"Ah, that one," said Hollins. "I believe you're right: but they all look like executioners to me, and as if they'd make us take our turn next. Look here, lad, if they do begin any of their tricks, I'm going to turn ugly and make a rush for our boat. There she is, tied on to the stern of the prahu."
"Pst! Look," whispered Beecher, for the sultan glanced towards them, smiled, and then made a sign to his men.
Quick as thought a couple of Malays seized one of the fettered men, jerked him forward, and then forced him back into a kneeling position.
The poor wretch was bare save for the check sarong bound about his loins, and he made no resistance, going on calmly chewing his scrap of betel-nut, and remaining erect in his kneeling position, as the men on either side hung away, holding each by his upper arm.
What followed was as rapid as it was horrible, the executioner going through a series of movements with a skill which seemed to prove him to be well accustomed to his dreadful task.
Beecher longed to retreat, but sat there as if fascinated, while the operator stepped swiftly and silently behind the victim—culprit, enemy, or murderer, who could say? In one hand the man had a tuft of white cotton-wool, in the other a small pistol-handled kris, with a thin perfectly straight blade.
He placed the cotton-wool like a pad upon the prisoner's shoulder with his left hand, just in the hollow by the collar-bone. Then with his right he passed the sharp point of his straight kris between the fingers which held the cotton pad in its place, closing them so that the little kris stood perfectly upright like a great nail waiting to be driven home.
The next instant the right hand delivered a sharp blow upon the hilt of the kris, and it was driven right down the victim's chest, and as sharply drawn out again through the cotton-wool, which wiped away every trace of blood, as the wretched creature fell forward upon his face without a struggle—pierced through the heart.
Beecher sat firm as a rock; but as the kris was withdrawn a spasm seemed to shoot through his own breast, and a thick mist gathered before his eyes like a veil.
It was apparently minutes before the cloud lifted, and Beecher once more saw clearly, shuddering as if with cold, as the executioner was withdrawing his kris through the cotton pad, and he uttered a faint gasp as he realised the fact that this was the second victim falling forward upon his face.