He seized the Oriental by the throat, and forced him to his knees.
“Dog!” he said, “what have you to say before I kill you?”
The cowardly fellow uttered voluble and abject entreaties for pardon in bad English. The purport of his speech was that he was a poor man, and had no money.
“Forgive me, Mr. Saunders,” he said.
“Ha! You know my name!” said the Englishman.
He bent over and scanned the face of his would-be assailant closely.
“I know him,” he said, briefly. “He was a native servant in my employ. I had to discharge him because I found him dishonest and a liar. Probably his attack to-night was prompted by a spirit of revenge.”
“Don’t kill me!” pleaded the Persian, in terrified accents.
“So you would have killed me, you scoundrel!” retorted the Englishman, shaking him vigorously.
“I—pardon me—I didn’t know it was you, worshipful sir!”