It was the city rising up about his cars in rejoicing
and triumph. And it put in his heart a cold, impassive anger. He sensed
an impending doom, and yet he was not afraid. He was no longer chained
by dreams, no more restrained by self. Before his eyes, beating,
beating, beating, he saw that tremulous heart in Miriam Kirkstone's
soft, white throat.
He came to Shan Tung's. Beyond the softly curtained windows it was a
yellow glare of light. He entered and met the flow of life, the murmur
of voices and laughter, the tinkle of glasses, the scent of cigarette
smoke, and the fainter perfume of incense. And where he had seen him
last, as though he had not moved since that hour nine days ago, still
with his cigarette, still sphinx-like, narrow-eyed, watchful, stood Li
King.
Keith walked straight to him. And this time, as he approached, Li King
greeted him with a quick and subtle smile. He nipped his cigarette to
the tiled floor. He was bowing, gracious. Tonight he was not stupid.
"I have come to see Shan Tung," said Keith.
He had half expected to be refused, in which event he was prepared to
use his prerogative as an officer of the law to gain his point. But Li
King did not hesitate.
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