“Mr. Talham!” said the old man, springing to his feet. “The rifles you were sending to niggers, I repeat,” said Talham, “so that they might snipe the solitary pickets of the United States army--so that they might murder and terrorise the helpless and unarmed islanders. You’re not a fool--you know the breed of the Puljanes. Why, you’re one yourself!” Talham in his insolence was a most offensive man. Tillizinni had never seen him in this mood except twice during the time he knew him. Talham held very strong views regarding the colour question. With him a man was either black or white; he recognised no intermediary stage. Once let him depart from the pure white stock, and in Talham’s eyes he might as well be coal-black. On this point he was a fanatic. It was curious to see the old man wilt under the tall man’s vitriolic tongue. It was as though he insensibly did homage in that moment to the dominant race. Despite his vast riches, despite his undoubted influence, he was a native in the presence of a white man. Under the spell of Talham’s mastery he cringed. Not so the son. He was one generation nearer whiteness. With a horrible noise which was half a scream and half a strangled cry of hatred, he leapt at the other. Talham half turned. His hand went out rigidly. It seemed to Tillizinni that the young man did not check in his flight, but rather continued it, describing a curve about the spot where Talham stood, until he pulled up with a crash against the opposite wall. He went down in a heap. “I’m sorry!” said Talham--but he was addressing Tillizinni. CHAPTER XII. THE MESSAGE OF THE DEAD. It was an embarrassing situation for Tillizinni. He saw the older man’s eyes fixed on him accusingly as the youth, dazed and white, picked himself up from the floor. Yet the detective said nothing. “You shall hear from me, Signor Tillizinni,” said De Costa, senior. He spoke with deliberation, and his tone was full of menace. “Scotland Yard shall know that you consort with this adventurer, who, in addition to being a pirate, is also a common thief.” Tillizinni checked a movement of his impulsive friend with a gesture. “A common thief?” he repeated pleasantly. “A common thief--a burglar--who ransacked my house a fortnight ago,” said De Costa. “Who cut a way through a door, and found--nothing!” He bared his teeth in a triumphant smile. “Here!” He thrust his hand into the inside pocket of his coat and pulled out a short bladed knife, protected by a leather sheath. “The burglar left this behind on a desk he had forced,” he said. “You will observe, Ned, that your initials are on the blade--N.T.--Ned Talham!” Tillizinni smiled as the old man replaced the knife and made for the door. “Yet another fact to lay before Scotland Yard,” he said pleasantly, as he opened the door for the angry pair. “N.T. also stands for Nicholos Tillizinni.”