“I didn't,” said young Kerry cheerfully; “I was fetched!”
“By your father?”
“Not on your life. By a couple of Chinks! I'll tell you something.” He raised his twinkling blue eyes. “We are properly up against it. I suppose you couldn't climb down a rain-pipe?”
VII
RETRIBUTION
It was that dark, still, depressing hour of the night, when all life is at its lowest ebb. In the low, strangely perfumed room of books Zani Chada sat before his table, his yellow hands clutching the knobs on his chair arms, his long, inscrutable eyes staring unseeingly before him.
Came a disturbance and the sound of voices, and Lou Chada, his son, stood at the doorway. He still wore his evening clothes, but he no longer looked smart. His glossy black hair was dishevelled, and his handsome, olive face bore a hunted look. Panic was betoken by twitching mouth and fear-bright eyes. He stopped, glaring at his father, and:
“Why are you not gone?” asked the latter sternly. “Do you wish to wreck me as well as yourself?”
“The police have posted a man opposite Kwee's house. I cannot get out that way.”