"Did you take the money from Big Sam to Bolton?"
"Me? Not much! They was too fly to let me get my nippers on it. I was plain messenger-boy--that's what I was--and I carried a lot of talk about what the Council was going to do. You knows all that game. If youse want it, I can give youse a yard of it now."
I could well believe that this creature was not trusted with any of the purposes that these men had in their alliance. So I turned to the question:
"What was that Chinese paper in the pocket of the overcoat you left with me that night you tried to kill me when I chased you out of Mr. Kendrick's yard?"
"Oh, youse is the feller that got that coat, are you? Well, that paper was just an order or ticket that would let me into Big Sam's tong house when the tong was meeting--so as I could see him without losing time. It wasn't no use to me; but Big Sam let on he was giving me first cousin to the Mint when he passed it over."
Nothing more was to be got out of this man, so I left the fetid prison, and followed up the line of inquiry by seeking Big Sam.
I found him just entering the store that led to his dwelling. He received me with courtesy, but there was a trace of suspicion in his eyes as he invited me to follow him to his office.
"I suppose I do not bring news in telling you that our mutual acquaintance, Mr. Peter Bolton, is no more," I said, as we entered the oriental hall. In that room with its intricate ornamentation, its grotesque carvings and garish hangings, Peter Bolton and the troubled city of San Francisco seemed thousands of miles away, and I felt like a traveler in Cathay, who had come overseas bearing news of distant countries.
"You are not the first to tell me," said Big Sam. "I had the regret of hearing it some hours ago."
"It was a sad loss to the Council of Nine," I said, watching narrowly if the name brought any change of expression to his face. But no shadow crossed the yellow mask with which he concealed his thoughts.