Gar Ling hesitated. He stood in great fear of the old killer, yet he dared not show that fear before his young friends. So with his left hand he gave a peculiar signal. A boy standing near with a basket of lichee nuts on his arm turned quickly and followed the two men down the alley. Drawing near his employer, the boy held up the basket as though soliciting the gunman to buy. Gar’s hand darted swiftly into the basket, beneath the lichee nuts, and came out with a heavy automatic pistol which he quickly concealed beneath his blouse.
The old hatchetman knew all the tricks of the young gunman, but he pretended he had not seen. As they turned a dark corner, he paused.
“For the insulting words you spoke to Bow Sam,” he said calmly, and the long blade glided between the gunman’s ribs.
As Fa’ng drew the steel away, Gar Ling staggered, fired once, then collapsed.
Bow Sam stood in the doorway by his sugar-cane stand and watched with narrowed eyes an old man who shuffled uncertainly down the alley toward him.
“Hoo la ma!” he cried, as the old man drew near. “I did not expect to see you again so soon.”
The old hatchetman did not raise his head nor reply. Staggering, he crossed the threshold and fell on his face on the littered floor.
With a throaty cry Bow Sam slammed the door shut. He bent over Fa’ng.
“This knife,” said the hatchetman; “take it—to Wong the pawnbroker. Tell him—all. Worth—more—than I owe.”
“But what’s——”