"I'd had one or two, mate," he confided huskily (the confession
was unnecessary). "It was them two in the Blue Anchor as did it;
if I 'adn't 'ad them last two, I could 'ave broke up them Chinks
with one 'and tied behind me."
"That's all right," I said hastily, "but what are we going to do
about this Chink here?" I added, endeavouring at the same time to
extricate my hand from the vise-like grip in which he
persistently held it. "He hit the tiles pretty heavy when he
went down."
As if to settle my doubts, the recumbent figure suddenly arose
and without a word fled into the darkness and was gone like a
phantom. My new friend made no attempt to follow, but:
"You can't kill a bloody Chink," he confided, still clutching my
hand; "it ain't 'umanly possible. It's easier to kill a cat.
Come along o' me and 'ave one; then I'll tell you somethink.
I'll put you on somethink, I will."
With surprising steadiness of gait, considering the liquid cargo
he had aboard, the man, releasing my hand and now seizing me
firmly by the arm, confidently led me by divers narrow ways,
which I knew, to a little beerhouse frequented by persons of his
class.
My own attire was such as to excite no suspicion in these
surroundings, and although I considered that my acquaintance had
imbibed more than enough for one night, I let him have his own
way in order that I might learn the story which he seemed
disposed to confide in me.
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