"They look like a harmless old pair," said the second. "I shouldn't accuse them of being so naughty."
He approached the two monks and tried to address them in none too fluent Chinese. But the yellow-toothed priest, who had picked up pidgin English in a temple at Peking where the increase of tourists made it both profitable and necessary for him to express his importunity in terms his visitors understood, now interrupted the foreigner.
"Him b'long plenty bad boy," he said, pointing an accusing finger at Edward; "his sister plenty bad girl. Drink much tea, no pay money. So lock up, wanchee make pay money."
The foreigner smiled to see Edward's blank look at hearing this unfamiliar idiom.
"You availed yourself of this gentleman's hospitality, my young sir, without making due recompense, and he has gone to the extreme length, rather too extreme I admit, of locking up your sister. Am I stating the case correctly?"
The boy looked even more amazed. This was a tongue far beyond the bounds of his comprehension. The man laughed again.
"Well, never mind, I don't think there's anything worse than a twenty-cent piece at stake. Follow me and we'll soon have your sister out of the dragon's clutches."
Edward divined that his intentions were helpful. He himself was too fully charged with emotion to take up the task of explaining their adventures in English. He was content to walk quietly between his two new friends, glad of their protection, even ready for the moment to overlook the impudent defense of the priest. The other monk had slipped away during their colloquy and had made good use of the few minutes thus gained, for the little party, when they arrived, found the front gate opened and their host prepared with a kettle to pour out more tea for his visitors.
"No, we must release the beleaguered damsel first," said the Englishman. "Where is she?"
The older monk, understanding his gestures, led the way to the door behind which Nancy was confined. It had been unbolted too and plausibly confirmed the monk's tale.