"Probably just as well." That was Syd O'Brien voicing his gloomy opinion. "Don't like the looks of the thing. Sinister."
"I'd like to see it," said Ramey. "I'd like to take a week or so and see everything about this place—What's up, Red?"
The redhead, seated nearest the doorway of the room, had come suddenly to his feet with a warning gesture. Now he whispered hoarsely, "Doc—outside! A spy! Somebody's found out about me and Ramey being here!"
In a single motion, Ramey was on his feet, his automatic in his hand, was gliding to his friend's side. Red was right. Ramey was just in time to see a furtive figure, scar-faced, yellow-robed, Oriental, slip behind one of the numberless pillars supporting the corridor. He spun.
"Red's right! They're on to us. I knew we couldn't get away with this. Everybody sit tight; Red and I are going to pull out before we get you all in trouble...."
Then Johnny Grinnell was at his shoulder, and he was snorting amused relief.
"It's all right, Winters. Put your pistol up. It's only poor old Sheng-ti. He's probably hungry again, daft old devil!" He called quietly in a tongue that Ramey—though he did not speak the language—recognized as Cantonese. Slowly the figure emerged from behind the pillar. Ramey saw a lean, shaven-pated Oriental of indeterminate age clad in the filthy yellow robe of a Buddhist bonze, or priest.
The bonze moved forward hesitantly, his eyes darting suspicion at the two strangers. As he approached, his mumble became English words.
"Food! The child of Buddha hungers."