We are all in danger.
_Um Gottes willen_--" It straggled off, illegible.

The signature, "Otto Wutzler," ran frantically into a blot.
"Can do," said Heywood.

"You talkee he, come topside." The messenger must have been waiting, however, at the stairhead; for no sooner had the compradore withdrawn, than a singular little coolie shuffled into the room.

Lean and shriveled as an opium-smoker, he wore loose clothes of dirty blue,--one trousers-leg rolled up.

The brown face, thin and comically small, wore a mask of inky shadow under a wicker bowl hat.