"Now then, what are you waiting for?" asked Joshua.
"My knife," answered the Lascar doggedly.
"Not likely," said Joshua; "I know you too well to let you have it."
"What do you know of me?" asked the Lascar in a low guttural voice.
"I have heard enough of you from Mr. Meddler"--the Lascar grated his teeth with tigerish ferocity--"you and the likes of you. I know how free you are with your knives, you Lascars, on land and on sea. Be off!"
"My knife!" again demanded the Lascar, with his eyes directed to Joshua's feet; but he saw Joshua's face and every motion of Joshua's body. "My knife! It is mine. I bought it and paid for it."
"Stole it more likely," said Joshua with a sneer.
"It is a lie. I bought it. Even if I did steal it, you have no right to it. Give me my knife, and let me go."
"Joshua reflected. Clearly he had no just claim to the man's knife, and had no right to retain it. His mind was soon made up. Releasing his hold of Susan, he placed the blade beneath his foot, and broke it off close to the handle. Then he threw the handle and the blade over the Lascar's head. A dangerous fire gleamed in the man's downcast eyes and a cold-blooded grating of teeth came from his mouth. He stood silent for a few moments, with his hands tightly pressed, striving to master the devil that was raging within him. But he could not restrain his passion.
"Curse you!" he hissed; "I owe you something; I will pay it you, by hell!"