"That I am, Peter!"
"Then we'll take the express for Nanking to-morrow morning."
"Aye—aye! Sir!"
"We'll turn in now. Otherwise you'll look like a wreck when Miss Vost sees you."
"Miss Vost!" exploded MacLaurin. "When did you see Miss Vost?"
"A little while ago, Bob. Shall we turn in now?"
"Miss Vost is why I'm drunk, Peter," said Bobbie MacLaurin sadly.
"So she admitted. To-morrow we'll talk her over, and other important matters."
"As you say, Peter. I'm the brawn, but you're the brains of this team—as always! The bunks are the order."
When Bobbie MacLaurin's not unmusical snore proceeded from the vast bulk disposed beneath the white bedclothes, Peter Moore again descended to the lobby, let himself into the street, and hailed a rickshaw.