"How do I know you're telling the truth?" queried Trent, putting forth a feeler. A plan was shaping in his mind. He did not look at Dana Charteris, but he felt her eyes upon him, felt, too, that she read his thoughts.
"By Allah!" declared the Mussulman (and a Mussulman's oath to his God is not so flexible as that of a Buddhist or a Christian). "May I wither and turn black if I lie!"
"What of my muleteers?" Trent pursued.
Kee Meng winked. "Ah, that is easy!"
"You wouldn't—"
"Oh no, Tajen! We will not kill them!" the soldier exclaimed virtuously—but he smiled. "There is an unused house near the North Gate, and under the house is a cellar where opium is stored. We will hide them there, and they will not be found until morning."
"But how will we get out of the city?" Trent interrogated.
"Give me five taels and I will fix it. Mo-su, who guards the North Gate, is a poor man and a fool. Oh, it is easy if one is clever, as I am! Your mules and supplies are at the Tchentai's; to reach here they must pass through dark streets. We are strong.... Then we can take your caravan to the North Gate, while one of us returns for you. We each have a mule. Oh yes, it will be easy, Tajen!"
Trent knew Kee Meng's type. "He who would ride a wild camel must first teach him who is master," says a proverb. These villainous-looking young brigands could fight—if the proper inducement were provided. It would be reassuring to know he had allies, few though they were. As for Sarojini Nanjee—"Set a spy on the heels of a spy," runs another proverb. It was not breaking his word to her; there was nothing in the agreement to prevent him from exchanging caravan-men.... Too, he would feel safer beyond the reach of Fong Wa. He did not like those green eyes. Yet it was a desperate risk.
"What do you know of this city, this Shingtse-lunpo?"