Something told me I had a chance yet. I decided to tell the old man the truth. “Him medicine,” I answered.
“What for medicine?”
“Make you sleep.”
“What for sleep?”
“I think maybe take your money.”
“How you know me money?”
“I come your store; I look see.”
He got up, rolled his blankets away, and, raising up the small trapdoor in the floor, opened his box and made sure that it had not been disturbed. They all began talking again. I heard the fatal words “luc zhe,” “luc zhe,” which means policeman.
In desperation I cried, “No, no, no luc zhe. Him no good. I got plenty good China friends. Me good friend Chew Chee, China boy. Before—Chew Chee stop ‘skookum house’ I bring him Vancouver. Me good man.” I remembered my Chinese letter and cried out desperately: “You look my pocket; you see China letter; him good letter. You look my pocket.”
The name of Chew Chee was like magic on them. They became silent and listened closely to my talk. I was tied up so that I couldn’t reach the vest pocket the letter was in, but I managed to touch it with a finger. “You look my pocket,” I cried frantically to the old man.