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“We landed late to-day,” replied Drew. “Everything is certainly O. K. You’ll see plenty of lights here from now on.”
He stood on the threshold, chatting gaily with the patrolman. Hung Chin-chung came into the library where I sat, and taking up a log stooped to put it on the fire. The flicker of light played on his face, old, lined, yellow like a lemon left too long in the ice-chest, and glinted in those dark inscrutable little eyes.
Drew sent Riley on his way with a genial word and returned to the library. Hung stood awaiting him, evidently about to speak.
“Yes, yes—what is it?” Drew asked.
“With your permission,” said Hung, “I will go to my room.”
“All right,” Drew answered. “But be back here in half an hour. You’re to serve dinner, you know.”
“I will serve it,” said Hung, and went noiselessly out.
