"Not lay it on too thick? Must, or we shall never make them understand the colour of the paint. Here, you two lads keep close behind us," he cried, "and if they try to stop you, call to me."
The sultan led the way out to the crowd, which remained evidently waiting for their chief's return, for a low murmur arose as they approached, while the two men kneeling bound in the midst, surrounded by guards, raised their heads to gaze with a half-stupefied, half-wistful stare in their direction.
"What does it mean?" said Hollins, in a low voice, as they followed the sultan's example and sat upon the seats placed ready. "We didn't interrupt an execution, did we?"
"Execution? Oh no. Punishment of some kind, though. Look at them. It can't be anything very bad, for they're chewing their betel calmly enough."
"So bad, I'm afraid, that I shouldn't like to change places with them.—Well," he said aloud to a couple of the Malays who like most of their fellows were glaring at them fiercely, "what do you think of an Englishman?"
"Think they don't like the look of you, old fellow," said Beecher smiling. "You're too big for their taste."
For every face they encountered was shadowed by an unpleasant scowl, and it seemed as if at a word every man's hand would have been raised against them.
"I don't know that we want to see these poor wretches punished," whispered Beecher.
"No," said Hollins in a low growl; "but we're in for it now."
"But it is evidently serious. There's a man behind them who looks like the executioner."