The surgeon administered the hypodermic before replying. Then he said, slowly:
“While your heart retains its action you will live; but a clot may interfere with the action at any time. I cannot promise you even today, yet you may see the light tomorrow—or of several tomorrows.”
“But not many of them?”
“Not many, Prince.”
“Ah, the Earth Dragon is relentless. I cannot reach China?”
“No, indeed. To Shanghai or Hong Kong is two weeks. And there is another thing that I must speak to you about. I have no means of embalming or preserving your body.”
For a moment the Prince looked grave. Then he laughed again, lightly, but I thought with little or no mirth. In spite of his Occidental education Kai Lun Pu retained the prejudices of his forefathers and longed to have his body carried to China and laid to rest in his ancestral halls.
“What a fuss old Mai Lo will make when I am cast into the sea!” he remarked. “You’ll have to put him in irons, Sam, or he’ll run amuck among you and cause mischief.”
“If he does he shall go after you,” I promised. “That is, unless you wish him preserved to carry out your bequests at home and convey your messages to your friends.”
The Prince made a face so ridiculous that both Gaylord and I smiled at him.