The man turned on a triumphant smile toward Biff. “We meet again, Mr. Brewster,” he said.
“Silence, Mao!” commanded the richly robed man. “You have, I am told, a ring with you, young man. A ring which indicates your great friendship for the House of Kwang.” The smile left the speaker’s face. He leaned slightly forward, and his next words were a stern, crisp order. “I’ll take that ring. I am Ping Lu, master of the house.”
Biff reached into his pocket. He detached the ring and held it out in his open palm. Just as the richly robed man reached for it, the older man arose, bent forward, and snatched it. As he did, Ping Lu, with a sweep of his heavy arm, knocked the old man back into his chair. He seized the old man’s hand, and pried open his fist. He took the ring.
The old man spoke. He spoke in Chinese. Ping Lu laughed as the old man poured out a stream of words.
“You may interpret for your American friend, if you wish,” Ping Lu said, addressing Chuba.
“The Old One is the real Master of the House of Kwang,” Chuba translated. “He is called Tao Kwang, and is oldest of the remaining Kwang family. The ring is his. He is much angered that it is now in hands of richly dressed man.”
Ping Lu cut in. “True, all true. Once this old fool was the master of this house. Oh yes, this was one of the many houses owned by him. But I am master of this house now. It is used by me and my government as a place where we entertain—” he chortled at the word “entertain”—“our more important guests. And Tao Kwang, though a doddering old fool now, once held sway over this territory, and still thinks he has much influence.”
Tao Kwang spoke again. Again Chuba interpreted. “Ancient One say still many sons and nephews here. Say for us not to be afraid.”
“Of course there is nothing to be afraid of,” Ping Lu said. “I hope you will enjoy your stay with us.”
“How long do you intend keeping us prisoners?” Biff asked.