That brief attack would be attributed to the Tiger Tong. It was to serve another purpose. For while all attention of harbor patrols would be centered on the Chinese junk, other members of the Wu-Fan would be craftily at work elsewhere!
Shots — lights — flares — all were ready for a short, quickly finished outburst. It would all be over before investigators arrived. But with this, there would be a finishing touch later — the finding of Foy, no longer living.
Ling Soo cackled in exuberance. He took the lantern in his hand. He reached up and tipped back the head of Foy. The face, streaked with blood from a gash above the forehead, was grotesque and brutal. It shone with yellow pallor.
Foy was still living, Ling Soo could see.
The squat Chinaman waited. He thought that Foy was regaining consciousness. The slitlike eyelids were moving. Ling Soo cackled again, and his insidious chuckle was loud in that hollowed space in the heart of the wooden ship.
Foy would have his chance to speak. If he would not speak, Ling Soo would wait and give him an opportunity. Then — whether or not he spoke — Foy would die! That was the verdict.
Ling Soo, as though in ceremony, uttered words aloud — designing, perhaps, that they would reach the ears of the man who was recovering his senses.
“It is death! Green Eyes has spoken!”
These were the words which Ling Soo uttered, in the language of his native land.