Ballaston, with wondering eyes, watched the erstwhile professor disappear.
“Looney!” he murmured, under his breath.
“I desire pardon,” Wu Ling interpolated politely.
“A madman!”
Wu Ling smiled.
“He is a personage of great learning,” he declared. “He is a friend of Chinese scholars who have never spoken to any other foreigner. He has great knowledge.”
“What are you going to do with that?” Ballaston asked, motioning towards the Image.
Wu Ling sighed. He stood for a moment in silent thought, his eyes fixed upon his treasure. Then gently and almost with reverence he turned away, beckoned his companion to precede him, passed out and locked the door.
“Who can tell?” he ruminated. “We have a great warehouse here filled with strange goods, as you see, another and larger in Alexandria, an agent in New York. All the things come and go. We do not hurry. We have jade there which we have not even spoken of for twenty years, silk robes from the chests of him who was emperor, ivory carvings from his Summer Palace, denied even to the great merchants. Perhaps we sell. Perhaps not.”
“You must be rolling in money,” the young man sighed.