“It is the mark that means The Dreadful Messenger of Chung. It is a favor to tell you, Captain O’Shea. No other foreigner, no Chinese except the servants of Chung, have heard it spoken. But you will not speak it anywhere.”
“There’s more that I want to know,” said O’Shea, “though precious little good the information will do me.”
“Ha! Why did you not have so much sense before and mind your own business?”
It was absurd to carry on such a dialogue as this, as O’Shea perceived, but Charley Tong Sin was enjoying this session with the rash shipmaster who had formerly held the upper hand. Before the victim could be subjected to further taunts he heard the massive doors opened and other sounds to indicate that bars were sliding into place to fasten them on the inside. The huge man in the crimson robe, the great and terrible Chung, lumbered into view and seated himself in the chair of teak-wood. Charley Tong Sin humbly bowed several times. The personage beckoned the twain nearer and spoke briefly. He desired to conduct a cross-examination of his own with the comprador as interpreter.
“He wishes to know why you have come to this place?” was the first question addressed to O’Shea.
“Because ye butchered a friend of mine, a red-headed sailor by the name of Jim Eldridge,” was the unflinching reply. “He told me about your dirty devilment as well as he could, and I saw what ye did to him.”
The huge man showed signs of consternation when this was conveyed to him. He uttered a bellowing interrogation.
“He is not alive? You have talked with his ghost?” shrilly demanded Charley Tong Sin.
“’Twas him that sent me here,” declared O’Shea. “Ye can impart it to the big ugly mug yonder that I have had visits from the ghost of the red-headed sailor that he killed and branded.”
With an excited, heedless gesture, Charley Tong Sin raised the revolver. He had been long accustomed to wearing European clothes, and the flowing sleeves of his Chinese outer garment impeded his motions. A fold of the silk fabric fell over the butt of the weapon, and he tried to brush it aside with his left hand. This other sleeve was caught and held for a moment by the sharp firing-pin of the cocked hammer.