"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. His almond-shaped eyes imparted to his face an expression of soft and sentimental melancholy. The muscles of his throat moved visibly while he uttered a distinct and guttural "Goodbye" and vanished from Number One's sight.
The Chinaman's departure altered the situation. Heyst reflected on what would be best to do in view of that fact. For a long time he hesitated; then, shrugging his shoulders wearily, he walked out on the veranda, down the steps, and continued at a steady gait, with a thoughtful mien, in the direction of his guests' bungalow. He wanted to make an important communication to them, and he had no other object — least of all to give them the shock of a surprise call. Nevertheless, their brutish henchman not being on watch, it was Heyst's fate to startle Mr. Jones and his secretary by his sudden appearance in the doorway. Their conversation must have been very interesting to prevent them from hearing the visitor's approach. In the dim room — the shutters were kept constantly closed against the heat — Heyst saw them start apart. It was Mr. Jones who spoke:
"Ah, here you are again! Come in, come in!"
Heyst, taking his hat off in the doorway, entered the room.