He flung a hand out towards the old man.
"You want Ingolby--well, that's Ingolby," he shouted.
Like lightning the old man straightened himself, snatched the wig and beard away from his head and face, and with quiet fearlessness said: "Yes, I am Ingolby." For an instant there was absolute silence, in which Ingolby weighed his chances.

He was among enemies.

He had meant only to move among the crowd to discover their attitude, to find things out for himself.

He had succeeded, and his belief that Manitou could be swayed in the right direction if properly handled, was correct.

Beneath the fanaticism and the racial spirit was human nature; and until Jethro Fawe had appeared, he had hoped to prevent violence and the collision at to-morrow's funeral.
Now the situation was all changed.