Peter shot the bolt and listened to the sad grumble of the river as he
endeavored to adjust this strange incident to the stranger events of
the very full evening.

Not until the mysterious Kahn Meng had said his good-night did Peter
realize how exhausted he was.

He looked at his watch, a thin gold affair, which had ticked faithfully
during all of his adventures, and was exceedingly astonished that the
night had already flown to the hour of four-thirty.

Dawn would come very soon, and with the first peep of the sun he was to
start for Kialang and Eileen.

The lamp smoked sleepily overhead; far away the great river sang its
bass song.

He must be up at dawn. What a question-mark was Kahn Meng! A Harvard
graduate--and a native of the red city! And what an adorable creature
was the girl Naradia! Her eyes were like jade, her lips like poppy
petals....

A crash of sound, a blaze of golden light, aroused him. He sat up,
dodging a sunbeam which had flicked his eyelids. Shrill voices came
from a distance. The odor of manure exhaled by the caravan sheds
floated into the room, and Peter jumped up front the couch with an
angry grunt. His heart was heavy with the guilt of the man who has
overslept.

The watch ticked, and the neat, black hands had covered an amazing
amount of ground; it was nearly tiffin-time.

The shrill, distant voices continued. Curiously, Peter looked out.

It was a beautiful sunlit morning, as clear as spring water. Miles
away the sun shone on the yellow haunches of the range, altering them
to a range of heavy gold; and gleamed tenderly on the paddy fields,
black and ripely green.

Peter lowered his eyes to the square formed by the intersection of a
number of alleys some distance beyond the caravansary. A sizable mob
was collected in this enclosure; he estimated that there were at least
a thousand pagan-Chinese assembled, in ring formation--a giant ring,
dozens deep, and centered upon a small focussing spot of white.

The spot of white occupied the precise center of the square, and Peter
studied it for some moments out of idle curiosity. Crowning the white
object was a smaller spot of chestnut-brown. He dashed out of his room
and down the stairs without even pausing for his hat.

Peter gained the edge of the crowd, and he bored into it, scattering
protesting old ladies and chattering old men as ruthlessly as if they
had been unfruitful stalks of rice.

It was a desperate fight