He saw tapestries move. Before
his eyes a panel became a door. There was a clicking, a stir as of
gowns, soft footsteps, a movement in the air. Out of the panel doorway
came a Chinaman with a cloth, napkins, and chinaware. Behind him
followed a second with tea-urn and a bowl, and with the suddenness of
an apparition, without sound or movement, a third was standing at
Keith's side. And still there was rustling behind, still there was the
whispering beat of life, and Keith knew that there were others. He did
not flinch, but smiled back at Shan Tung. A minute, no more, and the
soft-footed yellow men had performed their errands and were gone.
"Quick service," he acknowledged. "VERY quick service. Shan Tung! But I
have my hand on something that is quicker!"
Suddenly Shan Tung leaned over the table. "John Keith, you are a fool
if you came here with murder in your heart," he said. "Let us be
friends. It is best. Let us be friends."
XXI
It was as if with a swiftness invisible to the eye a mask had dropped
from Shan Tung's face. Keith, preparing to fight, urging himself on to
the step which he believed he must take, was amazed. Shan Tung was
earnest. There was more than earnestness in his eyes, an anxiety, a
frankly revealed hope that Keith would meet him halfway.
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