“Stay—one moment. We part friends?”
He extended his hand which Maurice took.
“Certainly. There is no reason why we should not. I can’t help being a Yankee anymore than you a—well, whatever you are. Come and join us at dinner. We are in the last room of the north wing, and have as fine a Chinese cook as Cambodia can afford.”
“I should be most happy, but it will be quite impossible. Frankly, gentlemen, I am something of a Buddhist. My visit to the Nagkon Wat is for a religious purpose which renders it necessary for me to fast.”
“In which case we shall have to excuse you,” said Maurice lightly. “At all events promise to see us before you leave.”
“I promise that. You shall certainly see me.”
“When?”
“That is more than I can say. Hark! Do I hear someone singing? Gentlemen, I must leave you. As you may easily imagine, my peculiar deformity,” he pronounced the word with an emphasis almost sarcastic, “makes me shy of strangers. Good day.”
Yes, there was some one coming, we could hear the sound of footsteps ascending the stone stairs within the tower, and a rich baritone voice singing—not an ode to the sun god this time, though certainly something akin to it—the good old fisherman’s chorus from Auber’s pleasing, but well-nigh forgotten, opera, Masaniello.
“More visitors!” cried Mauii
“Evidently, and I am off. I cannot meet them,” said Mr. Mirrikh.
Waving his hand politely, he drew back through the doorway, disappearing in the dark shadow beyond.
“Why, the man will run right into this newcomer, whoever he is,” cried Maurice. He started to follow, but I caught his arm and drew him back.
“Don’t,” I whispered. “Whoever he is, or whatever he is, he is certainly a gentleman. Respect his wishes and let him go.”
“Bother!” said Maurice, pulling himself away. “He called me a Yankee, let me show him I’ve got my share of Yankee curiosity. Come on George, I intend to find out where he goes.”
And he stepped through the door, leaving me to follow or not, as I pleased.
