“So I said,” repeated the Collector of Monies. Then, with a meaning glance at the Bazar-man, for an honourable younger brother was at the latter’s elbow. “But though he is so miserably poor, he grows a rose,—one more beautiful than a man of his rank should have. In your crowded garden is there room for another such?”
Instantly, Tau Lot’s slant eyes narrowed in their slits, his ponderous body lost its attitude of indolence. He stepped down from his stool with alacrity. “You will have a taste of steamed rice,” he said, “—rice savoured with salt fish—and a cup of hot samschu at my despicable board.” And he led the way to the rear room.
The Collector of Monies followed, and the two seated themselves at a table, where a servant brought food and rice-wine. And here, nose to nose, they chattered low, gesticulated, haggled.
“How far is it to Sather?” asked the Bazar-man.
“Near to thirty li. One can reach there in an hour.” The Collector of Monies proudly displayed a large, nickel-plated watch.
“But still—the price is too high.”
“O Magnificent One! for a little-foot woman? Her dowry was at the lowest fifty taels. Doubtless, that was what beggared him. She is truly a picked beauty, a very pearl.”
“It is settled then. The half will be paid when the rose is plucked, the second half when the filthy foreign police accept a commission and promise no interference.”
At sundown, a few days later, the superintendent at Pinole heard the bell of his telephone summoning him. The receiver at his ear, he caught the petulant “Well, wait a minnit, can’t y’?” of the operator and, punctuating it, a weak gasping, as if some one in agony were at the distant transmitter.