"They are not here, illustrious one," the Chinaman said. "On my soul be it if I do not speak the truth."
"But they have been here," Uzali persisted.
The Chinaman bowed till his forehead touched the filthy floor. Apparently he was placing his den and all it contained at the disposal of his visitor. Uzali took a step forward and shook him violently. It seemed rather a dangerous thing to do, for the damp, stagnant floor of the room was littered with prostrate forms either in the full ecstasy of their opium, or drugged to a dreamless sleep by it. The Chinaman shook his head again.
"One, two, three, four, five," said Uzali counting on his fingers, "six, seven, eight, nine, ten sovereigns if you find them for me this evening. I have the gold in my pocket. More money than you could make in a week. Now wake up, exert yourself. Surely you could find some one who can tell me where they have gone."
"'SURELY YOU CAN FIND SOME ONE WHO CAN TELL ME WHERE THEY HAVE GONE.'"
The Chinaman pondered a moment with his long fingers in his grey beard. Then, once more he bowed and excused himself a moment whilst he disappeared in the murky blackness at the back of the evil-smelling den.
"Dare you trust him?" Mercer asked.
"Bah, he would do anything for money," Uzali said contemptuously. "He could have told me in the first place if he liked."
"And your friends have been here to-night?"