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But he had scarcely advanced a step, when he was felled to the ground by a blow from the powerful arm of Kneebone, who, instantly possessing himself of a pistol, levelled it at Jackson's head. Yet in some hidden corner was a vein of sentiment, of which for the first time in his later life he was now unexpectedly aware. There was an eerie sense of brooding menace about an uninhabited establishment. “Tell me his name,” he said, “and I promise that he shall never trouble you. Framed in one of the square ports of the packet was a face which reminded Ah Cum of a Japanese theatrical mask.
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