Jenks’s heart bounded when this unlooked-for offer reached his ears.  The unfortunate Mahommedan was evidently eager to get away from the piratical gang into whose power he had fallen.  But the chief was impatient, if not suspicious of these long speeches.

Angrily holding forth a Lee-Metford the sailor shouted—­

“Tell Taung S’Ali that I will slay him and all his men ere tomorrow’s sun rises.  He knows something of my power, but not all.  Tonight, at the twelfth hour, you will find a rope hanging from the rock.  Tie thereto a vessel of water.  Fail not in this.  I will not forget your services.  I am Anstruther Sahib, of the Belgaum Rissala.”

The native translated his words into a fierce defiance of Taung S’Ali and his Dyaks.  The chief glanced at Jenks and Iris with an ominous smile.  He muttered something.

“Then, sahib.  There is nothing more to be said.  Beware of the trees on your right.  They can send silent death even to the place where you stand.  And I will not fail you tonight, on my life,” cried the interpreter.

“I believe you.  Go!  But inform your chief that once you have disappeared round the rock whence you came I will talk to him only with a rifle.”

Taung S’Ali seemed to comprehend the Englishman’s emphatic motions.  Waving his hand defiantly, the Dyak turned, and, with one parting glance of mute assurance, the Indian followed him.

And now there came to Jenks a great temptation.  Iris touched his arm and whispered—­

“What have you decided?  I did not dare to speak lest he should hear my voice.”

Poor girl!  She was sure the Dyak could not penetrate her disguise, though she feared from the manner in which the conference broke up that it had not been satisfactory.

Jenks did not answer her.  He knew that if he killed Taung S’Ali his men would be so dispirited that when the night came they would fly.  There was so much at stake—­Iris, wealth, love, happiness, life itself—­all depended on his plighted word.  Yet his savage enemy, a slayer of women, a human vampire soiled with every conceivable crime, was stalking back to safety with a certain dignified strut, calmly trusting to the white man’s bond.

Oh, it was cruel!  The ordeal of that ghastly moment was more trying than all that he had hitherto experienced.  He gave a choking sob of relief when the silken-clad scoundrel passed out of sight without even deigning to give another glance at the ledge or at those who silently watched him.

Iris could not guess the nature of the mortal struggle raging in the sailor’s soul.

“Tell me,” she repeated, “what have you done?”

“Kept faith with that swaggering ruffian,” he said, with an odd feeling of thankfulness that he spoke truly.

“Why?  Have you made him any promise?”

“Unhappily I permitted him to come here, so I had to let him go.  He recognized you instantly.”