H. Bedford-Jones

“ Sultan Lumpur limply made his way forward of the mast. Once in the bows, he collapsed, and stayed collapsed. His ancestors had been pirates, but the active motion of a small boat in a brisk sea will cause even piratical blood to become squeamish. Sultan Lumpur was decidedly squeamish—very seasick indeed, to put it bluntly. He was also very sick of mind, because he knew that this infidel spoke the truth; there would be a new Sultan in Kuala Gajah if the British heard the story of Miss Bretton.
“Now,” said Stone briefly, “he’s out of sight.” ”

“ You keep your mouth shut and you’ll get out scot free. This time, my bucko, you’ve tried to dance a jig with the American eagle, haven’t you?” Stone shook the little man savagely. “Huh! Well, you’ve learned something about Americans that ’ll hold you for some while, I guess. You’d better be blamed grateful that I, the Raja of Hell Island, don’t sling you overboard and let you swim to perdition. I ought to do it, by the Lord Harry!”
Sultan Lumpur looked at the cresting waves and uttered a prayer to Allah.
“Now get for’ard and stay there—plumb up in the bow!” commanded Stone, releasing him. ”

“ Your cursed barge will call for you there to-morrow, and the best thing you can do is to wait for it and go away from there in a confounded hurry, keeping your mouth shut. Understand? You’d better! Once let the story get out about how Miss Bretton came at your urging, and what happened betwixt you and her—and the British would put a new Sultan at Kuala Gajah. Eh? You’re darned right they would! ”