"You have the eye of the reader of thoughts," said Big Sam with a faint smile. "You speak of the very point I wish to ask about. I note by the papers that you were attacked--or Mr. Kendrick, to be accurate."
"Oh, I was fortunate enough to share in it," I said nonchalantly.
"Hardly a matter for congratulation, Mr. Hampden. Kindly let me know what happened. Was it by my people, or--"
He paused, and I replied:
"We were attacked in front by the anti-Chinese mob, three hundred or more strong, and in the rear by a score or so of ruffians that I have reason to suppose were hired by your people."
"I should be obliged for your reasons."
"They are at your service." And I gave the accumulated facts from Little John's attempt to drag away the Chinese girl, to Danny Regan's identification by Moon Ying.
As I set forth my tale, a certain fire of rage kindled in Big Sam's face without disturbing the impassivity of his features. He seemed to grow larger, and I could understand how great monarchs cause men to tremble by something more than the physical forces at their command. Some subtle force irradiated from the man, and only a strong will could refuse to yield to the fear that he inspired.
As I ended my tale, he muttered, "The dogs--to violate their word--to cross my orders--to risk everything at this crisis!"
Then he clapped his hands, and two men appeared, and after a few words vanished.