"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.

There were there a couple of reels of cotton, a packet of needles, a bit
of silk ribbon, dark blue; a cabinet photograph, at which Hollis stole a
glance before laying it on the table face downwards. A girl's portrait,
I could see. There were, amongst a lot of various small objects, a bunch
of flowers, a narrow white glove with many buttons, a slim packet of
letters carefully tied up. Amulets of white men! Charms and talismans!
Charms that keep them straight, that drive them crooked, that have the