“And her coming here to-night shows that she might have some notion of keeping her word. She came to see Hong Yo, as she said she would—and with her came an astounding companion. I had laughed at her up to that point; but now,” with a shrug, “I don’t know what to think.”
“It has a queer look,” admitted Kenyon. “But perhaps it is not as serious as it seems. At the worst, she can know but little of consequence. And that little she cannot use.”
“Let her attempt it,” cried Hong Yo, with that deadly creeping gesture of the hand toward his breast, “and I’ll—”
“I think,” interrupted Kenyon, “that you left that plaything of yours inside there. So there is no use in your feeling for it.” He arose to his feet, and slowly began drawing on his gloves. His face was cold and hard, and the look in his eyes was unmistakable. “And I think it as well,” he continued, “to warn you against anything of that sort. My short acquaintance with you, Hong Yo, has shown me that you have the temper of a half-dozen devils; and, also, that you are not given to controlling it. But this girl must not be harmed! Do you understand? No matter what she does or says, she must not be harmed. She can injure us but little, if she does her worst. But, as I have told you, he knows about her, and from that you must draw your line of policy.”
“I understand,” answered Hong Yo, sullenly.
“Good. And now if you will have the worthy Sing Wang or someone else show me the way, I’ll be going.”
XII
AND THE THIRD NIGHT BEGINS
“Men go quietly upon the missions which they think will bring them much.”
—A Maxim of Hong Yo.
The next day Kenyon had his belongings, which he had now generously added to, removed to a hotel some distance up town.