“Who was it that dodged into that room, then?” demanded Ned, indicating a door at the farther end of the dingy, ill-lighted room, that had banged to with a slam as he entered. The boy could have sworn that he caught sight of a naval uniform as whoever had opened the door slipped through it and vanished.
“That one of my frens,” explained the bland Chinee.
“What did he run away for, then?”
“He plentee much scared. Thinkee you lobber, maybe.”
In the center of the room, which was lighted, but not illumined, by a smoky lamp suspended from the ceiling, was a table of ebony inlaid with mother-of-pearl in fantastic Oriental patterns. Several chairs were about the table, and to Ned’s eye they looked as if they had recently been shoved hastily back. On the table were four cups.
“What was your friend doing here?” was Ned’s next question to the Chinee, who had been eying him craftily as he looked about at his surroundings.
“He dlinkum tea, so be,” was the quick response, “he likee tea velly, velly much.”
Ned picked up one of the cups and sniffed at it. His lips curled disgustedly.
“That cup never held tea,” he exclaimed with authority. “Now, look here, my friend, you’re backed up against the United States government, do you understand? Take me into that farther room at once.”
“No can do.”