Ardjan’s face gleamed with satisfaction as he heard it, and he at once grew calmer.
“Unless,” said one of the Javanese boatmen, holding up a coil of rope, “you call this a trace of her. I found this close by the spot where we landed.”
Lim Ho fixed his eye upon the two wretched spies. They held their peace, that silent proof effectually closed their mouths.
“These are,” said Ardjan, in a much quieter tone of voice than that in which he had spoken before, “these are the cords with which they bound Dalima’s wrists and ankles. I recognise them perfectly.”
Lim Ho hereupon uttered but two words; but they were words which caused Ardjan and Liem King and Than Khan to shudder with terror. In most abject terms they prayed for mercy. But Lim Ho remained deaf to all their entreaties, he scarcely deigned to cast a look at them; but now and then in his cold rage he would deal a savage kick at the body of one or the other of the prostrate Chinamen.
In a few abrupt words he gave his orders to the Javanese crew. Whatever his commands might be, his men were but too ready to carry them out. A couple of them at once left the hut while the others set Ardjan and the two Chinamen upon their legs and prepared to take them out of the cabin.
“Oh, sir, have pity, have mercy upon us!” Than Khan exclaimed in truly piteous accents.
“Where is Dalima?” was the furious rejoinder.
“We don’t know where she is!” cried both the Chinamen.
“And you!” shouted Lim Ho turning to Ardjan; “do you know what has become of her?”