“It’s a man hunt, by all that’s holy!” said Bailey.

The Malay stopped for a moment and surveyed the bank to the right.  Then he left the path, and, breaking through the corn, vanished in that direction.  The three pursuers followed suit, and their heads and gesticulating arms above the corn, after a brief interval, also went out of Bailey’s field of vision.

Bailey so far forgot himself as to swear.  “Just as things were getting lively!” he said.  Something like a woman’s shriek came through the air.  Then shouts, a howl, a dull whack upon the balcony outside that made Bailey jump, and then the report of a gun.

“This is precious hard on an invalid,” said Bailey.

But more was to happen yet in his picture.  In fact, a great deal more.  The Malay appeared again, running now along the bank up stream.  His stride had more swing and less pace in it than before.  He was threatening someone ahead with the ugly krees he carried.  The blade, Bailey noticed, was dull—­it did not shine as steel should.

Then came the tall, fair man, brandishing a boat-hook, and after him three other men in boating costume, running clumsily with oars.  The man with the grey hat and red belt was not with them.  After an interval the three men with the gun reappeared, still in the corn, but now near the river bank.  They emerged upon the towing-path, and hurried after the others.  The opposite bank was left blank and desolate again.

The sick-room was disgraced by more profanity.  “I would give my life to see the end of this,” said Bailey.  There were indistinct shouts up stream.  Once they seemed to be coming nearer, but they disappointed him.

Bailey sat and grumbled.  He was still grumbling when his eye caught something black and round among the waves.  “Hullo!” he said.  He looked narrowly and saw two triangular black bodies frothing every now and then about a yard in front of this.

He was still doubtful when the little band of pursuers came into sight again, and began to point to this floating object.  They were talking eagerly.  Then the man with the gun took aim.

“He’s swimming the river, by George!” said Bailey.

The Malay looked round, saw the gun, and went under.  He came up so close to Bailey’s bank of the river that one of the bars of the balcony hid him for a moment.  As he emerged the man with the gun fired.  The Malay kept steadily onward—­Bailey could see the wet hair on his forehead now and the krees between his teeth—­and was presently hidden by the balcony.

This seemed to Bailey an unendurable wrong.  The man was lost to him for ever now, so he thought.  Why couldn’t the brute have got himself decently caught on the opposite bank, or shot in the water?

“It’s worse than Edwin Drood,” said Bailey.

Over the river, too, things had become an absolute blank.  All seven men had gone down stream again, probably to get the boat and follow across.  Bailey listened and waited.  There was silence.  “Surely it’s not over like this,” said Bailey.