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On the sidewalk outside the window lay the remnants of the bag of pepper, a knife broken short off at the handle, a heavy bar of soft iron slightly bent, and a partially emptied forty-four-caliber revolver. Quong's suit of mail had effectually protected him from the knife thrust and the revolver shots, but his skull was crushed beyond repair.
The voice of somebody at the guardhouse, bawling orders, came out of the receiver as he tossed the phone forward over Harry Quong's shoulder; Quong caught it and began speaking rapidly and urgently into it while he steered with the other hand. Von Schlichten took one of the five-pound spiked riot-maces out of the rack in front of him.
Seemingly they regarded the story much as they did that of Elisha and the bears or Bel and the dragon as a sort of apocryphal narrative which they were required to listen to, but in no wise bound to believe. They were much interested in Quong's suit of chain mail, however, and from time to time awoke to enjoy the various verbal encounters between the judge and Mr. Tutt.
As he stood there with his right hand upon the knob and facing the afternoon sun four shadows fell aslant the window and a man whom he positively identified as Sui Sing emptied a bag of powder afterward proved to be red pepper upon Quong's face; then another, Long Get, made a thrust at him with a knife, the effect of which he did not observe, as almost at the same instant Mock Hen felled him with a blow upon the head with an iron bar, while a fourth, Mock Ding, fired four shots at his crumpling body with a revolver one of which glanced off and fractured a very costly Chien Lung vase and ruined four boxes of mandarin-blossom tea.
"Over at Ah Quong's, the Chinee store on the edge of town." The boy ran off. Old Jim Hutch rose impressively to his feet. "Friends, the man ye hae laughed at all day is dead. The man ye hae always laughed at and yet, WHO was it that lent ye gold when ye had none? Yea, the gold ye thought it not worth ye'r while to return.
"Hello, Quong!" he called, interposing himself. "Where you goin'?" Quong paused with a deprecating gesture of widely spread open palms. "'Lo yourself!" replied blandly. "Me go buy li'l' glocery." Mooney ran his hands over the rotund body, frisking him for a possible forty-four. "For the love of Mike!" he exclaimed, tearing open Quong's blouse. "What sort of an undershirt is that?"
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