"I shall try the heathen Chinee," he whispered. So we felt our way to
the door and tapped three times, very softly, on the centre panel. To
the Oriental mind those taps spell bribery, but the door remained
shut.
"What have you been thinking about?" said Ajax, after another silence.
"My God--don't ask me."
"Brace up!" said my brother. I confess that he has steadier nerves
than mine, but then, you see, he has not my imagination. I put my hand
into his, and the grip he gave me was reassuring. I reflected that men
built upon the lines of Ajax are not easily knocked on the head.
"It's a tight place," he continued. "But we've been in tight places
before, although none that smells as close as this infernal hole. Now
listen: I'm prepared to lay odds that The Babe is not an opium fiend
at all, and has never been near this den. He wrote that letter at the
saloon, didn't he? And ten to one he borrowed the paper from the bar-
tender. That's why it smelled of opium. The handwriting was very
shaky. Why? because The Babe was only half alive after a prolonged
spree. That accounted for the tone of the letter.
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