people instantly
became quiet. By his side was a short, thickset man with dark, sallow
features.

"I beg to call your attention," began the colonel, "to one who has
played an important part in our recent struggle--Mr. Manuel Torres, a
Portuguese, of whom I can say nothing better than that he deserves to be
an Englishman. At the risk of his own life he tried to save Sir Arthur
Ashby, and after suffering much at the hands of the enemy, he finally
escaped in time to do us valuable service in retaking the town. As a
recognition of his aid, I propose to appoint him Assistant Political
Resident."

Mr. Torres bowed profoundly, and as the people evinced a decided desire
to hear from him, he cleared his throat and began to speak in sleek,
oily tones.

He related, with many gestures, a thrilling tale of his captivity among
the Arabs, the desperate attempts he had made to save Sir Arthur and the
Englishmen from slavery, and how finally he had effected his own
marvelous escape.

At this point a sudden commotion on the outskirts of the crowd
temporarily interrupted the speaker.

"It grieves me deeply," he went on, "to reflect on the sad destiny of my
dear friend, Sir Arthur Ashby, and of those brave men, for whom I had
the highest honor and regard. I risked my life to save them. I
interceded with the Arab leader, Makar Makalo, but in vain. He was
obdurate. To bring them back from slavery I would willingly lay down my
life this minute. I would gladly----"

What else Mr. Manuel Torres was willing to do no one ever knew or will
know. He ceased speaking abruptly, and his sallow face assumed a ghastly
look.

Through the opening ranks of the people advanced a group of pale and
haggard men, led by a ghastly figure with sandy side whiskers in a faded
uniform that hung about his shrunken limbs.

"Bless my soul!" exclaimed this odd-looking stranger. "It's that
rascally Portuguese, Manuel Torres!"

A great silence fell on the people. For one second the Portuguese
trembled like a leaf, then he turned and bolted through the residency
door, shoving Colonel Gordon roughly aside in his mad haste.

"Stop him! Stop him!" roared the stranger. "A thousand pounds to the man
who takes him alive. He's the ringleader of the insurrection!"

Colonel Gordon hurried down the steps in bewildered amazement.

"What does this mean?" he demanded. "Who are you?"

"Who am I?" shouted he of the sandy whiskers. "Why, blast your
impudence, I'm Sir Art