“Noel!  You damn’ fool!  Leave the thing alone!”

Noel whizzed round with the key in his hand.  “Hullo,—­Nick!” he said.

“Leave it alone!  Leave it alone!” The voice dropped to a hoarse croak.  The man was close to the table now, and in amazement Olga recognized the face of the old moonstone-seller.  But it was convulsed with a terror such as she had never seen on the face of any man.

The bony hand darted out towards the casket, and her heart stood still.  She knew that hand—­wiry, energetic, capable.

“Nick!” she whispered.  “Nick!”

He brushed her aside, and, again in that dry, breathless croak, “There isn’t—­a moment—­to lose!” he said.

In another instant he would have had the shining thing in his grasp, but in that instant Noel’s wits leaped to full understanding.  He wheeled, caught the newcomer by his tattered garment, and flung him violently away.

“All right, you old joker!” he said.  “My job!”

Dazed with horror, though still scarcely realizing, Olga saw him turn and lift the ivory casket, holding it clasped firmly between his hands.  Then, with a set face, stepping warily, he moved to the window close behind.

In the other part of the room women were crying and men deeply cursing; but there near the table no one uttered a sound, till the ragged creature on the floor sprang up crying hoarsely for a pail of water.

Noel’s figure passed through the open window as he did so, smoothly, unfalteringly, and so out upon the dark verandah.

Deftly, warily, he made his way.  The thing between his hands weighed heavily.  It would have been no job for a one-armed man.

He passed down the verandah with every nerve strung to the moment’s emergency.  Unquestionably he was not afraid, but he could have wished that the place had been better illuminated.  His progress would have been considerably quicker.

He neared the flight of six steps that led down to the compound, and suddenly became aware of a dark figure lounging in a wicker-chair ahead of him.  He saw the glow of a cigarette.

He raised his voice.  “Hi, you!  Clear out!  Git—­if you value your life!  There’s going to be an explosion!”

He did not slacken his pace as he uttered his warning.  He dared not pause.  His whole heart was set on reaching the compound in time.

The figure in the chair turned towards him.  He heard the creak of the bamboo.  But it made no movement to rise.

“Confound you!  Take your chance then!” said Noel between his teeth.

He came closer.  He saw in a momentary glance the face behind the cigarette.  Heavy, drugged eyes looked up to his.  Then in the dimness he heard a sudden movement, a snarling, devilish laugh.

The next instant he kicked against an obstruction, staggered, fought madly to recover himself, tripped a second time, and with a yell of rage fell headlong.