Then, grasping the cutlass, he was about to start running again, when to his surprise he saw Ah Ling's head and shoulders cautiously appear from behind a clump of canes.
The Chinaman's tactics were fairly obvious. He had worked to the rear of his pursuers by a circular route, hoping to be able to take them unawares and shoot them down. His strategy was good up to a certain point. He had reckoned that the three white men would keep together, not knowing that the giant Scillonian was eighty yards or more behind the others.
Well it was that Minalto had made no sound during his brief halt; and so intent was Ah Ling upon stalking his foes that he was quite unaware that one of them was stalking him.
There were moments when the usually slow-working mind of Jasper Minalto moved rapidly, and this was one of them. In a trice the now keen cutlass, wielded by a brawny muscular arm, flashed in the sunlight. The swish of the blade through the air was followed by a dull, indescribable thud, as Ah Ling's head parted company with his shoulders.
During the Great War Jasper Minalto had seen some ghastly sights. He had served on board a Q-boat when shells from a U-boat were taking heavy toll of the devoted crew; he had seen the same Q-boat, almost a wreck, suddenly spring into activity and send the Boche to the bottom with one well-directed salvo. On another occasion the same ship had rammed a U-boat with all hands. And on board the Donibristle he had seen his unresisting comrades mown down by shells from the pirate Malfilio. But never before had he knowingly killed a man. He had assisted in the slaughter of dozens, but that was hardly the same thing as personally sending a human being—even though he were a Chinese pirate and ruffian—into the unknown The thought of it made him feel sick. Like most men of great stature, he was a child at heart, although brought up in a rough school.
Having deliberately cleaned the blade of the cutlass by thrusting it into the ground, Jasper leisurely resumed his way. He decided that, Ah Ling being of no further account, there was no need to exert himself. At the fork of the path he stopped irresolutely, until a rifle-shot fired at no great distance stirred him to action.
Hurrying along the left-hand path, he, too, almost stumbled over the unconscious form of Hilda Vivian. Her white canvas coat was stained with blood that flowed copiously from a small wound in the left shoulder.
Horror stricken, Jasper raised the girl. Then in helpless perplexity he raised his voice and shouted, calling to Burgoyne for aid.
Totally unaware of the rapid events of the last few minutes, Alwyn was closely following up his prey. Suddenly he noticed a movement in the brushwood, not five yards ahead of him. Raising his revolver, he sent a bullet straight at the writhing object. An unearthly groan followed the report of the weapon, and a heavy body collapsed on the hard ground.
"That's done for you!" ejaculated Burgoyne wrathfully.