excessively annoyed.  “Why the devil,” I whispered, smiling at him amiably, “do you expose me to such a stupid risk?” I drank, of course, there was nothing for it, while he gave no sign, and almost immediately afterwards we took our leave.  While we were going down the courtyard to our boat, escorted by the intelligent and cheery executioner, Jim said he was very sorry.  It was the barest chance, of course.  Personally he thought nothing of poison.  The remotest chance.  He was—­he assured me—­considered to be infinitely more useful than dangerous, and so . . .  “But the Rajah is afraid of you abominably.  Anybody can see that,” I argued with, I own, a certain peevishness, and all the time watching anxiously for the first twist of some sort of ghastly colic.  I was awfully disgusted.  “If I am to do any good here and preserve my position,” he said, taking his seat by my side in the boat, “I must stand the risk:  I take it once every month, at least.  Many people trust me to do that—­for them.  Afraid of me!  That’s just it.  Most likely he is afraid of me because I am not afraid of his coffee.”  Then showing me a place on the north front of the stockade where the pointed tops of several stakes were broken, “This is where I leaped over on my third day in Patusan.  They haven’t put new stakes there yet.  Good leap, eh?” A moment later we passed the mouth of a muddy creek.  “This is my second leap.  I had a bit of a run and took this one flying, but fell short.  Thought I would leave my skin there.  Lost my shoes struggling.  And all the time I was thinking to myself how beastly it would be to get a jab with a bally long spear while sticking in the mud like this.  I remember how sick I felt wriggling in that slime.  I mean really sick—­as if I had bitten something rotten.”

’That’s how it was—­and the opportunity ran by his side, leaped over the gap, floundered in the mud . . . still veiled.  The unexpectedness of his coming was the only thing, you understand, that saved him from being at once dispatched with krisses and flung into the river.  They had him, but it was like getting hold of an apparition, a wraith, a portent.  What did it mean?  What to do with it?  Was it too late to conciliate him?  Hadn’t he better be killed without more delay?  But what would happen then?  Wretched old Allang went nearly mad with apprehension and through the difficulty of making up his mind.  Several times the council was broken up, and the advisers made a break helter-skelter for the door and out on to the verandah.  One—­it is said—­even jumped down to the ground—­fifteen feet, I should judge—­and broke his leg.  The royal governor of Patusan had bizarre mannerisms, and one of them was to introduce boastful rhapsodies into every arduous discussion, when, getting gradually excited, he would end by flying off his perch with a kriss in his hand.  But, barring such interruptions, the deliberations upon Jim’s fate went on night and day.