He nodded, and looked sharply about him.
“There can be no big traffic up here, Mr Grey,” said the lieutenant. “What does the interpreter say?”
“Do you hear, Ching?” I whispered; “what do you say?”
“Allee light,” he replied. “Pilate come along in littlee sampan; cally silk, tea, lice.”
“Oh, bother!” I said. Then aloud to Mr Reardon, whose boat was half hidden by the growth overhead, “He seems quite sure they do come up here, sir.”
“Well, then, go a little farther, but I feel far from sure. Push right in at the next place where there’s room for the boat, and climb up the bank.”
“Yes, sir,” I cried; and we went on again for another hundred yards, when all at once I caught sight of an opening where I could land, and pointed it out to Mr Grey.
“Yes,” said Ching, “allee light. That place where pilate land allee plize-money.”
I laughed, and Mr Grey told the coxswain to draw the boat close to the bank, when, to my intense surprise, I found there was a broadly-trampled path, beaten into soft steps, and I turned in my glee and shouted—
“Here’s the place, sir.”