew out the kris, then swung towards Boonda
Broke, whose cool, placid eyes met his without emotion.

"You knew that was my dog," he said quickly in English, "and--and I tell
you what, sir, I've had enough of you. A man that'd hit a dog like that
would hit a man the same way."

He was standing with the crimson kris in his hand above the dog. His
passion was frank, vigorous, and natural.

Boonda Broke smiled passively.

"You mean, could hit a man the same way, honoured lord."

"I mean what I said," answered the lad, and he turned on his heel; but
presently he faced about again, as though with a wish to give his foe
the benefit of any doubt. Though Boonda Broke was smiling, the lad's
face flushed again with anger, for the man's real character had been
revealed to him on the instant, and he was yet in the indignant warmth
of the new experience. If he had known that Boonda Broke had cultivated
his friendship for months, to worm out of him all the secrets of the
Residency, there might have been a violent and immediate conclusion to
the incident, for the lad was fiery, and he had no fear in his heart;
he was combative, high-tempered, and daring. Boonda Broke had learned
no secrets of him, had been met by an unconscious but steady resistance,
and at length his patience had given way in spite of himself. He had
white blood in his veins--fighting Irish blood--which sometimes overcame
his smooth, Oriental secretiveness and cautious duplicity; and this was
one of those occasions. He had flung the knife at the dog with a wish
in his heart that it was Cumner's Son instead. As he stood looking after
the English lad, he said between his teeth with a great hatred, though
his face showed no change:

"English dog, thou shalt be dead like thy brother there when I am Dakoon
of Mandakan."

At this moment he saw hurrying towards him one of those natives who, a
little while before, had been in close and furtive talk in the Bazaar.

Meanwhile the little cloud of smoke kept curling out of the Governor's
door, and the orderly could catch the fitful murmur of talk that
followed it. Presently rifle shots rang out somewhere. Instantly a
tall, broad-shouldered figure, in white undress uniform, appeared in the
doorway and spoke quickly to the orderly. In a moment two troopers were
galloping out of the Residency Square and