him, a man I knew for The Whistler started up from his chair, his beefy face twitching.
“The Prince of Hunters is welcome,” Chang said, and added something in Chinese to the man-eater who held me.
The man-eater set me down on my feet, and turned to shut the door on my pursuers.
The Whistler sat down again, his red-veined eyes shifty on me, his bloated face empty of enjoyment.
I tucked my gun inside my clothes before I started across the room toward Chang. And crossing the room, I noticed something.
Behind The Whistler’s chair the velvet hangings bulged just the least bit, not enough to have been noticed by anyone who hadn’t seen them bulge before. So Chang didn’t trust his confederate at all!