Again the tramp of feet was heard, and once more guards and prisoner made their appearance round the corner. To my surprise, the latter was none other than my old acquaintance Kwong Fung, the notorious Chinese pirate. But though he must have remembered me, his sullen, evil face betrayed no sign of surprise. He only stood between his guards watching my hostess and waiting for her to speak. Presently she did so, in Chinese, and once, only once, did he answer her. During the harangue I glanced at her face, and was amazed at the change in it. The old soft expression was completely gone, and in its place had come one that, to tell the honest truth, even frightened me. Never before or since have I seen such a perfect exhibition of self-contained, but all-consuming, rage. Once more she spoke to the prisoner, who refused to answer. She instantly addressed herself to the escort. The man in command was in the act of replying when the prisoner, by some means which I shall never be able to explain, raised his right arm before his guards could stop him. In the palm of his hand lay a knife, somewhat resembling a Malay krise, but with a shorter and straighter blade. With the swiftness of thought the hand seemed to drop back and instantly resume its upright position. The impetus thus given sent the weapon flying along the verandah toward us, and if I had not thrown my left arm before her, there could be no doubt that it would have found a scabbard in Alie's breast. As it was it stuck in the sleeve of my white jacket, passing through the fabric without even scratching the flesh. Unnerving as the incident was, the Beautiful White Devil did not show the slightest sign of fear, but simply said "Thank
