“There was no particular need,” the Chinese was still talking, “for this chap to have seen any of us.” He looked at me now for the first time, with little opaque eyes that were like two black seeds. “It’s quite possible that he didn’t know any of us, even by description. This showing ourselves to him is the most arrant sort of nonsense.”
“Aw, hell, Tai!” Hook blustered. “Quit your bellyaching, will you? What’s the diff? I’ll knock him off, and that takes care of that!”
The Chinese set down his tan bag and shook his head.
“There will be no killing,” he drawled, “or there will be quite a bit of killing. You don’t mistake my meaning, do you, Hook?”
Hook didn’t. His Adam’s apple ran up and down with the effort of his swallowing, and behind the cushion that was choking me, I thanked the yellow man again.
Then this red-haired she-devil put her spoon in the dish.
“Hook’s always offering to do things that he has no intention of doing,” she told the Chinese.
Hook’s ugly face blazed red at this reminder of his promise to get the Chinese, and he swallowed again, and his eyes looked as if nothing would have suited him better than an opportunity to crawl under something. But the girl had him; her influence was stronger than his cowardice.
He suddenly stepped close to the Chinese, and from his advantage of a full head in height scowled down into the round yellow face that was as expressionless as a clock without hands.
“Tai,” the ugly man snarled; “you’re done. I’m sick and tired of all this dog you put on—acting like you was a king or something. I’ve took all the lip I’m going to take from a Chink! I’m going to—”