"Take a look," he said, handing the binocular to his servant, who, however, preferred to use his own eyes. "China fellas, sah," he said in a low voice. "My tinkee better go back chop-chop." The man had felt all along that his master was foolish to come alone into these parts, so far from the town; but he knew the Englishman’s temper, and the rejection of his former word of warning had kept him silent since. Now, however, the sight of a strange boat, manned by Chinamen, near the haunts of the pirates, induced him to offer more definite advice. But in vain. Errington was not the man to be scared by actual dangers, still less imaginary ones. The moving boats had frightened away the ducks, so that there was no present chance of sport. And having nothing better to do for the moment, he drove the sampan quietly still farther among the reeds, bade Lo San keep still, and settled to watch the strangers. As they drew nearer, he noticed something that piqued his curiosity. The men in the boat, whom he now knew to be Chinamen, looked cautiously around, as if to make sure that they were not observed. Screened though he was by the reeds, Errington had the curious sensation which watchers often have, that those whom he could see also saw him. But the men gave no sign of uneasiness; the dinghy passed behind the further edge of the clump of reeds, and disappeared. Errington was now sufficiently interested to determine to wait. Ten or twelve minutes afterwards, the nose of the dinghy emerged from the rushes; the men turned it round, and made off in the direction from which they had come. But Errington saw at a glance that there was now no object astern of them. He wondered what it was, and where it had been left. Probably the circumstance would not have held his attention for a moment but for the men’s cautious look around; their manner suggested that they were hiding something. It might be no business of his; on the other hand, it struck him that, since the incident had happened in a district infested by pirates, some of these pests had recently made a haul of goods. He felt that at all hazards he must satisfy himself; not that there appeared to be any danger, but he could not tell but that, behind the screen of reeds at the farther end of the open water, there might be an encampment of the water-rats, as these gentry were called by the Englishmen. The object with which Errington had set out was forgotten; duck-shooting was an exciting sport, but it did not challenge his imagination as did the possibility of a contest of wits or activity with men; and with nerves braced he resolved to investigate.