Then all started as if suddenly electrified, for Ching uttered a low cry, and stood up, pointing right away east.
“What is it?” I said.
“Two pilate junk.”
We all saw them at the same time, and with a miserable feeling of despondency, for there was no hiding the fact. The river was wide, and while we were close under one bank they had glided silently down under the other, and were far beyond our reach.
Chapter Thirty Four.
The Untrustworthy Agent.
“Eaten, Herrick,” said Mr Brooke in a low voice.
“Not yet, sir,” I said.