“Sin Sin Wa,” he croaked, “number one p’lice chop, lo!”
Sin Sin Wa glanced aside at Sir Lucien.
“The traffic. A consignment of opium,” he said. “Sam Tûk calls.”
Sir Lucien consulted his watch, and:
“I should like to go with you, Sin Sin Wa,” he said. “Would it be safe to leave the house—with the upper door unlocked?”
Sin Sin Wa glanced at him again.
“All are sleeping, most honorable sir?”
“All.”
“I will lock the room above and the outer door. It is safe.”
He raised a yellow hand, and the raven stepped sedately from his shoulder on to his wrist.