"All right. But, gee! I won't be able to go with you."

"If we have any luck, I'll see you get a share."

"That's white. You were always a white man, Dick. I feel like a skunk. I
knew I couldn't put it over, with the three of you at my elbow. What the
devil got into me?"

"Any funds?"

"Enough to get me down to Singapore. Where do you want me to hang out?"

"Suit yourself. You're out of this play--and it's my last."

"You're quitting the big game?"

"Yes. What's left of my schedule I'm going to run out on my own. So we
probably won't meet again for a long time, Morrissy. Here's a couple of
hundred to add to your store. If we find the beads I'll send your share
wherever you say."

"Might as well be Naples. They're off me in the States."

"All right. Cook's or the American Express?"

"Address me the Milan direct."

Cunningham nodded.

"Well, good-bye."

"Good-bye, Dick. I'm sorry I gummed it up."

"I thought you'd be. Good-bye."

But as Cunningham passed from sight, the man on the cot smiled ironically
at the sun-splashed ceiling. A narrow squeak, but he had come through.

Cunningham, grateful for the sunshine, limped off toward Woosung Road,
grotesquely but incredibly fast for a man with only one sound leg. He
never used a cane, having the odd fancy that a stick would only emphasize
his affliction. He might have taken a 'ricksha this morning, but he never
thought of it until he had crossed Soochow Creek.