He spoke very low and rapidly, but distinctly. The man nodded; there was no mistaking the grim meaning with which this tall foreigner who spoke Chinese fingered the trigger of his revolver. Crossing the room to the press, the Chinaman stepped into it, and Jack closed the door.
He wondered if he could slip out of the house before Sowinski returned. Before long the Pole must discover that the bird had flown; he would realize the hopelessness of searching the whole of Moukden at night for a man disguised as a Chinaman, and, furious as he might be, he would doubtless accept the situation for the moment, and return to his evening meal. Once more Jack was making towards the window when he heard footsteps again, this time approaching from the back of the house; not the shuffling felt soles of Chinese, but the tramp of heavy European boots. At the same moment there came from the street the clatter of several feet marching in time. Jack stepped back from the window. He heard a gruff voice, the voice of Sowinski, say in Russian:
"Sergeant, there is no more to be done. The spy has got away. Inform the sentinels at the gates. He cannot leave the city to-night; we may trap him yet. Report to General Bekovitch; I will see him in the morning. Good-night!"
The sergeant responded, and marched his squad away.
"Where is Ming Fo?" demanded Sowinski of the servants at the door. "Why is he not watching with you?"
"He is preparing your supper, master; we are keeping watch for him."
"You have seen no one pass?"
"No one."
"Very well. Go and get your supper."
