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 language, but yet I work for a few cash under the goldsmith's lamp. Sin Cheong is a hard master, The big man, your friend—"

"Go on," said Scarlett. "What of him? Borkman is no friend."

The thick-lidded eyes gave their first gleam of interest. The Chinaman sat up, fearlessly.

"Good. I hate him. He is a bad man. See now, here is the story. Many months, two rains ago, this big Bolkoman and Sin Cheong, my master, they were secretly partners. Your wisdom foreknows that the Phai-lin mines bring forth no good rubies, but chips and small rubbish. Very true: but one mine at Phai-lin of late gave birth to five, six of good size and value. No man knew this. Why? Because the coolies stole them secretly. My master and Bolkoman, they bought them all. With these hands I cut them, and Bolkoman took them forth of Siam and sold. Then one