This done, woman-like, she plumed herself for a time before a murky mirror. Then, turning briskly, she slipped out of the garments and back into her own.
"You wanchee cumshaw?" she asked, handing the furs to the Chinaman to be wrapped.
The Chinaman grinned.
From somewhere on her person she extracted bills, American bills. Johnny was not surprised at that, for in these uncertain times, American money had come to be an undisputed medium of exchange. It was always worth as much to-day as yesterday—very often more. The thing that did surprise Johnny was the size of the bills she left with the dealer. She was buying those garments, there could be no question about that. But why? No one in this region would think of wearing them. They were seldom seen five hundred miles north. And this woman was a Japanese. There were no Japanese men at Khabarask, five hundred miles north, let alone Japanese women; Johnny knew that.
But the door had closed. The American looked at his watch. It was one o'clock. The train went at four. He must hurry.
He was about to move out from among the furs, when again there came a rap, this time loud and insistent, as if coming from one who was accustomed to be obeyed.
"American officer!" Johnny stifled a groan, as he slid back into hiding.
"Wo Cheng!" he cautioned again in a whisper, "my wanchee you keep mouth shut; you savvy?"
"O-o-ee," mumbled Wo Cheng, his hand on the latch.