At the same moment the "washee-washee" man stepped to the doorway, and I was startled to find myself looking into the face of Big Sam. He was dressed in the coarse blue jeans and trousers of the Chinese working-man, his hat was drawn down over his eyes, and his face was of a darker hue than I remembered it. But the man shone through his disguise as plainly as the sun shines through colored glass.
I recovered from my surprise in an instant, and halted him in the outer room.
"This is a lucky meeting," I said. "I have been wondering whether I ought to report to you about your ward. She is badly hurt, but is now out of danger."
The man glanced at me with expressionless eye.
"I no sabby you," he said with the true coolie accent. "What you wan'?"
"Oh," I returned, repressing my amusement at this preposterous attempt to deceive me, "if Kwan Sam Suey, sometimes known as Big Sam, doesn't want to hear what I have to say, I am in no hurry to say it."
"No sabby Big Sam," said the Chinaman gruffly.
"And I should really like to know," I said, lowering my voice, "what Big Sam is doing with Mr. Bolton."
"I no sabby Missah Bolton," growled the Oriental.
"You don't 'sabby' the man you've just been talking with?"