I wouldn't trust a Malay, not if he were reared in the Vatican. CHAPTER XVIII The doctor reached for the key and studied it sombrely. He was a thin old man, a wreck in a ruined body, but nothing would induce him to stand in any other way than as stiffly erect as possible like the soldier he had always been, even though he was obliged to lean on his silver-handled cane to do so. He was a bad dog; he knew it perfectly; but where there was laughter, there was hope. A bad sign; it signified that the heart action was in a precarious state. Ha!" exclaimed the stranger, as shouts and other vociferations resounded at no great distance along the thoroughfare, "not a moment is to be lost.
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