Guy was not only courageous, but prompt. He carried a stout cane, not that he needed its support, but because he had been recommended to have it with him for defense, if needed.
He did not pause a moment, but springing forward, brought it down with emphasis on the arm of the Persian.
The native gave a sharp, shrill cry, which attracted the attention of the man whom he had intended to attack.
He was clearly an Englishman, inclined to be stout, and apparently about forty-five years of age.
He looked quickly from the native to Guy, and back again.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
“Only that this man was about to attack you with his knife.”
“And you saved me?”
“Yes; I was, fortunately, in time to prevent his striking you.”
“I don’t know how to thank you, but I must deal with this scoundrel, first.”