“What!” shouted Kerry. “What did you say, you yellow-faced mongrel!”
He clenched his fists and strode towards the Chinaman.
“Sarcee feller catchee pullee leg,” explained the unmoved Sin Sin Wa. “Velly bad man tellee lie for makee bhoberry—getchee poor Chinaman in tlouble.”
In the fog-bound silence Kerry could very distinctly be heard chewing. He turned suddenly to Bryce.
“Go back and fetch two men,” he directed. “I should never find my way.”
“Very good, sir.”
Bryce stepped to the door, unable to hide the relief which he experienced, and opened it. The fog was so dense that it looked like a yellow curtain hung in the opening.
“Phew!” said Bryce. “I may be some little time, sir.”
“Quite likely. But don’t stop to pick daisies.”
The constable went out, closing the door. Kerry laid his cane on the table, then stooped and tossed a cud of chewing-gum into the stove. From his waistcoat pocket he drew out a fresh piece and placed it between his teeth. Drawing a tea-chest closer to the stove, he seated himself and stared intently into the glowing heart of the fire.