With his left hand
Desmond caught at Diggle's sword arm, and, pointing his rapier at his
heart, said:
"You are my prisoner, Mr. Diggle."
At the same moment Bulger had caught the second man by the throat, and
raising his formidable hook, cried:
"Heave to, matey, or I'll spoil your mug for you."
The man uttered an exclamation in French, which ended in a wheeze as
Bulger's strong fingers clutched his windpipe.
But the next moment an unlooked-for diversion occurred. Attracted by the
sound of the rapid scuffle, a number of natives armed with lathis
{bludgeons} rushed across the compound into the street, and came swiftly
to the rescue. Desmond and his companion had perforce to release their
prisoners and turn to defend themselves. With their backs against the
wall they met the assailants, Desmond with his rapier, Bulger with his
hook, each dexterously warding off the furious blows of the excited
natives. Diggle and the Frenchman took instant advantage of the
opportunity to slip away, and the Englishmen had already got home more
than one shrewd blow, provoking yells of pain from the attackers, when
the onslaught suddenly ceased, and the natives stood rigid, as if under a
spell. Looking round, Desmond saw at the gate a bent old figure with
dusky, wrinkled face and prominent eyes. He wore a turban in which a
jewel sparkled, and his white garment was girt with a yellow sash.
"What is this, sahib?" he said severely in careful English, addressing
Desmond.
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