"She
will come to your house only to cheat you."
Sin Sin Wa repeated the eloquent shrug.
"We have a saying in Ho-Nan, most honorable sir," he answered, "and it
is this: 'He who has tasted the poppy-cup has nothing to ask of love.'
She will cook for me, this little one, and stroke my brow when I am
weary, and light my pipe. My eye will rest upon her with pleasure. It
is all I ask."
There came a soft rapping on the outer door--three raps, a pause, and
then two raps. The raven opened his beady eye.
"Sin Sin Wa," he croaked, "number one p'lice chop, lo!"
Sin Sin Wa glanced aside at Sir Lucien.
"The traffic. A consignment of opium," he said. "Sam Tuk calls."
Sir Lucien consulted his watch, and:
"I should like to go with you, Sin Sin Wa," he said. "Would it be
safe to leave the house--with the upper door unlocked?"
Sin Sin Wa glanced at him again.
"All are sleeping, most honorable sir?"
"All."
"I will lock the room above and the outer door. It is safe."
He raised a yellow hand, and the raven stepped sedately from his
shoulder on to his wrist.
"Come, Tling-a-Ling," crooned Sin Sin Wa, "you go to bed, my little
black friend, and one day you, too, shall see the paddy-fields of
Ho-Nan."
Opening the useful cupboard, he stooped, and in hopped the raven.
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