Hollis mused, muttered suddenly with a short laugh, “Strength . . . Protection . . . Charm.” He slipped off the table and left the cuddy without a look at us. It seemed a base desertion. Jackson and I exchanged indignant glances. We could hear him rummaging in his pigeon-hole of a cabin. Was the fellow actually going to bed? Karain sighed. It was intolerable! Then Hollis reappeared, holding in both hands a small leather box. He put it down gently on the table and looked at us with a queer gasp, we thought, as though he had from some cause become speechless for a moment, or were ethically uncertain about producing that box. But in an instant the insolent and unerring wisdom of his youth gave him the needed courage. He said, as he unlocked the box with a very small key, “Look as solemn as you can, you fellows.” Probably we looked only surprised and stupid, for he glanced over his shoulder, and said angrily-- “This is no play; I am going to do something for him. Look serious. Confound it! . . . Can’t you lie a little . . . for a friend!” Karain seemed to take no notice of us, but when Hollis threw open the lid of the box his eyes flew to it--and so did ours. The quilted crimson satin of the inside put a violent patch of colour into the sombre atmosphere; it was something positive to look at--it was fascinating. VI Hollis looked smiling into the box. He had lately made a dash home through the Canal. He had been away six months, and only joined us again just in time for this last trip. We had never seen the box before. His hands hovered above it; and he talked to us ironically, but his face became as grave as though he were pronouncing a powerful incantation over the things inside. “Every one of us,” he said, with pauses that somehow were more offensive than his words--“every one of us, you’ll admit, has been haunted by some woman . . . And . . . as to friends . . . dropped by the way . . . Well! . . . ask yourselves . . .” He paused. Karain stared. A deep rumble was heard high up under the deck. Jackson spoke seriously-- “Don’t be so beastly cynical.” “Ah! You are without guile,” said Hollis, sadly. “You will learn . . . Meantime this Malay has been our friend . . .” He repeated several times thoughtfully, “Friend . . . Malay. Friend, Malay,” as though weighing the words against one another, then went on more briskly-- “A good fellow--a gentleman in his way. We can’t, so to speak, turn our backs on his confidence and belief in us. Those Malays are easily impressed--all nerves, you know--therefore . . .” He turned to me sharply. “You know him best,” he said, in a practical tone. “Do you think he is fanatical--I mean very strict in his faith?” I stammered in profound amazement that “I did not think so.” “It’s on account of its being a likeness--an engraved image,” muttered Hollis, enigmatically, turning to the box. He plunged his fingers into it. Karain’s lips were parted and his eyes shone. We looked into the box.