We thought we would follow him up."
How much Ching Po understood of plain English, I do not know. One always
conversed with him in the pidgin variety. But he certainly looked at
peace with the world: much as the devil must have looked, gazing at
Pompeii in the year '79.
"You can do your resenting somewheres else," snapped Stires. "Both of
you."
"I go," murmured Ching Po. He stepped delicately towards the door.
"No, you don't!" Follet's foot shot out to trip him. But the Chinaman
melted past the crude interruption.
"I go," he repeated, with ineffable sadness, from the threshold.
The thing was utterly beyond me. I stood stock-still. The two men,
Follet and Stires, faced each other for an instant. Then Follet swung
round and dashed after Ching Po. I saw him clutch the loose black sleeve
and murmur in the flat ear.
Stires seemed to relent towards me now that Follet was gone. "Let 'em
alone," he grunted. "The Chink won't do anything but tell him a few
things. And like as not, he knows 'em already, the--" The word indicated
his passionate opinion of Follet.
"I was called in by Madame Mauer," I explained weakly. "Ching Po wouldn't
leave the road in front of her compound. And--Miss Eva was inside,
having hysterics. Ching Po had been with her earlier.
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