Amaryllis saw the face again, this time in its full lopsided monstrosity, and turned to Dick, clutching him and hiding her eyes against his shoulder.
Hearing her gasp, a woman in the crowd cried out:
"Howd t' heathen! He flays t' lasses, and he'll curd t' milk."
"Gi' 'im a flap on jaw, Bob Woodfall," cried a youth. "One's all 'e'll take."
It was. Bob, perhaps, was too kindly to put his full weight into the blow, and got no chance for a second.
With a savage cry, between a grunt and a squeal, the Malay ran in, clutching with his great horny sailor's hands. Too quickly for any eye but Dick's to see how it was done, he had Bob Woodfall by the nape of the neck and the band of his trousers and lifted the long body high above the crowd at full-length of his terrible arms, brandishing it helpless, like some Mongolian Hercules a Norse Antaeus; took three steps to the stone wall of the stable-yard, and would have flung the village hero over it to break upon the cobble-stones, but for a gloved hand laid upon his shoulder, and a soft, high-pitched voice, saying: "Taroh, plan plan, Mut-mut!"
And the monster obeyed the voice and touch of his master, restoring Woodfall to his feet with a docility that made him, if possible, more hateful to the crowd than before.
"Akau baleh," continued Melchard. "Dan nante sana."
And Mut-mut, the crowd yielding passage, made his way to the car, and sat at the wheel.
Arrived at the gates of the stable-yard almost simultaneously with Melchard, was Dixon Mallaby; and Dick observed not only that there was acquaintance between them, but also that, while the parson endured recognition, Melchard sought it.