A man came sauntering down the street from the direction of the palace. I noticed him particularly, for there was something queer about him; the silent, furtive way of walking, perhaps. I thought him a Hindu or a Malay, and Peter said that he was from the hills of India. There were many hillmen at the palace. The man seemed to be talking or muttering to himself, and he stopped in the middle of the open place, or square, and the sun beat down upon his head as he looked about him with fierce and melancholy eyes. They looked as if he had been a long time in hell, and saw no chance of getting out. Our proprietor had settled himself on some cushions, and was dozing quietly, his hands clasped across his fat stomach. Something made him open his eyes, and he found the melancholy, desperate eyes of the man fixed upon his. He cried out in terror, and started up, but he was not quick enough. The man’s eyes flamed, he drew from his girdle a wicked-looking knife, made two bounds, and plunged the knife into the fat stomach. Instantly all was confusion among the shops. Men, women, and children scuttled like hares. By the time the man had turned around, the square was utterly deserted except for a shopkeeper on the other side, who was hastily putting up his shutters, and for a little boy who was pounding desperately on a massive, carved black door, begging those behind it to let him in. I had just seen the door close quietly on the keeper of one of the bazaars and two women. The man had not noticed Peter and me sitting behind our screen in the darkness. {231} The man leaped across the square, and settled the shopkeeper who had been putting up the shutters. He was relieved of that duty forever. The little boy was still pounding on the door, and the man turned toward him. The boy began to scream. “Here!” Peter growled. “This won’t do.” He got up hastily, upsetting the stand, with cups and glasses. They made a great crashing and ringing. Peter snatched away the screen. “Hey you! Ahoy!” he yelled. “ ’Vast there!” The man’s head had turned at the crash. He abandoned his pursuit of the little boy, and with a smile of frightfulness he launched himself at Peter. Peter had reached in his belt for his knife, but it was no match at all for the knife coming for him. I knew it, and I freed myself and sprang out. I should have done so before, but my mind seemed paralyzed, and I incapable of movement. It was like a dream in its effect, and in its quickness. The whole thing had not taken half a minute; hardly a quarter.