Precisely half an hour later a figure appeared at the door of the tent, and a voice observed quietly: “Time to wake up, mastel. You tellee me wake you one piecee time twelluf. Twelluf now, and me welly sleepy.”
It was Ling.
Chapter Four.
Betrayed.
Frobisher scrutinised the Korean’s face closely, but there was no shadow of change in its Oriental impassivity. For all that the man’s bearing betrayed, he might never have moved from his post since the camp had been pitched; yet the young Englishman could not rid himself of the suspicion that Ling was not exactly what he appeared to be. Moreover, now that the man was standing inside the tent, Frobisher again became conscious of a faint suggestion of the odour of sandal-wood oil. However, it would not in any way suit his plans to betray his suspicions of the Korean at present, therefore he merely contented himself with remarking quietly:
“Very well, Ling. You had better get to sleep, so as to be rested by the morning; and I’ll wake you as soon as it is time to break camp and be stirring. By the way, I fancied I heard someone prowling about my tent half an hour ago. I suppose you did not notice anything out of the common, or you would have reported it to me at once, eh?”
“Me no undelstand ‘anything outel le common’, mastel; what mastel mean?” enquired Ling, his almond-shaped eyes opening in apparent puzzlement.
“I mean,” replied Frobisher, rather testily—for he now felt almost convinced that the fellow was trying to hoodwink him—“that I suppose you are quite sure that no spy, no one belonging to the enemy, in fact, approached or entered the camp while I was asleep and you were on guard?”