"Of course, I think I know. Do you really want to tear the place up,
looking for her?"
"It's not that!" he shouted. "If it had been, every one would have known
it long since. Ching Po got it out of old Dubois. I shook Dubois out of
his opium long enough to confirm it. I had to threaten him.--Ching Po's
a dirty beast, but, according to the old man he told the truth. Ching Po
did want to marry her once. She wouldn't, of course, and he's just been
waiting to spike her guns. When he found out she really wanted that
impossible Yankee, he said he'd tell. She had hysterics. He waited for
her outside the Mauers', hoping, I suppose, it would work out another
way. When we appeared, he decided to get his work in. He probably
thought she had sent for us. And he was determined no one should stop
him from telling. Now do you see? Come on." He pulled at my arm.
"In heaven's name, man, _what_ did he tell?" I almost shrieked.
"Just the one thing you Yankees can't stand," Follet sneered. "A touch
of the tar-brush. She wasn't altogether French, you see. Old Dubois
knows her pedigree. Her grandmother was a mulatto, over Penang way. She
knew how Stires felt on the subject--a damn, dirty ship-chandler no
self-respecting officer deals with--"
"None of that!" I said sharply.
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