He heard Byng's words, and for a moment his dark eyes glowed with a look of evil satisfaction.

But his immobile face showed nothing, and he moved like a spirit among them his lean hand putting a bowl before each person, like a servitor of Death passing the hemlock-brew.
At his entrance there was instant silence, for, secret as their conference must be, this half-caste, this Hottentot-Boer, must hear nothing and know nothing.

Not one of them but resented his being Byng's servant.

Not one but felt him a danger at any time, and particularly now.

Once Barry Whalen, the most outwardly brusque and apparently frank of them all, had urged Byng to give Krool up, but without avail; and now Barry eyed the half-caste with a resentful determination.