"That depends," said I, repressing with difficulty the instinct to address him in the "pidgin" dialect. "You might call it curiosity, and idle at that; but it is of some concern to me."
"I can believe it," he said politely.
"But before I enter on the errand that brings me here, I should present you with my credentials." And I handed him the card from Kendrick.
He scarcely glanced at it.
"Any friend of Mr. Kendrick's is welcome to any service in my power to give," he said, with a bow.
"I have a paper written in your tongue that I should like explained to me," I said, bringing forth the sheet and unfolding it.
Big Sam leaned across the desk to receive it. I put it in his hand and kept one eye on his face, the other on the sheet of paper.
There was no trace of surprise on the bronze mask of the Oriental. For an instant I thought I could detect a shadow of the stolid "no-sabby" look of the coolie, but it was gone with the dropping of an eyelid. There was before me only the grave, impassive face of the Chinese merchant.
"What is the difficulty?" he asked with a polite smile, after he had glanced over the paper.
"The difficulty is that none of your countrymen seems to be able to translate it."