“You might tell the boys you ran into a door. But if I do not return, they will hardly believe you. They may get a few ideas as to what happened to me,” Stan said.
Te Nuwa laughed and slapped his fat leg. “Good enough,” he said. “You can say just that.”
“I’ll shut his mouth right now,” Munson snapped.
“Now, now, you are both guests of honor,” the fat man reminded Munson. “I might say again both are honored guests. The entertainment of a guest rests with me. I am the lord of this village. We have business to transact. You are impatient to be on your way back to your duties. We will dine and my dancers will dance as we sip wine. And we shall talk.”
“You better see to it that he’s done away with,” Munson growled. “If he gets away, he’ll upset all of our plans. It will be your fat neck as well as mine.”
Te Nuwa lifted a soft hand and frowned. “That cannot happen. My men are well trained in the ways of the East. We just do not care for the bloody methods you use. I will order the disposal of our guest in a manner befitting his rank.” He spoke sharply to his men and turned away.
CHAPTER VIII
PRISONER AT KULA
Stan was led away from the parked cars by a dozen of the little yellow men. His Siamese guards chattered and laughed and looked admiringly at the big white man they had captured. They had been much impressed by his terrible strength and by the way his fists shot out, inflicting black eyes and swollen jaws.
The guards led Stan into a great building which he guessed once had been a temple. They moved through a maze of columns. The place was fitfully lighted by lamps of colored glass containing rags dipped in grease. Everything was mingled and obscured by the gloom. Stan saw men moving in the shadows. They were naked, wild-eyed, wild-haired men with gaunt bodies. A foul odor of dampness and decay and filth filled the place. Leering idols looked out of dark crannies, their glass eyes gleaming in the flickering light.