"Mebbe can do," said Lo Ong faintly.
Moore ran his fingers down the first row of fresh markings.
"O-o-ey," commented Lo Ong, shifting uneasily, "'My see you allatime, long ago on ship.' Savvy?"
"What's next?"
"'You no see my. My see you allatime.'"
The long, sloping shoulders seemed to jerk. "Keep away. Savvy?"
"It says that?"
"Take look see," invited Lo Ong, poking his claw nervously down the column. "'Keep away. Keep away.' One—two times. Savvy?"
Peter Moore nodded thoughtfully.
The Chinese, officially dead, replaced the sheet gingerly on his knees, as if it were an instrument of wickedness. His bony fingers twitched a moment.