Bearing his bag upon his shoulder he went down into
the tunnel.
"Reclose the door, Ah Fung," he said softly; "and be watchful."
As the boy replaced the stone trap, Sin Sin Wa struck a match. Then,
having the lighted match held in one hand and carrying the bag in the
other, he crept along the low passage to the door of the cache.
Dropping the smouldering match-end, he opened the door and entered
that secret warehouse for which so many people were seeking.
Seated in a cane chair by the oil-stove was the shrivelled figure of
Sam Tuk, his bald head lolling sideways so that his big horn-rimmed
spectacles resembled a figure 8. On the counter was set a ship's
lantern. As Sin Sin Wa came in Sam Tuk slowly raised his head.
No greetings were exchanged, but Sin Sin Wa untied the neck of his
kit-bag and drew out a large wicker cage. Thereupon: "Hello! hello!"
remarked the occupant drowsily. "Number one p'lice chop lo! Sin Sin
Wa--Sin Sin. . . ."
"Come, my Tling-a-Ling," crooned Sin Sin Wa.
He opened the front of the cage and out stepped the raven onto his
wrist. Sin Sin Wa raised his arm and Tling-a-Ling settled himself
contentedly upon his master's shoulder.
Placing the empty cage on the counter. Sin Sin Wa plunged his hand
down into the bag and drew out the gleaming wooden joss.
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