Ah Sing looked about, startled. The purpled fury his face expressed sickened to a mottled gray. Adriaan Adriaanszoon Van Schouten, governor-general of Java, leaning lightly on his cane, frowned sternly at the scene of disorder. At a cry from their master the two Thibetans backed away from Peter Gross, who lowered his weapon.
"Is it thus you observe our laws, Ah Sing?" Van Schouten demanded coldly.
Ah Sing licked his lips. "Light of the sun—" he began, but the governor interrupted shortly:
"The magistrate will hear your explanations." His eagle eyes looked penetratingly upon Peter Gross, who looked steadfastly back.
"Sailor, you threatened to poison this man," the governor accused harshly, indicating Ah Sing.
"Your excellency, that was bluff," Peter Gross replied. "The ring is as harmless as your excellency's own."
Van Schouten's eyes twinkled.
"What is your name, sailor, and your ship?" he demanded.
"Peter Gross, your excellency, first mate of the barkentine Coryander of Boston, now lying in your excellency's harbor of Batavia."
"Ah Sing," Van Schouten rasped sternly, "if these drunken louts are not aboard their ship by nightfall, you go to the coffee-fields."