It was nearly nine o'clock, and a few minutes later when he went below he found Kee Meng bending over a fire, boiling water for his tea.
"I thought I told you not to move about," he said sternly to the Mussulman.
Kee Meng tapped his wound. "See, it is well now, Tajen!" Then he inclined his head toward the soldier who lounged in the gateway. "I was talking to him a while ago, Tajen, and he says there is great excitement at the house of the councillor, Na-chung, because"—Kee Meng winked—"because Na-chung disappeared last night and they fear he has been murdered and his body thrown to the dogs and vultures! He says they are searching the city for the councillor."
Trent did not smile. In his eyes was an absent look, as though his brain followed a derelict idea. Presently he asked:
"I've had no message from the lama?"
"No, Tajen."
Trent spent a restless three hours. He went up on the roof and smoked and thought. There was something pregnant and repressed in the calm blue sky, in the gleam of Lhakang-gompa's golden roofs, and in the shimmer and glare of the whitewashed city. He waited until noon, hoping he would hear from Kerth; but no message came, and, vaguely troubled, he descended from the roof. He procured his revolver; slipped it under his orange-yellow robe. Then he sought Kee Meng, who was in the quadrangle.
"I am going to the Governor's house," he told the muleteer. "As soon as the soldier and I have gone, get our packs together and you and the men go to the place where Hsiao and Kang went last night. Stay there, in hiding, until you hear from me. Under no circumstances leave. Deliver the—the thing that is hidden in the cellar only in my presence or upon a written order from me."
"But, Tajen," objected Kee Meng, "do you go alone?"
Trent nodded. "Alone."