O’Malley grinned wolfishly. He had gotten up and was leaning over the rail. The motorboat circled the junk and came alongside. It was filled with little brown men armed with long poles. A chunky fellow stood in the prow. He shouted up to the boatman.
“Yer delayin’ the parade!” O’Malley shouted down at the man in the prow. “Get that raft out of our way!”
The leader of the crew looked up at O’Malley, then turned and began chattering to his crew. At that moment a white man appeared from a little cabin in the rear of the motorboat. Stan and Allison got up quickly. The man was Nick Munson. He stood looking up at O’Malley.
“I missed the junk and set out to overtake you. I’ll be aboard in a minute,” he called to them. Ducking back into the cabin he came out with a bag.
“Well, jest imagine that,” O’Malley drawled.
Stan looked over at O’Malley and suddenly his eyes narrowed. O’Malley was sliding a service pistol into the ample pocket of his trousers. He moved close to the Irishman.
“How come you filched a gun?” he asked. “We were to turn them in before we left London.”
“I’m that absent-minded,” O’Malley said with a grin. “I got so used to the feel o’ Nora snugglin’ in me pocket that I jest couldn’t part with her.”
Allison looked at Stan and there was a glint in his eyes. “Sometimes that Irisher shows a glimmer of brilliance,” he said.
Nick Munson clambered aboard the junk. Dropping his bag, he wiped his forehead and sank into a chair. He spoke two words to the boatman in Chinese.