The shrunken figure pulled itself together.

“You are right,” he whispered, in the vernacular.  “To-night I am a coolie—­all but the eyes.  Therefore this hat.”

Heywood stepped back to the door, and popped his head out.  The dim hall was empty.

“Go on,” he said, returning.  “What is your news?”

“Riots.  They are coming.  We are all marked for massacre.  All day I ran about the town, finding out.  The trial of Chok Chung, your—­our Christian merchant—­I saw him ‘cross the hall.’  They kept asking, ’Do you follow the foreign dogs and goats?’ But he would only answer, ’I follow the Lord Jesus.’  So then they beat out his teeth with a heavy shoe, and cast him into prison.  Now they wait, to see if his padre will interfere with the law.  It is a trap.  The suit is certainly brought by Fang the scholar, whom they call the Sword-Pen.”

“That much,” said Heywood, “I could have told you.”

Wutzler glanced behind him fearfully, as though the flickering shadows might hear.

“But there is more.  Since dark I ran everywhere, watching, listening to gossip.  I painted my skin with mangrove-bark water.  You know this sign?” He patted his right leg, where the roll of trousers bound his thigh.  “It is for protection in the streets.  It says, ’I am a Heaven-and-Earth man.’”

“The Triad!” Heywood whistled.  “You?”

The other faltered, and hung his head.

“Yes,” he whispered at last.  “My—­my wife’s cousin, he is a Grass Sandal.  He taught her the verses at home, for safety.—­We mean no harm, now, we of the Triad.  But there is another secret band, having many of our signs.  It is said they ape our ritual.  Fang the scholar heads their lodge.  They are the White Lotus.”

“White Lotus?” Heywood snapped his fingers.  “Nonsense.  Extinct, this hundred years.”

“Extinct?  They meet to-night,” said the outcast, in sudden grief and passion.  “They drink blood—­plan blood.  Extinct?  Are you married to these people?  Does the knowledge come so cheap, or at a price?  All these years—­darkness—­sunken—­alone”—­He trembled violently, but regained his voice.  “O my friend!  This very night they swear in recruits, and set the day.  I know their lodge-room.  For any sake, believe me!  I know!”

“Right,” said Heywood, curtly.  “I believe you.  But why come here?  Why not stay, and learn more?”

Wutzler’s head dropped on his breast again.  The varnished hat gleamed softly in the darkness.

“I—­I dare not stay,” he sobbed.

“Oh, exactly!” Heywood flung out an impatient arm.  “The date, man!  The day they set.  You came away without it!—­We sit tight, then, and wait in ignorance.”

The droll, withered face, suddenly raised, shone with great tears that streaked the mangrove stain.

“My head sits loosely already, with what I have done to-night.  I found a listening place—­next door:  a long roof.  You can hear and see them—­But I could not stay.  Yes, I am a coward.”