some filthy old beggar who fondly thinks he is going to get _backsheesh_
for disturbing us. You stay here while I go and investigate!"

But some nervous impulse goaded Stella. She also started up, holding him
back. "Oh, don't go, Ralph! Don't go! Call one of the men! Call Peter!"

He laughed at her agitation. "My dear girl, don't be absurd! I don't
want Peter to help me kick a beastly native. In fact he probably
wouldn't lower himself to do such a thing."

But still she clung to him. "Ralph, don't go! Please don't go! I have a
feeling--I am afraid--I--" She broke off panting, her fingers tightly
clutching his sleeve. "Don't go!" she reiterated.

He put his arm round her. "My dear, what do you think a tatterdemalion
gipsy is going to do to me? He may be a snake-charmer, and if so the
sooner he is got rid of the better. There! What did I tell you? He is
coming out of his corner. Now, don't be frightened! It doesn't do to
show funk to these people."

He held her closely to him and waited. Beside the flowering azalea
something was undoubtedly moving, and as they stood and watched, a
strange figure slowly detached itself from the shadows and crept towards
them. It was clad in native garments and shuffled along in a bent
attitude as if deformed. Stella stiffened as she stood. There was
something unspeakably repellent to her in its toadlike advance.

"Make one of the men send him away!" she whispered urgently. "Please do!
It may be a snake-charmer as you say. He moves like a reptile himself.
And I--abhor snakes."