"I and Captain Van Slyck," Peter Gross said scornfully.
"He is dead," Koyala replied. "Ah Sing killed him. He was of no further use to us, why should he live?"
Peter Gross's lips tightened grimly. The traitor, at least, had met the death he merited.
Cho Seng edged nearer. Peter Gross noticed the dagger hilt protruding from his blouse.
"Has my time come, too?" he asked calmly.
The Chinaman leaped on him. "Ah Sing sends you this," he cried hoarsely—the dagger flashed.
Quick as he was, quick as a tiger striking its prey, the Argus Pheasant was quicker. As the dagger descended, Koyala caught him by the wrist. He struck her with his free hand and tried to tear the blade away. Then his legs doubled under him, for Peter Gross, although his wrists were bound, could use his arms. Cho Seng fell on the point of the dagger, that buried itself to the hilt in the fleshy part of his breast. With a low groan he rolled over. His eyeballs rolled glassily upward, thick, choked sounds came from his throat—
"Ah Sing—comeee—for Koyala—plenty quick—" With a sigh, he died.
Peter Gross looked at the Argus Pheasant. She was gazing dully at a tiny scratch on her forearm, a scratch made by Cho Seng's dagger. The edges were purplish.
"The dagger was poisoned," she murmured dully. Her glance met her prisoner's and she smiled wanly.