efore.

"My never come buy," said the wireless man curtly. "Wanchee you come
help; savvy?"

"Mebbe can do," asserted Lo Ong, in the voice and manner of one
incessantly pursued by favor-seekers. Lo Ong's draped arm, as if it
were detached from his body and governed by some extraneous mechanism,
indicated a mat. Moore slipped down in the familiar cross-legged
attitude, lighted a cigarette and blew the smoke at the belly on the
dong.

"You Wanchee cumshaw?" demanded the Chinese, uneasily.

Peter Moore disdained to reply, extracted the two lumps of paper, slid
one under his knee and unfolded the other, while Lo Ong looked
unfavorably beyond him at the door. Three rows of Chinese markings
were scrawled down it. Lo Ong's body commenced to sway back and forth
in impatient rhythm.

"Lo Ong," stated Moore, "my wanchee you keep mouth shut--allatime
shut--you savvy?"

"Can do," murmured Lo Ong indifferently. He reached for the rice
paper, lifting it tenderly in long, clawing fingers, and held it to the
flame. He seemed not to believe what he read, for he twisted the paper
over, looked at it upside down, then sat down again, his lean fingers
convulsing.

"No can do," he muttered, replacing the paper on his visitor's knee.
"Mino savvy."

The white forefinger of the wireless operator pointed unwaveringly at
the flattened nose. "Read that," he ordered.

Lo Ong glanced the other way, as if the subject had ceased to interest
him, and tapped the floor with his knuckles.

"Wanchee money--cumshaw?"

"Lo Ong," declared Moore, losing his patience, "you b'long dead. Now
savvy?"

"Mebbe can do," said Lo Ong faintly.

Moore ran his fingers down the first row of fresh markings.

"O-o-ey," commented Lo Ong, shifting uneasily, "'My see you allatime,
long ago on ship.' Savvy?"

"What's next?"

"'You no see my. My see you allatime.'"

The long, sloping shoulders seemed to jerk. "Keep away. Savvy?"

"It says that?"

"Take look see," invited Lo Ong, poking his claw nervously down the
column. "'Keep away. Keep away.' One--two times. Savvy?"

Peter Moore nodded thoughtfully.

The Chinese, officially dead, replaced the sheet gingerly on his knees,
as if it were an instrument of wickedness. His bony fingers twitched a
moment.

"High lady," he added nervously; "velly high lady. You stay away.
Huh?"

"Wait a minute." Peter extracted the other paper ball, unfolding it
near the orange flame. The inner sur