Before long we came to a halt directly in front of the north entrance of the beautiful bamboo palace of the dead, and the soldier on guard, radiant in the crimson and sapphire uniform of the governor’s service, waved his scimitar partly in salute and partly in warning.
“Mai Lo?” I said to him, questioningly.
He spoke no English, but could not fail to understand I was asking for the governor; so he turned his thumb toward the entrance, to indicate that his master was inside the building, and then resumed his strut back and forth before the door.
Well, that was all we wanted to know, and our hearts sank as we realized that our enemy was even now in the underground chih examining the traces of our midnight visit there. We slowly turned and retraced our steps as far as a group of trees that stood a little way up the mound and commanded an unobstructed view of the entire House of Ancestors. Here we seated ourselves upon shady benches and passed the next two hours moodily talking over the situation.
At the end of that time we observed Mai Lo appear from the building by the entrance nearest us. He was as deliberate and reserved in demeanor as ever, and after a word to the guard he took the very path that led past the trees where we were.
“Let’s get out,” advised Archie, hastily.
“No,” said Joe, “let’s stay and hear what the old duffer has to say. Don’t be afraid to talk up to him, Sam.”
“I won’t,” was my promise.
Then we grimly awaited the governor’s approach. He paced steadily up the path, his hands clasped behind his back and his face turned square to the front.
So he reached the trees and came to a halt before our bench. Upon his parchment-like yellow face there was no sign of expression; in the bead-like eyes turned upon us was no ray of intelligence.