"Where does the Great One live?" asked Baker, alert for a trap.
"In Celebes, where you are going," was the reply.
"Oh," said Baker innocently, "Then perhaps it could be arranged for us to meet him?"
This, explained the priest, was quite impossible. In due time Buddha would display himself for the world to see and marvel over; meanwhile, while his preparation was yet incomplete, he must remain in seclusion.
By now convinced that the presence of the priests was no accident, Baker settled down to the sort of verbal sparring match that he enjoyed. He had been speaking in the Cantonese dialect, but now he abruptly switched to English.
"You know," he remarked, "you fellows are using an amazing amount of material at your headquarters. Enough food to keep a good sized standing army."
The two priests, who had professed ignorance of English at the start of the conversation, stiffened visibly. Baker returned to Chinese.
The priests recovered their composure with some effort. The older replied suavely, "Gossip is a creative art. There is a large monastery at our central temple, and much is needed to maintain its activities."
"Truth," said Baker pontifically, "is usually disappointing. The imagination changes a mud hut to a palace, and a sickly priest to a demigod."
The two priests inclined their heads slightly at this. We watched their expressions. If Baker's purposely provoking language brought a reaction, it was not visible. But we had learned one thing: they spoke English but preferred that we did not know it.