“Chinese,” he said, “an’ awful quick with their knives. I’m warnin’ ye. That’s all.”
Thereupon Murphy fell silent, standing beside Mr. Temple. And the group ahead, between the prisoners and the dark mouth of the alley exit to the streets of Chinatown, also was motionless. A slight sound, sibilant, as of whispering, came from it. Murphy, however, vouchsafed no conversation.
“What are we waiting for?” whispered Frank, the irrepressible.
“Ye’ll see in a minute,” answered Murphy, shortly.
Out of the doorway behind them, a moment later, debouched a little cavalcade. In the center of a group of six or eight bobbing heads rose a dark object that swayed perilously as it lurched through the door. Murphy sprang toward it with a low-voiced curse.
“Careful there, ye haythens,” he commanded.
The object steadied and came closer. Then the boys could see it was a closed palanquin, borne by eight Chinese.
“Whew,” whispered Frank, impressed in spite of himself. “I didn’t know there were any of those things left in existence.”
“Must be that old Chinaman we laid out,” ventured Bob.
The burden bearers passed the little group. Silken curtains were drawn tightly about the palanquin, and