"No hab got. Look see!" he mouthed in pretended anger.
He slapped his bare chest violently; he uncovered his very ribs, all
astir with the panting of outraged virtue; his smooth stomach heaved
with indignation. He started his wide blue breeches flapping about his
yellow calves. Heyst watched him quietly.
"I never said you had it on you," he observed, without raising his
voice; "but the revolver is gone from where I kept it."
"Me no savee levolvel," Wang said obstinately.
The book lying open on Heyst's knee slipped suddenly and he made a
sharp movement to catch it up. Wang was unable to see the reason of
this because of the table, and leaped away from what seemed to him a
threatening symptom. When Heyst looked up, the Chinaman was already at
the door facing the room, not frightened, but alert.
"What's the matter?" asked Heyst.
Wang nodded his shaven head significantly at the curtain closing the
doorway of the bedroom.
"Me no likee," he repeated.
"What the devil do you mean?" Heyst was genuinely amazed. "Don't like
what?"
Wang pointed a long lemon-coloured finger at the motionless folds.
"Two," he said.
"Two what? I don't understand."
"Suppose you savee, you no like that fashion. Me savee plenty. Me go
now."
Heyst had risen from his chair, but Wang kept his ground in the doorway
for a little longer.
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