"So fashion, eh? All velly
proper."
He calmly inserted the bodkin in the second cake; seemed to meet with
some obstruction, and laid the ball down upon the counter. From
beneath his jacket he took out a clasp-knife attached to a steel
chain. Undeterred by a savage roar from the purveyor, he cut the
sticky mass in half, and digging his long nails into one of the
halves, brought out two lead shots. He directed a glance of his beady
eye upon the man.
"Bloody liar," he murmured sweetly. "Lobber."
"Who's a robber?" shouted George, his face flushing darkly, and
apparently not resenting the earlier innuendo; "Who's a robber?"
"One sarcee Smyrna feller packee stuff so fashion," murmured Sin Sin
Wa. "Thief-feller lobbee poor sailorman."
George jerked his peaked cap from his head, revealing a tangle of
unkempt red hair. He scratched his skull with savage vigor.
"Blimey!" he said pathetically. "'Ere's a go! I been done brown,
guv'nor."
"Lough luck," murmured Sin Sin Wa, and resumed his examination of the
cakes of opium.
The man watched him now in silence, only broken by exclamations of
"Blimey" and "Flaming hell" when more shot was discovered. The tests
concluded:
"Gotchee some more?" asked Sin Sin Wa.
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