Hankinson began to whimper.
"Yer've trapped me!" he whined. "Yer meanin' to 'and me over! Yer'd a deal better 'ave let me lie where I was. An' yer've done somethink to me, an' all — I can't move."
"That," replied the Chinaman, "is the effect of a medicine with which I have treated you. Rest awhile and the effect will pass off. I am not going to hand you over to the police. You are quite safe — quite safe, I repeat — so long as you do what I tell you."
Hankinson stared. He was suspicious as ever, but there was a calm, confident assurance about the Chinaman which went far to allay suspicion. And suddenly his eyes brightened and his voice lost its whine and became almost cheery.
"You see me right, guv'nor. an' I'll make it all right wiv you," he said insinuatingly. " 'Struth, I 'adn't no intentions o' finishin' the old man! An' wotever you likes out o' that little lot, it's yours."
The Chinaman pushed the table out of sight again.
"We can discuss that matter later on," he said. "At present you must take some food, and after that you must sleep until evening, and then we will see about getting you away."
Hankinson's small eyes looked a sharp inquiry.
"Strite?" he asked. "No fetchin' the perlice in while I'm — here?"
"You can trust me," answered the Chinaman. "It would not suit me to have police in my house. I have my own affairs."
That reassured Hankinson. He set down his host as being one of his own kidney. And presently he ate the soup — good, rich soup with strength in it — which the Chinaman brought him, and after that he went to sleep quite calmly…
III
When Hankinson woke again there were two Chinamen in the room with him. One was the big man of the previous interview; the other, also garbed in Chinese dress, was a younger man of about his own size and weight — an almond-eyed, stolid-faced fellow who was regarding Hankinson with an inscrutable expression on his immobile features. The big man was talking to the small one in gibberish which Hankinson did not understand. Catching sight of Hankinson's opening eyes, he broke off the conversation.
"You are quite better now," he said, not questioningly, but in positive assertion. "You — now you may get up. There is food and drink ready for you in the next room. Come this way."
Hankinson got up and stretched himself. Certainly he was all right then — not a trace of injury remained in him. And with this realization of recovery a desire for action came upon him. He wanted to be out of that. Instinctively he looked round for the little table on which his loot had been laid out. But the little table was not there.
"In the next room," said the big Chinaman with a grin. "Come."
Hankinson followed the two men into a plainly furnished apartment, which evidently did duty as living-room and kitchen. There was a table set out in English fashion.
Hankinson was motioned to seat himself. The smaller Chinaman sat down in a corner and stared at him; the big one served him with hot roast fowl.
Never had Hankinson eaten such tender food in his life. And he gave him bottled stout to drink. It seemed to Hankinson that he had never tasted such nectar. He stuffed himself, he guzzled freely, wondering all the time what it all meant. And when at last he could eat and drink no longer, he shoved away his plate and looked his host full in the face with half-impudent inquiry. For Hankinson was very sure that the big Chinaman was not playing the Good Samaritan for nothing; he would want his fee, like everybody else.
"An' now what, guv'nor?" asked Hankinson familiarly. "If it's all the same to you, yer know, I should like to 'op it. I dessay it's all right, but this 'ere neighborhood ain't what you'd call healthy, is it, now?"
The big Chinaman, who had taken a seat by his compatriot during the final stages of Hankinson's repast, produced an evening newspaper and laid it before the guest.
His long, tapering fingers indicated bold headlines and other uncomfortable things about midnight murder and burglary. Hankinson's pale cheeks grew paler as he read.
"Yer said as 'ow yer could get me away?" he muttered at last. "An' I said as 'ow yer was welcome to what yer liked to take out o' what I got — eh? How's it to be, guv'nor?"
"I can get you away," answered the Chinaman. "But — it will have to be out of England."
"Out of — England!" exclaimed Hankinson. "'Struth! W'y, I ain't never been out of England. I don't know no lingo but English. Where would it be now, guv'nor? Not — not to where you come from, would it? 'Cause I understand that's a longish way off."
The big Chinaman leaned forward as if to attract strict attention.
"Now listen," he said. "There is a Chinese ship in the river, lying off Wapping, which sails tonight for Amsterdam. Her captain will take you, on my recommendation, to Amsterdam. And in Amsterdam you can sell your — diamonds. When you have sold your diamonds you can take ship to America — or wherever you please to go."
Hankinson silently ran over his inventory of the stolen goods.
"Diamonds, eh?" he said musingly. "There ate other things than diamonds, yer know."
"I have estimated the value of what was on you," said the Chinaman gravely. "The diamonds are worth about two thousand pounds. You will get one-third of their value in Amsterdam. The other things are worth about four or five hundred pounds. You can leave those with me — my share."
"Done!" exclaimed Hankinson. "But, how am I to get down to that there ship?" he asked anxiously. "Seems ter me as 'ow there'll be a pretty sharp look-out for me, guv'nor, an' no error I How's it to be done?"
The big Chinaman motioned to the smaller one.
"This gentleman," he said, "will lend you some garments. You will go down dressed as a Chinaman, after dark. I will prepare you — make you up with a little paint and other matters. And we will begin now — time presses."
Hankinson cheerfully submitted to the proposed transformation. He stripped to his underclothing. He put on Chinese trousers and soft-soled Chinese boots; he was fitted with upper garments which amused him by their strangeness and comforted him with their silky feeling. And then he sat down, and the big Chinaman produced a box of colored pigments and delicate brushes, and set to work on Hankinson's head and face. He worked with the zest of a true artist, and the other Chinaman stood by and admired without moving a muscle of his features.
At the end of half an hour Hankinson was bidden to look in a mirror, and he stood up and looked and stared. It did not amaze him that he did not know himself; what astonished him was that the craftsman's cunning had transformed him into the double of the other Chinaman! The big man, with a sly smile, had twisted his compatriot round so that he stood side by side with Hankinson, facing the mirror — and Hankinson gasped as he gazed at the two yellow faces.
"Gawd!" he said. "Why — it's 'im!"
The big Chinaman allowed himself to laugh. He put a few finishing touches to his work, adjusted the cap and false pigtail, finally produced a truly Chinese umbrella. And then, in short, plain fashion, he gave Hankinson his instructions. He was to make his way to a certain wharf in the neighborhood of London Docks; there he would be met by a boat's crew and taken on board the Chinese vessel. In his progress through the streets he was to preserve a sober, grave demeanor — above everything, he was not to hold converse with anyone, especially a policeman; if anybody accosted him, he was to smile blandly and shake his head.
"Right, guv'nor!" said Hankinson. "I'm on — mum's the word. Now them shiners?"
The big man produced a small bag, open at the mouth. Within it Hankinson saw gleams of sparkling fire. He made haste to stow it away in the pocket wherein he had already put his money. Then he gave the big man a firm look.