"Who might know?"
"The Chino Lan Yek, sir. He knows everybody—everybody owes him money, sir!"
"Fetch him here."
In a few minutes Lan Yek stood before Terry, his Mongolian imperturbability shaken by this night summons from an officer of the law. With the natives' love of ragging a Chinamen, Mercado had been very stern and mysterious concerning his mission—and Lan Yek knew a thing or two about opium smuggling that bothered him as he faced the American.
Terry repeated his inquiry regarding the identity of the white-eyed native, and Lan Yek's response was startlingly illuminating.
"Yes, me know him. Me know white-eyed fellah. His name Malabanan!"
Malabanan! This had been the "visit" they had told Ledesma's wife they would pay Terry.
"Lan Yek, when did you see him last?"
"To-night he come, buy cigalet, no pay—talk 'Melican talk—tell me 'Go to Hell.'"
Terry gestured his dismissal and the nervous Celestial scurried away, relieved that the interrogation had not been intimate.