“Gee! What am I to do now?” thought Patsy. “Why didn’t that big chocolate drop tell me what to do?”
It was evident that Swagara had a regular routine of duties, and that Keshub, the guard, assumed he would go about it as usual.
Chance aided Patsy in his dilemma. He had taken off his overcoat and was carrying it on his arm as he walked through the kitchen to a dark hall, where he saw a flight of stairs, when the deep tones of Ched Ramar came down to him:
“Is that you, Swagara?”
Patsy did not know exactly in what terms Swagara would have answered this query. So he gave an inarticulate grunt, which he turned into a singularly distressing cough.
“What is that, Swagara? You have a cold? Well, never mind. You need not talk. You know, I have always told you I prefer you to answer me by signs, rather than by words.”
“Gee! That’s a good one,” muttered Patsy. “He doesn’t know what a fine thing he has handed me.”
He walked forward, happy in the knowledge that he could not be seen well in the gloom, and waited for further instructions.
“Go to the room of the great Buddha,” rumbled Ched Ramar. “Stay there. Make no sound when visitors come. I want you to see, but not to show yourself. You understand?”
Patsy bowed in acknowledgment, and began to ascend the stairs. He was wondering how he would stand the scrutiny of those fierce eyes when he should pass close to the red-shaded electric light in the main hall.