“And you did not do it?”
The Malay smiled, and drew his kris in its sheath from out of the folds of his sarong, handing it to the doctor.
“I am not a murderer,” he said.
“But suppose the sultan had asked you why you did not kill me,” said the doctor, “what then?”
“I should have told him a lie. He is a liar, and full of deceit. We do not think it wrong to deal with such a man in the coins he gives. I should have said you kept me back with your gun.”
“Take your kris, my lad,” said the doctor, quietly. “I trust you. Now lead me back to the camp.”
“No, no,” cried the Malay. “I dare not. I cannot take you back to death.”
“I—must—go,” said the doctor, sternly; and the Malay made a deprecating gesture, indicative of his obedience.
“My people may have proved too strong for Sultan Hamet and his treacherous gang.”
“Yes—yes—they may,” cried the Malay, eagerly.