After driving away Pedro, and watching the white
helmets of Heyst and Lena vanishing among the bushes he stood lost in
meditation.
"Where could they be off to like this?" he mentally asked himself.
The answer found by his speculative faculties on their utmost stretch
was--to meet that Chink. For in the desertion of Wang Ricardo did not
believe. It was a lying yarn, the organic part of a dangerous plot.
Heyst had gone to combine some fresh move. But then Ricardo felt sure
that the girl was with him--the girl full of pluck, full of sense, full
of understanding; an ally of his own kind!
He went indoors briskly. Mr. Jones had resumed his cross-legged pose at
the head of the bed, with his back against the wall.
"Anything new?"
"No, sir."
Ricardo walked about the room as if he had no care in the world. He
hummed snatches of song. Mr. Jones raised his waspish eyebrows, at the
sound. The secretary got down on his knees before an old leather trunk,
and, rummaging in there, brought out a small looking-glass. He fell to
examining his physiognomy in it with silent absorption.
"I think I'll shave," he decided, getting up.
He gave a sidelong glance to the governor, and repeated it several times
during the operation, which did not take long, and even afterwards, when
after putting away the implements, he resumed his walking, humming more
snatches of unknown songs.
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