had thought him a servant. Now he realized that it was Cha Wing-sun, the banker, himself. Fletcher had seen Cha the day of the banquet, five years before, but on that occasion the Chinese financier had been gorgeous in the finery that such a celebration demanded. In the wearing of shabby serge this evening, Cha was subtly showing that he expected to deal not with an equal, but with an inferior, in the meeting with Mazzino. Cha had already gained an impression of the Count's essential roguery, Fletcher thought.
The American made an appropriate reply and introduced the ship-owner. Tsang Ah-bou, Fletcher was careful to ignore. The small detective at once dropped to the background and squatted on his heels, coolie-fashion. The financier paid no heed to Tsang, for he was accustomed to the presence of servants, surrounding the persons of his friends, a part and parcel of life in that casual land.
Cha clapped his thin hands together. A servant, clad in immaculate white grass-cloth, appeared. Tea was ordered. As it appeared, the Count drank thirstily. Fletcher and the host refrained, since to touch it would have signalized the end instead of the beginning of an interview. The act of drinking was done so spontaneously that Fletcher's last remaining doubt of the Latin's lack of familiarity with China vanished.
Cha then directed his two visitors to an octagonal kiosk of lacquered wood which was built out over the pool. The three seated themselves on high Chinese redwood chairs, fluted and carved in the pattern Chippendale copied so extensively in England. Cha turned an inquiring face to Fletcher. Fletcher looked quizzically at the Count.
The ship-owner said softly: "Eh, we begin? Ver' well. Fletch'r, you will tell dis man, firs', dat we are leaving for Shanghai tonight, jus' as soon as dis talk is ov'r. Tell him dat I'm littl' uneasy about dat funny fellow who came dis afternoon about arms, dat I wan' get away. So you no make too much talk An' you, Fletch'r, you tell 'im exactly w'at I say, or" Casually, he patted the pocket of the white drill coat. "You un'erstan'?"
"So far, yes," Fletcher answered, angered by the threat.
His voice, in turn, angered the small Latin, for the Count raised his voice, to say:
"Perbacco! You had bett'r un’erstan'! I kill a man for bein' stupid jus' as quick as for bein' trraitor to me! I have come to get de money w'ich is to be use' in Shanghai to buy over garrison of Chinese city to Revolutionists. Dis Cha knows how much; we sent him telegram yesterday. Tell him to bring out money quick"
"Oh, see here," Fletcher interrupted sharply, beginning to comprehend the Count's scheme, "I'll tell Cha all that, but you're wasting your time. Why should this banker entrust money to us? He knows that you’re a gun-runner"
Abruptly Fletcher halted, for a smile of sheer malignity had overspread the ship-owner's face.
"Ah, but dat, mos' worthy Fletch'r, dat is w'ere you ent'r de picture. Dat is w'y I have spare your life so far an' bring you along up here. You are goin' to guarantee dis money! As manager of your large an' mos' wealthy chains of banks all over China! Dis Chinese will advance money mos' willingly, for if it should be los' an' nev'r reach Shanghai, you will repay him from your grreat bank vaults! Is not dat nice littl' plan?"
Fletcher could feel fires of anger beginning to burn within him, but he tried to hold it under control. "And if I do guarantee repayment, how much are you to take away, tonight?"
