“I'll smoke a couple of pipes,” vouchsafed the Doc; “then I must get to work on Nigger Mike's, teeth. Mike's a good fellow; they're all good fellows over at the Chatham Club,” and the Doc sank back upon the pallet.
There was the sound of someone in the hall. Then came those calmative four rings and four taps.
“That's Mike now,” said the Doc, his eyes half closed. “Let him in; I suppose he's come for his teeth. I'll have to give him a stand-off. Mike ought to have two sets of teeth. Then he could wear the one while I'm fixing the other. It's a good idea; I'll tell him.”
May, warned by some instinct, opened the door but a timorous inch. What she saw did not inspire confidence, and she tried with all her little strength to close and bolt it.
Too late!
The door was flung inward, and Jackeen, followed by Rice, entered the room. They paid no heed to the opium fumes; almost stifling they were, but Jackeen and Rice had long been used to them.
May gazed at Jackeen like one planet-struck. The Doc, moveless on the pallet, hardly raised his opium-weighted lids.
“This is a fine game I'm gettin'!”
Jackeen sneered out the words. The Doc pulled tranquilly at his pipe; while May stood voiceless, staring with scared eyes.
“I'd ought to peg a bullet into you,” continued Jackeen, addressing May.