Wu took his time before he returned blandly, "Would you mind repeating your question?"
"I think you heard it plainly enough."
"Quite plainly, thank you—quite. Most audible. But I thought you would perhaps welcome the opportunity of expressing yourself a little more politely."
"I'm not out for a ceremonious talk," Gregory blurted. "You'll notice there's none of your customary tea on the table—no whiskey and soda either—no cigars." He was too good a business man not to know that, young as the interview was, he was losing ground already, but he was not skilful enough, and far too overwrought, to conceal the anger he felt at the unwelcome knowledge.
"Thank you," Wu replied lazily, and with nice good humor, "I do not smoke"—that was not quite true. He smoked a water-pipe at home. He had smoked so with Nang Ping a thousand times. "I never drink whiskey, and I am degraded enough to prefer tea made in our Chinese way. However, I have perceived, as you say, that this is not—a ceremonious occasion."
"Meanwhile," Gregory snapped, "I'd like an answer to my question."
"Which was" the Chinese asked gently, but there was a narrow glint of contemptuous laughter in his eyes.
"My question," Gregory almost thundered, "was—'what the hell are you up to, Mr. Wu?'"
"Pray be a little more explicit," Wu said coldly.
"I have every intention of being so," was the sharp reply. "Now, please listen to me very carefully."
"I am all attention." A very stupid listener might have thought the smoothness of the mandarin's voice meekness. Gregory did not make that mistake.
