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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/28780-8.txt b/28780-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..619b426 --- /dev/null +++ b/28780-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,12508 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Peter the Brazen, by George F. Worts + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Peter the Brazen + A Mystery Story of Modern China + +Author: George F. Worts + +Illustrator: Gayle Hoskins + +Release Date: May 12, 2009 [EBook #28780] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PETER THE BRAZEN *** + + + + +Produced by Al Haines + + + + + + + + + + +[Transcriber's note: Characters with macrons have been indicated in +this file by preceding them with an equals sign and surrounding them +with square brackets, e.g. "[=e]".] + + + + + +[Frontispiece: PETER, HASTILY INSTRUCTING THE GIRL TO HOLD TWO +RICKSHAWS, LEAPED AT HIS PURSUER WITH DOUBLED FISTS] + + + + +PETER THE BRAZEN + + +A MYSTERY STORY OF MODERN CHINA + + + +BY + +GEORGE F. WORTS + + + + "A man whose heart is burning with passion + follows the undulations of a thought." + --Su-Tong-Po. + + + + + _WITH A FRONTISPIECE BY_ + GAYLE HOSKINS + + + + + +PHILADELPHIA & LONDON + +J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY + +1919 + + + + +COPYRIGHT, 1918, BY THE FRANK A. MUNSEY COMPANY + +COPYRIGHT, 1919, J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY + + + + +TO + +DR. AND MRS. W. B. A. MOORE + +HONG KONG + + + + +CONTENTS + + +PART I + +THE CITY OF STOLEN LIVES + + +PART II + +THE BITTER FOUNTAIN + + +PART III + +THE GREEN DEATH + + + + +PETER THE BRAZEN + + +PART I + +THE CITY OF STOLEN LIVES + + +CHAPTER I + + "How serene the joy, + when things that are made for each other meet + and are joined; + but ah,-- + how rarely they meet and are joined, the things + that are made for each other!" + --SAO-NAN. + + +When Peter Moore entered the static-room, picked his way swiftly and +unnoticingly across the littered floor, and jerked open the frosted +glass door of the chief operator's office, the assembled operators +followed him with glances of admiration and concern. No one ever +entered the Chief's office in that fashion. One waited until called +upon. + +But Moore was privileged. Having "pounded brass" for five useful and +adventurous years on the worst and best of the ships which minimize the +length and breadth of the Pacific Ocean, he was favored; he had become +a person of importance. He had performed magical feats with a wireless +machine; he had had experiences. + +His first assignment was a fishing schooner, a dirty, unseaworthy +little tub, which ran as far north sometimes as the Aleutians; and he +had immediately gained official recognition by sticking to his +instruments for sixty-eight hours--recorded at fifteen-minute intervals +in his log--when the whaler _Goblin_ encountered a submerged pinnacle +rock in the Island Passage and flashed the old C.Q.D. distress signal. + +It was brought out in the investigation that the distance at which +Peter Moore had picked up the signals of the sinking _Goblin_ exceeded +the normal working range of either apparatus. When pressed, the young +man confessed the ownership of a pair of abnormally keen ears. +Afterward, it was demonstrated for the benefit of doubters that Moore +could "read" signals in the receivers when the ordinary operator could +detect only a far away scratching sound. + +Beginning his second year in the Marconi uniform, Peter Moore was +recognized as material far too valuable to waste on the fishing boats; +and he was stationed on the _Sierra_, which was then known in wireless +circles as a supervising ship. Her powerful apparatus could project +out a long electric arm over any part of the eastern Pacific, and the +duty of her operator was to reprimand sluggards who neglected answering +calls from ship or shore stations, and inexperienced men who violated +the strict rules governing radio intercourse. + +It was whispered that Peter Moore grew tired of the nagging to which +his position on the supervisor ship gave him privilege, for he shortly +made application for a berth in the China run. Now every operator on +the Pacific cherishes the hope that his fidelity will some day be +rewarded by a China run, and there are applications always on file for +those romantic berths. The Chief granted Peter Moore his whim +unhesitatingly; and Moore selected the _Vandalia_, perhaps the most +desirable of the transpacific fleet, because she stayed away from San +Francisco the longest. + +That the supersensitiveness of his ears was not waning was soon proved +by his receipt of a non-relayed message, afterward verified, from the +shore station in Seattle, when the _Vandalia_ lay at anchor in the +harbor at Hong-Kong. That was a new record. Marconi himself is +believed to have written the young magician a complimentary letter. +But Peter Moore showed that letter to no one. That was his nature. He +was something of a mystery even to the members of his own profession. +Many of the younger operators knew him only as a symbol, a genius +behind a key, or as a hand. Professionally speaking, it was his hand +that made his personality unique and enviable. There was a queer +vitality in the signals sent into the air from a wireless machine when +his strong white fingers played upon the key; his touch was as familiar +to them as the voice of a friend. + +There was a general simmering down of coastwise gossip in the +static-room when the frosted glass door of the Chief's office closed +behind him. Voices trailed off into curious whisperings. Then-- + +"But great guns, man, I need you!" boomed the cranky voice of the Chief. + +Followed then the low hum of Peter Moore as he explained himself. + +"Makes no difference!" the Chief roared. "Can't get along without you. +Short handed. Gotta stay!" + +In irritation the Chief always abbreviated his remarks quite as if they +were radiograms to be transmitted at dollar-a-word rates. + +The truth then dawned and burst upon those ardent listeners in the +static-room. Peter Moore was resigning! It was incredible. + +A more daring head pressed its audacious ear against the snowy glass. +This was a fat, excitable little man, long in the service, but destined +forever, it seemed, to hammer brass in the Panama intermediate run. A +skillful operator, but his arm broke, as wireless men say, whenever +faced by emergency. He distinctly heard Peter Moore state in a voice +of emotion: "Too much China. God, man, I'll be smuggling opium next!" + +"Rubbish!" the Chief snorted. + +The Panama Line man waved a pale hand behind him for absolute silence. + +"Want a shore station for a while?" + +"Intend to rest up and then look around," Moore answered. + +"You'll be back. Mark my word. The sea and the wireless house is a +winning combination. The old cities--new faces--freedom----" + +"I'm tired." + +"Pah! You've only begun. When does the _Vandalia_ clear for China?" + +"Thursday night." + +"I'll hold your berth open till Thursday noon. Hoping you'd break in a +new operator. Queer chap. Glass eye. 'Member--Thursday noon." + +The frosted door went inward abruptly. The intense blue eyes in the +pale face of the man who had resigned closed half way upon encountering +the blushing eavesdropper. The Panama Line operator moved uncertainly +toward a vacant chair. Unaware of the curious stares addressed at him +Moore went to the outer door. A wave of exquisite nervousness rippled +through the silence of the static-room as the door clicked. + +When the rumor reached the _Vandalia_, lying in state at her pier, that +Peter Moore had resigned, Captain Jones, after bluntly airing his +disappointment, advanced the theory to his chief engineer that Sparks +had "taken the East too much to heart. The fangs are in too deep." + +"He will be on hand sailing time," added the chief engineer, who had +been trying to retire from active duty in the China run for eleven +years. + +But Moore did not come back to the _Vandalia_ for that reason at all. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +Communication between certain individuals in China and their relatives +and friends in Chinatown must, for political and other reasons, be +conducted in a secret way. In Shanghai, Moore had made the +acquaintance, under somewhat mysterious auspices, of Ching Gow Ong, an +important figure in the silk traffic. + +Moore, so it was said by those who were in a position to know, had once +performed a favor for Ching Gow Ong, of which no one seemed to know the +particulars. What was of equal importance, perhaps, was that Ching Gow +Ong would have willingly given Moore any gift within his power had +Moore been so inclined. + +But it appears that Moore was not a seeker after wealth, thereby giving +some real basis to the common belief that he possessed that rare +thing--a virginal spirit of adventure. He cemented this queer +friendship by conveying messages, indited in Chinese script, which he +did not read, between Ching Gow Ong and his brother, Lo Ong, officially +dead, who conducted a vile-smelling haunt in the bowels of Chinatown. + +Peter Moore made his way through the narrowing alleys, proceeded +through a maze of blank walls, down a damp stone stairway, and rapped +upon a black iron door. It opened instantly, and a long clawlike hand +reached forth, accepted the yellow envelope from the operator's hand, +and slowly, silently withdrew, the door closing as quickly and as +quietly as it had opened. + +No words were spoken. His errand done, Peter Moore retraced his steps +to the wider and brighter lanes which comprised the Chinatown known to +tourists. + +He walked slowly, with his head inclined a little to one side, which +was a habit he had acquired from the eternal listening into the hard +rubber receivers. He had proceeded in this fashion a number of steps +up one of the narrow, sloping sidewalks when he felt, rather than +perceived, a pair of eyes fastened upon him from a second-story window. + +They were the eyes of a young Chinese woman, but he sensed immediately +that she was not of the river type. Her fine black hair was arranged +in a gorgeous coiffure. Gold ornaments drooped from her ears, and her +complexion was liberally sanded with rice powder. Her painted lips +wore an expression of malignity. + +In the obliquity of the eyes lurked a solemn warning. Then he became +aware that she seemed to be struggling, as if she were impeding the +movements of some one behind her. + +It is safe to say that in his tramps through the winding alleys of +Canton, of Peking, of Shanghai, Peter Moore had encountered many +Chinese women of her type. There was a sharp vividness to her features +which meant the inbreeding of high caste. She was unusual--startling! +She looked into the street furtively, held up a heavily jeweled +hand--an imperial order for him to stop--and withdrew. He lounged into +the doorway of an ivory shop and waited. + +It was quiet in Chinatown, for the time was noon and the section was +pursuing its midday habit of calm. The padding figures were becoming a +trifle obscure, owing to a cold, pale fog that was drifting up from the +bay. In a moment the woman reappeared, examined the street again with +hostile eyes, held up a square of rice paper, and slowly folded it. + +Peter Moore nodded slightly and smiled. It was a habit with him--that +smile. The sensitiveness of his nervous system found a quick outlet, +when he was nervous or excited, by a disingenuous smile. He proceeded +to the shop directly underneath her window, observing it to be Ah Sih +King's gold shop. The window was rich in glittering splendors from the +Orient. He picked up from the sidewalk a crumpled ball of red paper +and stowed it away in his coat pocket. + +To an alert observer the indifference with which Moore turned and +pretended to study the gold ornaments in Ah Sih King's window might +have seemed a trifle too obvious, and the smile on his lips, one might +go on to say, was uncalled for. + +As he waited, a soft thud sounded at his feet, coincident with a flash +of black and white across his shoulder. He covered the object with one +foot, as the oily, leering face of Ah Sih King appeared in the doorway. +The blanched face surmounted a costly mandarin robe, righteously worn, +a gorgeous blue raiment with traceries of fine gold and exquisite gems. +At this moment he seemed to exhale an air of faint suspicion. + +"Gentleman!" accosted the thin, curled lips in a tone that was +well-nigh personal. + +"Buy nothing," Peter Moore said curtly. + +"You see my--my see you," observed Ah Sih King, reverting, as he deemed +fitting, to pidgin. + +The wireless operator turned his back impolitely; Ah Sih King did +likewise. When he turned again, sharply, the oily smile was gone, a +look of concern having crept into his sly, old face, and the slightly +bent shoulders of the much slier young man were several strides distant. + +A faint hiss, as of warning, issued from the carmine lips of the +Chinese woman. Then the window closed noiselessly, and Chinatown, +having paid not the slightest heed to the incident, pattered about its +multifarious businesses, none the wiser. + +There was an indefinable something in this incident which caused +creases to appear across Moore's brow. Why had two notes been thrown? +The puzzle sifted down to this possibility: Some one behind the Chinese +woman had thrown a ball of red paper, a note, into the street. + +Then she had beckoned him to wait, had written a second note, perhaps +to warn him away. He glanced furtively at the second note, saw that it +was written in Chinese, and thereupon decided in return for many favors +to call upon Lo Ong for a translation. + +Chinatown now was slowly vanishing from view, swallowed by the gray +blanket of fog which rolled in from the Pacific through the mouth of +the harbor. Retracing his steps through the mist, Moore descended the +narrow stone stairway and tapped on the oblong of iron with his heavy +seal ring. A shutter clinked, uneasy eyes scrutinized him, and he +heard the bolt slide back. He opened the door and entered, restoring +the bolt to its place. + +The room was low, deep and dark under the flickering light of a single +dong, which hung from the ceiling at the end of a roped-up cluster of +fine brass chains. The rich, stupefying odor of opium tainted the +heavy air. The orange flame, motionless as if it were carved from +solid metal, showed the room to be bare except for a few grass mats +scattered about in the irregular round shadow under it. + +To one of these mats Lo Ong, gaunt, curious, even hostile, retreated, +squatting with his delicately thin hands folded over his abdomen. A +look of recognition disturbed only for the instant the placidity of the +ochre features. + +"No come buy?" he intoned, as if Peter Moore had never passed under +that piercing gaze before. + +"My never come buy," said the wireless man curtly. "Wanchee you come +help; savvy?" + +"Mebbe can do," asserted Lo Ong, in the voice and manner of one +incessantly pursued by favor-seekers. Lo Ong's draped arm, as if it +were detached from his body and governed by some extraneous mechanism, +indicated a mat. Moore slipped down in the familiar cross-legged +attitude, lighted a cigarette and blew the smoke at the belly on the +dong. + +"You Wanchee cumshaw?" demanded the Chinese, uneasily. + +Peter Moore disdained to reply, extracted the two lumps of paper, slid +one under his knee and unfolded the other, while Lo Ong looked +unfavorably beyond him at the door. Three rows of Chinese markings +were scrawled down it. Lo Ong's body commenced to sway back and forth +in impatient rhythm. + +"Lo Ong," stated Moore, "my wanchee you keep mouth shut--allatime +shut--you savvy?" + +"Can do," murmured Lo Ong indifferently. He reached for the rice +paper, lifting it tenderly in long, clawing fingers, and held it to the +flame. He seemed not to believe what he read, for he twisted the paper +over, looked at it upside down, then sat down again, his lean fingers +convulsing. + +"No can do," he muttered, replacing the paper on his visitor's knee. +"Mino savvy." + +The white forefinger of the wireless operator pointed unwaveringly at +the flattened nose. "Read that," he ordered. + +Lo Ong glanced the other way, as if the subject had ceased to interest +him, and tapped the floor with his knuckles. + +"Wanchee money--cumshaw?" + +"Lo Ong," declared Moore, losing his patience, "you b'long dead. Now +savvy?" + +"Mebbe can do," said Lo Ong faintly. + +Moore ran his fingers down the first row of fresh markings. + +"O-o-ey," commented Lo Ong, shifting uneasily, "'My see you allatime, +long ago on ship.' Savvy?" + +"What's next?" + +"'You no see my. My see you allatime.'" + +The long, sloping shoulders seemed to jerk. "Keep away. Savvy?" + +"It says that?" + +"Take look see," invited Lo Ong, poking his claw nervously down the +column. "'Keep away. Keep away.' One--two times. Savvy?" + +Peter Moore nodded thoughtfully. + +The Chinese, officially dead, replaced the sheet gingerly on his knees, +as if it were an instrument of wickedness. His bony fingers twitched a +moment. + +"High lady," he added nervously; "velly high lady. You stay away. +Huh?" + +"Wait a minute." Peter extracted the other paper ball, unfolding it +near the orange flame. The inner surface was red, the earthly red of +porphyry, and cracked and scarred by the crumpling. Nearly obliterated +by the lacework of wrinkles and scratches was a scrawl, evidently +scarred into the glazed surface by a knife-point. The upper part was +unintelligible. On the lower surface he made out with difficulty the +single word, _Vandalia_. He carried it to the door, slid back the +shutter and let the dim, gray light filter upon it. The other words +were too mutilated to be read. + +"Hi!" + +He returned to Lo Ong's jacketed side. The bony finger was circling +excitedly about a smear of black in the lower corner of the rice paper. + +"What's this?" + +"Len Yang. _Len Yang_! Savvy?" + +"O-ho! And who is Len Yang?" + +Lo Ong shook his head in agitation. "Len Yang--city. Savvy? +Shanghai--Len Yang--fort' day." + +"Fourteen days from Shanghai to Len Yang?" + +"No. No! _No_! Fort'." + +"Forty?" + +"O-o-ey." The flattened nose bobbed up and down. "Keep away--ai?" + +"Maskee," Peter replied, meaning, broadly speaking, none of your +business. + +Lo Ong unbolted the door, to hint that the interview was concluded. +"You keep away--ai?" he repeated anxiously. Moore grinned in his +peculiarly disingenuous way, swung open the black door, and a long, +gray arm of the fog groped its way past Lo Ong's countenance. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +The junior operator toyed with the heavy transmitting key while Peter +Moore, who knew the behavior of his apparatus as he would know the +caprices of an old friend, adjusted helix-plugs, started the +motor-generator, and satisfied the steel-eyed radio inspector that his +wave decrement was exactly what it ought to be. + +Then the inspector grunted suspiciously and wanted to know if the +auxiliary batteries were properly charged. With a faint smile, Moore +hooked up the auxiliary apparatus, tapped the key, and a crinkly blue +spark snapped between the brass points above the fat rubber coil. + +"I reckon she'll do," observed the inspector. "Aerial don't leak, does +it?" + +"No," said Peter. + +The government man took a final look at the glittering instruments, and +departed. Wherewith the junior operator swung half around in the +swivel-chair and exposed to Peter an expression of mild imploration. +Two gray lids over cavernous sockets lifted and lowered upon shining +black eyes, one of which seemed to lack focus. Peter recalled then +that the Chief had said something about a second operator having only +one human eye, the other being glass. + +"This is your first trip?" + +The sallow face was inclined, and the pallid lips moved dryly. + +"I just came from the school. I'm pretty green. You see----" + +"I see. We'd better let me take the first trick. I'll sit in till +midnight. After that there's very little doing. You may have to relay +a position report or so. Be sure and don't work on navy time. The +Chief will watch you closely for long-distance. The farther you work, +the better he'll like it. How's the air? Have you listened in?" + +"Do you mean--static? I heard a little. Seemed pretty far away, +though." + +Peter adjusted the nickeled straps about his head and pressed the +rubber disks tight to his ears. He tilted his head slightly. A +distant but harsh rasping, as of countless needle-points grating on +glass, occurred in the head phones. This was caused by charges of +electricity in the air, known to wireless men as "static." Percolating +through the scratching was a clear, bell-like note. The San Pedro +station was having something to say to a destroyer off the coast. + +With delicate fingers Peter raised the tuning-knob a few points. Dale, +the junior operator, hands clutched behind him, stared with the fearful +adoration of an apprentice. He seemed to be making a mental notation +of every move that Peter made, for future reference. + +"Ah--do you mind if I ask a few questions? You see, I'm kind of green." + +"Go ahead!" Peter said cordially. + +"Where do I eat? With the crew? I hear that lots of these ships make +you eat with the crew." + +"No. In the main dining-saloon. Mr. Blanchard, the purser, will take +care of you. See him at six thirty." + +A deep monstrous shudder, arising to a clamor, half roar, half shriek, +issued from the boilers of the _Vandalia_. + +"It's rather interesting to watch us pull out," said Peter when the +noise had ceased. "But be careful. There's no rail around this deck." + +He was on his hands and knees at the motor-generator with a pad of +sandpaper between his fingers when the tremulous voice of the junior +operator sounded in the doorway. "Mr. Moore, there's some excitement +on the dock." + +Peter followed the narrow shoulders to the starboard side and looked +down. The _Vandalia_ was warping out from the pierhead with a sobbing +tug at her stern. He noted that the head-lines were still fast. A +straggling line of passengers' friends, wives, husbands, and +sweethearts was moving slowly toward the end of the pier, for a final +parting wave. + +Something seemed to be wrong at the shore end of the gangplank, for, +despite the fact that the ship was swinging out, the plank was still +up. In the midst of an excited crowd a taxicab purred and smoked. +There was a general parting in the crowd as the door was flung open. +Two figures emerged, were lost from sight, and reappeared at the foot +of the plank. An incoherent something was roared from the bridge. + +One of the figures appeared to be struggling, clutching at the rail. +For an instant she seemed to glance in Peter's direction. But her face +could hardly be seen, for it was shrouded by a heavy gray veil. A gray +hood covered her hair, and a long cloak reached to her shoe-tops. + +Patiently urging her was a Chinese woman in silk jacket, trousers, and +jeweled slippers. A customs officer tried to break through the mob, +but somehow was held back. The gray-hooded figure suddenly seemed to +become limp, and the Chinese woman half lifted, half pushed her the +remaining distance to the promenade deck. + +Peter was then conscious of a staring, lifeless eye fixed upon his. + +"What do you make of it, Mr. Moore?" the junior operator wanted to know. + +"Of that?" said Peter. "Nothing--nothing at all. By the way, I forgot +to tell you that the captain has issued strict orders forbidding +subofficers to use the starboard decks. Always, when you're going +forward, or aft, walk on the port side." + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +Peter turned over the log-book and the wireless-house to Dale, a few +minutes before midnight. + +"Everything's cleared up. The static is worse, and KPH may want you to +relay a message or two to Honolulu. If you have trouble, let me know." + +"Yes, yes," replied Dale, looking over his shoulder nervously. "I +will. Thanks." + +Peter left him to the mercies of the static. As he descended the iron +ladder to the promenade-deck, he imagined he saw some one moving +underneath him. The figure, whoever or whatever it was, slid around +the white wall and vanished as his foot felt the deck. He hastened to +follow. + +As he stepped into the light a low, sibilant whisper reached him. At +the cross-corridor doorway he was in time to see the flicker of a +vanishing gray garment and a sandaled foot on a naked ankle flash over +the vestibule wave-check. He shook open the door and followed. + +A vertical stripe of yellow light cleaved the dark of the corridor as a +door was quietly shut. He heard the faint, distant click of a +door-latch. Counting the entrances to that one, and sure that he had +made no mistake, he rapped. The near-by clank of the engine-room well +was the reply. He tried the handle. It was immovable. He struck a +match. It was stateroom forty-four. + +Peter went to the purser's office. Light rippled through the wrinkled +green, round window, as he had hoped. He tapped lightly, and a voice +bade him to enter. + +Blanchard, the purser, dwarfed, perpetually stoop-shouldered, looked up +from a clump of cargo reports and blinked through convex, thick, steel +spectacles at his interrupter. His eyes were red and dim with a +gray-blue, uncertain definition which always reminded Peter of oysters. +Blanchard had been purser of the _Vandalia_ for thirteen years, and +Peter knew that the man possessed the garrulous habits of the oyster as +well. + +"Well, well!" observed Blanchard in the crisp, brittle accents of +senility; "so you're back again, eh? Well, well, well." There was no +emphasis laid on the words. They were all struck from the same piece +of ancient metal. + +"Here I am!" agreed Peter with mild enthusiasm. "The bad penny!" + +"Ha, ha! The bad penny returns!" The exclamation died in a futile +cough. "What are you prowlin' around ship this time o' night for, eh? +After three bells, Sparks. Time for respectable people to be fast +asleep. Or, are you leavin' the radio unwatched?" + +"I'm looking for information." Peter drew himself by stiffened arms +upon the purser's single bunk. + +"Lookin' for information?" The thin voice suffered the quavery +attrition of surprise. "Funny place to be lookin' for that commodity. +What's on your mind? Eh?" + +"Chinamen!" + +Blanchard tilted the rusted spectacles to his forehead, and the +motionless gray orbs seemed to glint with a half-dead light. +"Chinamen? What Chinamen?" The spectacles slid back into place. + +"One, a woman, came aboard as we were pulling out this afternoon. Who +is she? Where is she? Where's she from? Where's she going? Who's +with her? That's what I want to clear up." + +"Is that all?" squeaked Blanchard. His wrinkled, dried lips were +struggling as if with indecision. A veiled, a thinly veiled conflict +of emotions apparently was taking place behind that ancient gray mask. +"What--what for?" was the final outcome in a hesitant half-whisper. + +"My private information," smiled Peter. "Just curious, that's all. +Didn't mean to pry open any dark secrets." He made as if to go. + +"Sparks! Don't be in a hurry. I'm not so busy." + +"Well?" + +"What's botherin' you? Maybe I could straighten you out." + +"Who are the occupants of stateroom forty-four?" Peter replied. + +Again the expression shifted like water smitten by an evil wind. + +"Forty-four!" The words were mild explosions. + +A long cardboard sheet with blue and red lines was produced from a +noiselessly opened drawer. + +"The passenger list. We shall see." Blanchard's red, shiny forefinger +clawed down the column of names, halting at the numeral forty-four. +The space was blank. "You see?" + +"Empty?" + +"Empty." A restrained note of triumph was unquestionably evident in +the purser's cracked voice. + +"I'll bother you with just one more question. What is Len Yang?" + +A look of doubt, of incredulity bordering upon feeble indignation, +settled upon the serrated countenance. But Blanchard only shook his +head as if he did not comprehend. + +Peter slipped down from the bunk. "Guess I'll take a turn on deck, if +the fog's lifted, and roll in. G'night, purser." + +Blanchard started to say something, evidently thought better of it, and +retrieved his pen. As he dipped the fine point into the red ink by +mistake he flung another frown over his shoulder. The wireless man +lingered on the threshold, swinging the door tentatively. + +"G'night, Sparks." + + + + +CHAPTER V + +The _Vandalia_ was wallowing majestically through long, dead black +swells. Peter poked his way up forward to the solitary lookout in the +peak and glanced overside. Broad, phosphorescent swords broke smoothly +with a rending, rushing gurgle over the steep cut-water. His eyes +darted here and there over the void as his mind struggled to straighten +out this latest kink. + +What facts of significance he might have discovered from Blanchard were +overshadowed by the purser's suspicious attitude. Blanchard knew, and +Blanchard, for some reason, did not choose to divulge. This made +matters more interesting, if slightly more complicated. + +He was now reasonably sure of several things, without really having +definite grounds for being sure. The malignant-eyed Chinese woman and +whoever she had successfully concealed behind her in the loft above Ah +Sih King's were now aboard the _Vandalia_. He was quite positive that +he had recognized her in the woman who had come aboard in company with +the gray-cloaked figure at the last minute before sailing-time. + +He recalled the scene on the pierhead, and it occurred to him that the +eyes behind the gray veil, before their owner was whisked up to the +deck and from his sight, had fastened upon him for a long breath. + +"Four bells, all well!" bawled the lookout as four clanging strokes +rang out from abaft the wheel-house. + +And Blanchard had proved that stateroom forty-four was unoccupied. +Peter decided to borrow a master key in the morning, from the chief +engineer, perhaps, and investigate stateroom forty-four. And with the +feeling that he was on the verge of discovering something which did not +exist, he prepared to turn in. + +He was not undressed when the lock grated, the door lurched open, and +the pale visage of Dale teetered at his shoulder. An attempt at +grinning ended in a hissing sob of in-taken breath. The limp frame +flung itself in the bunk beside Peter, and Dale's white, perspiring +face was buried in palsied hands. + +"Feel the motion?" Peter pulled down one of the hands, gently +uncovering the expressionless eye. + +"I wish I was dead!" + +"Want me to finish your trick?" + +Dale's face disappeared in the pillow. A moment he was stark. His +head partly revolved, profiling a yellow, pointed nose against the +white of the linen. + +"Static's much worse, Mr. Moore. Frisco's sent me the same message +three times now. It's for Honolulu. He says he won't repeat it +again." The pale lips trembled in misery. "And there seems to be a +funny sort of static in the receivers. The dynamos in the engine-room +may cause it." + +"That's strange," Peter reflected as he slipped on his blue coat. +"There's never been any induction on board as far back as I can +remember. Does it hum--or what?" + +"No, it grates, like static. Sounds like static, and yet it doesn't. +Kind of a hoarse rumble, like a broken-down spark-coil." + +Two even rows of white teeth drew in the trembling lip and clung to it. +"That awful staticky sound---- And the _Rover's_ been calling us." He +groaned miserably. "I couldn't answer either of them. I was lying on +the carpet!" + +"Get some sleep," advised Peter. "When you feel better come up and +relieve me. If I were you I wouldn't smoke cigarettes when you think +it's rough." + +"I won't smoke another cigarette as long as I live!" + +Peter slipped into his uniform, draped an oil-skin coat about his +slender shoulders, and made his way up to the wireless house. The +receivers were lying on the floor. + +The _Vandalia_ was entering a zone of pale, thin mist, which created +circular, misty auras about the deck-lights. The tarpaulined +donkey-engine beneath the after-cargo booms rattled as the _Vandalia's_ +stern sank into a hollow, and the beat of the engines was muffled and +deeper. A speck of white froth glinted on the black surface and +vanished astern. + +The wireless-house seemed warm and cozy in the glare of its green and +white lights. An odor of cheap cigarette-smoke puffed out as he opened +the door. + +Peter slipped the hard-rubber disks over his ears and tapped the slider +of the tuner. Static was bad to-night, trickling, exploding and +hissing in the receivers. + +The electric lights became dim under the strain of the heavy motor, as +he slid up the starting handle. The white-hot spark exploded in a +train of brisk dots and dashes. He snapped up the aerial switch and +listened. + +KPH--the San Francisco station--rang clear and loud through the spatter +of the electric storm. Peter flashed back his O.K., tuned for the +Kahuka Head station at Honolulu, and retransmitted the message. + +Sensitizing the detector, he slid up the tuning handle for high waves. +Static, far removed, trickled in. Then a faint, musical wailing like a +violin's E-string pierced this. The violin was the government station +at Arlington, Virginia, transmitting a storm warning to ships in the +South Atlantic. For five minutes the wailing persisted. Sliding the +tuning handle downward, Peter listened for commercial wave-lengths. + +A harsh grinding, unmusical as emery upon hollow bronze, rasped +stutteringly in the head phones. Laboriously, falteringly, the grating +was cleaved into clumsy dots and dashes of the Continental Code, under +the quaking fingers of some obviously frightened and inexperienced +operator. Were these the sounds which had unnerved Dale? For a time +the raspings spelled nothing intelligible. The unknown sender +evidently was repeating the same word again and again. It held four +letters. Once they formed, H-I-J-X. Another time, S-E-L-J. And +another, L-P-H-E. + +The painstaking intent, as the operator's acute ears recognized, was +identical in each instance. Frequently the word was incoherent +altogether, the signals meaning nothing. + +Suddenly Peter jerked up his head. Out of the jumble stood the word, +as an unseen ship will often stand out nakedly in a fog rift. Over and +over, badly spaced, the infernal rasp was spelling, _H-E-L-P_. + +He waited for the signature of this frantic operator. But none +occurred. Following a final letter "p" the signals ceased. + +For a minute or two, while Peter nervously pondered, the air was +silent. Then another station called him. A loud droning purr filled +the receivers. Peter gave the "k" signal. The brisk voice of the +transport _Rover_ droned: + +"I can't raise KPH. Will you handle an M-S-G for me?" + +"Sure!" roared the _Vandalia's_ spark. "But wait a minute. Have you +heard a broken down auxiliary asking for help? He's been jamming me +for fifteen minutes. Seems to be very close, K." + +"Nix," replied the _Rover_ breezily. "Can't be at all close or I would +hear him, too. I can see your lights from my window. You're off our +port quarter. Here's the M-S-G." + +Peter accepted the message, retransmitting it to the KPH operator, then +called the wheelhouse on the telephone. Quine, first officer, answered +sleepily. + +"Has the lookout reported any ship in the past hour excepting the +_Rover_?" + +"Is that the _Rover_ on our port quarter?" Quine's voice was gruffly +amazed. Like most mariners of the old school, he considered the +wireless machine a nuisance. Yet its intelligence occasionally caught +him off guard. + +"Only thing in sight, Sparks." + +Peter made an entry in the log-book, folded his hands and shut his +eyes. The Leyden jars rattled in their mahogany sockets as the +_Vandalia_ climbed a wave, faltered, and sped into the hollow. Far +removed from her pivot of gravity, the wireless house behaved after the +manner of an express elevator. But the wireless house chair was bolted +to the floor. + +Wrinkles of perplexity creased his forehead. Had this stuttering +static anything in kind with those other formless events? If not, what +terrified creature was invoking his aid in this blundering fashion? + +A simple test would prove if the signals were of local origin--from a +miniature apparatus aboard the ship. He hoped anxiously for the +opportunity. And in less than a half hour the opportunity was given +him. + +A tarred line scraped the white belly of the life-boat which swelled up +from the deck outside the door, giving forth a dull, crunching sound +with each convulsion of the engines. The square area above it danced +with reeling stars, moiled by a purple-black heaven. + +Peter, who had been studying the tarred rope, swung about in the chair +and dropped an agitated finger to the silvered wire which rested +against the glittering detector crystal. A tiny, blue-red flame +snapped from his finger to the crystal chip! The frantic operator was +aboard the _Vandalia_! + +The broken stridulations took on the coherence of intelligible dots and +dashes. The former blundering was absent, as if the tremulous hand of +the sender was steadied by the grip of a dominant necessity; the +signals clarified by the pressure of terror. + +"_Do not try to find me_," it stammered and halted. + +Some maddened pulse seemed to leap to life in Peter's throat. His +fingers, working at the base of the tiny instrument, were cold and damp. + +"_You must wait_," rasped the unknown sender, faltering. "_You must +help me_! _You are watched._" + +For a breath there was no sound in the receivers other than the beating +of his heart. + +_Click_! _Snap_! _Sputter_! Then: "_Wait for the lights of China_!" + +The receivers rattled to the red blotter, and Peter rushed out on deck. +Slamming the door, he stared at the spurting streams of white in the +racing water. Indescribably feminine was the fumbling touch of that +unknown sender! + +A grating--hollow, metallic--occurred in the lee of the wireless cabin. +A footfall sounded, coincident with the heavy collision into his side +of an unwieldy figure whose hands, greasy and hot, groped over his. +Both grunted. + +"'Sthat you, Sparks?" They were the German gutturals of Luffberg, one +of the oilers on the twelve-to-six watch. "Been fixin' the ventilator. +Chief wondered if you were up. Wants to know why you ain't been down +to say hello." + +Peter decided to lay a portion of his difficulties before Minion. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +The first operator had developed for himself at an early stage of his +occupancy of the _Vandalia's_ wireless house the warm friendship of the +chief engineer. A wireless man is far more dependent for his peace of +mind upon the engine-room crew than upon the forward crew. The latter +has only one interest in him: that he stick to his instruments; while +the engine-room crew strictly is the source from which his blessings +flow, his blessings taking the invisible, vital form of electric +current. + +Wireless machines are gourmands of electricity. They are wastrels. +Not one-tenth of the energy sucked from the ship's power wires finds +its way through the maze of coils and jars to the antennae between the +mastheads. + +The _Vandalia's_ engine-room equipment was installed long before +wireless telegraphy was a maritime need and a government requirement. +Hence, her dynamos protested vigorously against the strain imposed upon +them by the radio machine. Any electric engine is unlike any steam +engine. Steam engines will do so much work--no more. Dynamos or +motors will do so much work--and then more. They can be overloaded, +unsparingly. But the strain tells. Stout, dependable parts become +hot, wear away, crumble, snap. + +In the typical case of the _Vandalia_, the question of whether or not +the wireless men should be provided with all of the current they +required, was narrowed down to individuals. + +If Minion had disliked Peter Moore he could have slowed down the +dynamos at the critical times when the operator needed the high +voltage; but Peter had had encounters with chief engineers before. He +had at first courted Minion's good graces with fair cigars, radio +gossip and unflagging courtesy. And on discovering that the chief was +a sentimentalist at heart and a poet by nature, he had presented him +with an inexpensively bound volume of his favorite author. Daring, but +a master-stroke! He had not since wanted for voltage, and plenty of it. + +He pondered the advisability of taking Minion entirely into his +confidence as he followed the sweated, undershirted shoulders to the +engine-room galley, and thence across the oily grill of shining steel +bars which comprised one of the numerous and hazardous superfloors +which surrounded the cylinders. + +Minion was nursing a stubbornly warm bearing in the port shaft alley. + +The fat cylinder revolved with a pleasant ringing noise, the blurring +knuckles of the frequent joints vanishing down the yellow, vaulted +alley to a point of perspective, where the shaft projected through the +hull. The floundering of the great propellers seemed alternately to +compress and expand the damp atmosphere. + +The sad, white face of Minion arose from the dripping flanks of the +journal as he caught sight of Peter in the arched entrance. A pale +smile flickered at his lips. + +The chief did not in any wise reflect his monstrously heaving, +oil-dripping surroundings. He was a small, deliberate man, with oceans +of repressed energies. His skin had the waxy whiteness of a pond lily. +An exquisitely trimmed black moustache adorned his mouth. The deep +brown eyes of a visionary rested beneath the gentle, scythe-like curves +of thin and pointed eyebrows. + +"You look worried," vouchsafed Minion as their hands met. His quiet +voice had a clarity which projected it nicely through the bedlam of +engine-room noises. "Why you up so early--or so late? Anything wrong?" + +Peter took out a cigarette and nervously lighted it at the sputtering +flame Minion held for him. "Mr. Minion, something's in the wind," he +complained, and hesitated. He was at the verge of telling what he had +seen on the promenade deck, of the confusion on the pierhead, of the +unaccountable behavior of the woman in the window above Ah Sih King's, +of the suspicious attitude of Blanchard, of the recent plea for help. +Again something checked him. + +"Mr. Minion, what is Len Yang? And where is it?" + +The scythe-like brows contracted. Minion's lucid, brown eyes rested on +his lips, seeming to await an elaboration of the query. His features +suddenly had stiffened. His whole attitude appeared on the moment to +have undergone a change, from one of friendly interest to a keen +defensiveness. + +"Len Yang is a city in China. Why?" + +The operator suspected that Minion was sparring for time. + +"Where is Len Yang?" + +"Do you mean, how does one reach Len Yang?" + +"Either." + +"Mr. Moore"--the suspicion fell from the chief's expression, leaving it +calm and grave--"you are not an amateur. You have discretion. The man +who controls Len Yang is the _Vandalia's_ owner." + +"Why, I understood the Pacific and Western Atlantic Transport Line +owned her!" + +"This man--he is a Chinese. Oh, I've never seen him, Mr. Moore. One +of the richest of China's unknown aristocrats, the central power of the +cinnabar ring. You have never gone up the river with us to load at +Soo-chow?" + +Peter shook his head. "Cinnabar from his mine is brought down the +Yangtze on junks and transferred at Soo-chow?" + +Minion seemed not to be listening. His eyes were stagnant with an +appalling retrospect. "A terrible place--horrible! Five years ago I +visited Len Yang. Hideous people with staring eyes, dripping the +blood-red slime of the mines! And girls! Young girls! Beautiful--for +a while." He sighed. "They work in that vicious hole!" + +"Young girls?" Peter exclaimed. + +"Imported. From everywhere. I tried to find why. There is no +explanation. They come--they work--they become hideous--they die! It +is his habit. No one understands. Poor things!" + +Peter was staring at him narrowly. "Quite sure he imports them to work +in the mines?" + +Minion nodded vehemently. "I made sure of that. I went up the river +as _his_ guest. Trouble with the seepage pumps. Hundreds of them +drowned like rats. Len Yang is near the trade route into India. +Leprosy--filth--vermin! God! You should have seen the rats! +Monsters! They eat them. Poor devils! And live in holes carved out +of the ruby mud." + +He tore the clump of waste from his left hand and ground it under his +heel. + +"And in the center of this frightfulness--his palace! Snow-white +marble, whiter than the Taj by moonlight. But its base is stained red, +a creeping blood-red from the cinnabar. Damn him!" + +"No escape?" Peter muttered. + +"Escape!" Minion shouted. "_Dang hsin_! They call him the Gray +Dragon. He reaches over every part of Asia. That is no exaggeration. +Take my advice, Mr. Moore, if you have stumbled upon one of his +schemes--_ní chü bà_--don't meddle!" + +The white face writhed, and for a new reason Peter smothered the +impulse to tell the agitated Minion what he had seen. Their +conversation drifted to general shipboard matters. When he left he +borrowed the chief engineer's master key on the excuse that he had +locked himself out of the wireless cabin. + +Besides a stiffening head wind the ship was now laboring into piling +head seas. Far beyond the refulgence of the scattered lights stars +shone palely. Flecks of streaming white were making their appearance +at the toppling wave crests. + +A hail of stinging spray, flung inboard by a long gust, struck Peter's +face sharply as he struggled forward, rattling like small shot against +the vizor of his cap and smarting his eyes. The needle-like drops were +icy cold. The elastic fabric of the _Vandalia_ shivered, her broad +nose sinking into a succession of black mountains. Peak gutters roared +as the cascading water was sucked back to the untiring surface. + +Gaining the cross entrance, he braced his strength against the forces +of wind which imprisoned the door, and crept down the passage. + +His heart pounded as his groping fingers outlined the cold iron +numerals on the panel. Nervously, he inserted the master key into the +door lock, and paused to listen. + +Rhythmic snoring moaned from an opened transom near by. What other +night sounds might have been abroad were engulfed by the imminent +throbbing in the engine-room well. + +Stateroom forty-four's transom was closed. The lock yielded. The door +yawned soundlessly. A round, portentous eye glimmered on the opposite +wall. An odor of recently wet paint and of new bed linen met him. The +excited pulsing of his heart outsounded the engines. + +He shut the door cautiously, not to awake the occupants of the berths, +and fancied he could again hear the warning sibilance of the whisper, +but in sleep, perhaps drawn through unconscious lips. + +Eagerly, his hand slipped over the enameled wall and found the electric +switch. Turning, to cover all corners of the stateroom he snapped on +the light. + +Stateroom forty-four, through whose doorway he could have sworn to have +seen a sandaled foot vanish less than three hours previous, was empty! + +The blue-flowered side curtains of the white enameled bunks were draped +back in ornamental stiffness. Below the pillows the upper sheets were +neatly furled like incoming billows on a coral beach. He threw open +the closet door. Bare! Not one sign of occupancy could he find, and +he looked everywhere. + +As he made to leave the room a small oblong of white paper was thrust +under the door. He hesitated in surprise, stooped to seize it and +flung open the door. A gust of night, wind--the slamming of a +door--and the messenger was gone. + +Tremblingly, he unfolded the paper. His eyes dilated. Hastily +scrawled in the lower right-hand corner of the otherwise blank leaf was +a replica of the blurred sign that had caused such consternation on the +part of Lo Ong. + +The ideograph had twice been brought to his attention. It was +apparently a solemn warning. Should he heed it? He felt that he was +watched. But the porthole glowed emptily. + +Lighting a cigarette, he dropped down to the bunk, cupped his chin in +his palms, and frowned at the green carpet. + +He was being frustrated, by persons of adroit cunning. It was +maddening. This had ceased to be an adventurous lark. It was to +become a fight against weapons whose sole object seemed to be to guard +the retreat of some evil spirit. + +It occurred to him suddenly that he should be grateful upon one score +at least: He had not lost the trail, for the symbols were unchanged. + +But from that point the trail vanished--vanished as abruptly as if its +design had been wiped off the earth! Sharp eyed and eared, alertness +night after night availed him nothing. And not until the twinkling +lights of Nagasaki were put astern, when the _Vandalia_ turned her nose +into the swollen bed of the Yellow Sea, did the traces again show +faintly. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +That a recrudescence of those involved in the murky affair might be +imminent was the thought induced in Peter's mind as the green coast of +Japan heaved over the horizon. With each thrust of the _Vandalia's_ +screws the cipher was nearing its solution. Each cylinder throb +narrowed the distance to the shore lights of China--the lights of +Tsung-min Island. And then--what? + +In a corner of the smoking-room he puffed at his cigarette and watched +the poker players as he drummed absently upon the square of green cork +inlaid in the corner table. The vermilion glow of the skylight dimmed +and died. Lights came on. A clanging cymbal in the energetic hands of +a deck steward boomed at the doorway, withdrew and gave up its life in +a far away, tinny clatter. + +The petulant voice of a hardware salesman, who was secretly known to +represent American moneyed interests in Mongolia, drifted through the +haze of tobacco smoke at the poker table. + +"----that's what I'd like to know. Damn nonsense--saving steam, +probably--off Wu-Sung before midnight--if--wanted to throw in a little +coal--means I miss the river boat to-morrow--not another--Saturday. +Dammit!" + +Peter drew long at the cigarette and glanced thoughtfully at the +oak-paneled ceiling. Chips clicked. The petulant voice continued: + +"----rottenest luck ever had." Evidently he was referring to his +losses. "Rotten line--rottener service--miss my man--Mukden----" The +voice ceased as its owner half turned his head, magnetized by the +intentness of the operator's gaze. Peter glanced away. The salesman +devoted himself to the dealer. + +The _Vandalia_ was bearing into a thin mist. The night was cool, +quiet. Had he been on deck Peter would have seen the last lights of +Osezaki engulfed as if at the dropping of a curtain. + +During the voyage he had haunted the smoking-room, hoping that by dint +of patient listening he might catch an informative word dropped +carelessly by one of the players. No such luck. The players were +out-of-season tourists, bound for South China or India, or salesmen, +patiently immersed in the long and strenuous task of killing time. + +"----thirty--thirty-five--forty--forty-five----" The fat man was +counting his losings. + +Faint, padded footsteps passed the port doorway. Peter became aware of +an elusive perfume--scented rice powder---- + +"----seventy-five--eighty--eighty-five--ninety----" + +A pale, malignant face was framed momentarily in one of the starboard +windows. + +Peter blinked, then bounded after. The salesman impeded his progress +and grudgingly gave way. + +The deck was empty, slippery with the wet of the mist. He was suddenly +aware that one of the ports, in the neighborhood of the stateroom he +had entered, was ajar. Nervously he halted, gasping as a long, +trembling hand, at the extremity of a spectral wrist, plucked at his +sleeve. Blanched as an arm of the adolescent moon, it fumbled weakly +at his clutching fingers--and was swiftly withdrawn! + +The staring eyes of a white, gibbous face sank back from the hole. +Below the nose the face seemed not to exist. + +Its horror wrapped an icy cord about his heart. He plunged his arm to +the shoulder through the round opening, struck a yielding, warm body; +descending claws steeled about his wrist and deliberately forced him +back. + +The brass-bound glass squeezed on his fingers. He wrenched them free, +crushed, throbbing, and warmly wet. The anguish seemed to extend to +his elbow. Then, suddenly, the gruff, seasoned voice of Captain Jones +descended from space behind him. "Sparks, come to my cabin." + +Peter followed the brutish shoulders to the forward companionway, +endeavoring to clarify his thoughts. Mild confusion prevailed when +Captain Jones closed and locked the door of his spacious stateroom +behind them and dropped heavily into one of the cumbersome teak chairs. + +He was a hardened, brawny chunk of a man, choleric in aspect and +temperament, brutal in method, bluntly decisive in opinion. Iron was +his metal. "Starboard Jones" was one of the few living men who had +successfully run the Jap blockade into Vladivostok during that bloody +tiff between the black bear and the island panther. + +Reddened sockets displayed keen, blue eyes in a background of perpetual +fire. His large, swollen nose had a vinous tint, acquiring +purplishness in cold weather. Tiny red veins, as numerous as the +cracks in Satsuma-ware, spread across both cheeks in a carmine filigree. + +His cabin was ornamented chiefly by hand-tinted photographs from the +yoshiwaras of Nagasaki, of simpering, coy geishas. Souvenirs of their +trade, glittering fans, nicked teacups, flimsy sandals, adorned the +available shelf room. Cigars as brawny and black as if their maker had +striven to emulate the captain's own bulk were scattered among papers +on his narrow desk. + +He reached clumsily for one of these brown cylinders now, neglecting to +remove his glance of gloating austerity from the operator's tense face. + +"Haven't seen much of you lately, Sparks," he observed, applying a +steady match flame to the oval butt. He spoke in his usual tones, with +a gruffness that balanced on a razor edge between rough jocularity and +official harshness. "What's new? Have one of my ropes?" + +Peter studied the glowing end narrowly. "Had a little trouble first +night out. No, thanks. Not smoking to-night." His bruised +finger-tips were curved up tenderly in his coat pocket. + +"What's 'at?" The steel eyes were motionless beneath half-lowered lids. + +"Some one used an electric machine. Jammed my signals." + +The choleric face dipped knowingly. What Captain Jones did not +comprehend he invariably pretended to comprehend. "Noticed anything +else?" His ruddy face was now weighty with significance. + +Peter sat up abruptly. "What!" + +A thick, red forefinger threatened, "Lis'n to me, Sparks, you're a +overgrown, blundering bull in a china-shop. You're----" + +"Well?" There was a trace of anger in Peter's suave inquiry. His face +became stony white. A spot of color appeared at either cheek. + +"I mean: Keep your damn nose out of what don't concern you. Savvy?" +The heated words spilled thickly from the captain's red lips. "I mean: +Butt out of what concerns Chinese women and--and--other words, mind +your own particular damn business! Duty on this ship's to mind the +radio. What goes on outside your shanty's none of your damn concern!" +Captain Jones' mouth remained open, and the butt of the black cigar +slid into it. + +Peter raised a restraining hand. His lips trembled. His eyes seemed +to snap in a rapid fire between the eyes and mouth of the big man +slouched down in the chair in front of him. "Wait a minute," he spat +out. "Since you do know that somebody is being kidnapped on this +ship----" + +"What in hell do you mean?" + +"Exactly what I say. A Chinese woman, no matter who she is--is hiding +some one, a woman, somewhere on this ship. That woman--that woman +who's being held--grabbed my hand not five minutes ago. It's your +duty----" + +"Keep your hands where they belong. You're talking like a fool. +Kidnapped? You're crazy. My duty? You're a fool! You're talking +baby talk." Captain Jones sprang from his chair. "You're on this ship +to tend the wireless," he bawled. "You're under oath to keep your +mouth shut. Any one back there?" + +"No!" + +"Don't you know it breaks a government rule when that room's empty--at +sea?" + +The mist-laden wind shrilled through the screen door abruptly thrust +back. Captain Jones slammed the stout inner door. Peter turned up his +coat collar, bound a clean handkerchief about his aching fingers, +climbed agilely over the life-rafts, passed the roaring, black funnels, +and entered the wireless house. + +The low, intermingling whine of Jap stations was broken by an insistent +P. and O. liner, yapping for attention. Shanghai stiffly droned a +reply, advising the P. and O. man to sweeten his spark. + +Peter tapped his detector and grunted. Shanghai was loud--close! The +_Vandalia_ must be nearing the delta. + +"----Nanking Road. Stop. Forty casks of soey----" yelped the P. and O. + +Nearing the great river! Out of the mist a faint blur would come--the +first lights of China! + +"----Thirteen cases of tin----" The P. and O.'s spark remained +unsweetened. + +Would the lights be Hi-Tai-Sha--Tsung-min?--port or starboard? + +Far below decks a bell jangled faintly. The throbbing of the engines +was suddenly hushed. The bell sounded distantly, through a portentous +silence. Peter glanced at the clock. Half-past twelve. + +The silence was shattered by a turbulent, stern lifting rumble as the +screws reversed. The _Vandalia_ wallowed heavily, and lay with the +yellow tide. + +Extinguishing the lights, Peter slipped out on deck, leaned over the +edge, and peered into the murk. His heart pumped nervously. + +At first all was blank. Then a misty, gray-white glow seemed to swim +far to port. Murkily, it took form, vanished, reappeared and--was +swallowed up again. + +But these were not the lights of Tsung-min. The ship was in the river. +He knew those lights well. Even now the _Vandalia_, was slipping down +with the current abreast of Woo-Sung! The first lights of China! But +what was happening? He dashed to the starboard side. + +Out of the mist there arose a tall, gaunt specter. A junk. Perhaps a +collision was decreed by the evil spirit of the Whang-poo. But the +usual shriekings of doomed river men were absent. The gray bulk +floated idly with the steamer. The silence of death permeated both +craft. + +At a loss to account for this queer coincidence, this mute communion, +Peter elbowed over the edge, dangerously high above the water, and slid +down a stanchion to the promenade deck. + +Simultaneously every light on that side of the ship was extinguished. +As his feet struck the metal gutter, several unseen bodies rushed past +him, aft. + +He was grabbed from behind and hurled to the deck. Springing up, he +heard the thick breathing of his unknown assailant. He lunged for the +sound, met flying fists, smashed his man against the rail. The blow +knocked the wind from his antagonist, or broke his back. + +Peter did not pause to make inquiries. As the limp body thudded to the +wood, the operator sprinted after the vanished figures. + +A lone light on the after spur illumined a dim confusion in the cargo +well. The stern of the junk was backed against the rail. Oars flashed +faintly as the crew of the junk strove to keep her fast against the +steamer's side. But where was the crew of the _Vandalia_? Had Captain +Jones consented to and perhaps aided in this mid-river tryst? + +Another source of illumination sprang into being. A dong was burning +yellowly on the junk's poop deck, casting a plenitude of light upon the +scene. + +As Peter dropped down the precipitous ladder into the well, he made out +two figures struggling against the rail. From the junk, imploringly, a +giant Chinese with pigtail flapping held out his long arms. Silent, +his face was writhing with the supplication to hurry. + +Peter drove in between the two figures, one of which suddenly collapsed +and lay inert. The other sprang at his neck, sinking long claws into +his throat. Slit eyes glinted close. Before his wind was shut off he +caught the oppressive fragrance of a heavy perfume. A woman! + +He struck the clawing hands loose, and she stemmed a scream between +convulsing lips. The woman above Ah Sih King's! + +He hurled her back, and she staggered against the iron flank of the +well. A chatter of Chinese broke from her lips. Shaking, she +extracted an envelope from her satin blouse and pressed it into his +hands. Thoughtlessly he stuffed the envelope into his pocket, not +reckoning what it might contain. + +The junk swung out, closed in with a smart smack, and the giant on her +deck crouched to spring. He squealed, a high-pitched ululation of +anger. Another sound was abroad, the jangling of the engine-room bell. + +Peter struck down the groping hands of the woman and sprang to the +rail, bracing his feet on the smooth iron deck-plate as the Chinese +leaped. A knife glinted. Peter seized a horny wrist with both hands, +bent, and wrenched it. The knife struck the water with a sibilant +splash. The _fokie_ lost his balance. His legs became entangled. + +He gibbered with horror as he slipped--slipped---- + +The Chinese woman sprang at Peter with the frenzy of a pantheress. + +A weltering splash--Peter dimly saw the bobbing head before it was +driven below the surface as the junk, yawing in, crowded the swimmer +down. + +A life? Nothing to the turgid river, draining all effluvia from the +yellow heart of this festering land. + +With a hissing sob, the woman drove Peter backward, raining blow after +blow on his chest. The engines pounded briskly. A boom rattled. +Despairingly, Peter's antagonist shifted her tactics, surprised him by +flinging herself to the rail. + +The junk was veering away as the _Vandalia's_ blades took hold. + +She poised on the top rail, drew herself together, and leaped! + +The junk slid into the mist. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +Peter was conscious of a hot stickiness at his throat where the claws +had taken hold. Then he concerned himself with the gray shape that lay +quite still on the iron deck at his feet. New enemies from other +quarters, he realized, might strike at any instant. + +Gathering up the limp form, he climbed the ladder to the darkened +promenade deck and up another flight through the tarpaulin cover to the +boat-deck. Opening the wireless-house door, he deposited his burden +gently upon the carpet, and switched on the light. Then he turned the +key in the lock, and examined his find. A long, gray bag of some heavy +material swathed the small figure from head to foot. There was no sign +of life. + +Yelping arose from the river. It was still dark. The sampan coolies +were out early. Peter listened, becoming thoughtful as a solution +seemed to present itself to his problem. + +He went out on deck and beckoned to one of them to stand by. + +A swaying coolie in the stern of the nearest craft caught sight of him. + +"Hie! Hie!" The wagging paddle became mad. The sampan slipped under +the towering shadow and brought up with a smack against the moving +black hull. + +Peter pried up the tarpaulin life-boat cover, dragged out a coil of +dirty rope, made one end fast at the foot of the davit, and tossed the +other end overside. The coolie caught it and clung. + +Re-entering the wireless cabin, Peter opened his pocket-knife and slit +the cord at the head. + +A mass of curly, brown hair flowed out upon the carpet. There was a +silken lisp of underskirts. A faint sigh. + +Peter suddenly turned his head. Black, glassy eyes were riveted upon +his from the after window. They vanished. + +He jumped up, bolted to the deck, and stood still, listening. + +The scuffle of a foot sounded on the port side. Some one was running +forward. He plunged after. The footsteps stopped sharply coincident +with a dull smash, a frantic grunt. The pursued reeled to the deck, +groaning. + +Peter pounced upon him, grabbed his collar, and dragged him across the +deck into the wireless house. + +"Mr. Moore, the captain told me----" whimpered Dale. + +Peter knocked him into the chair, opened the toolbox, and extracted a +length of phosphor-bronze aerial wire. Binding the wiggling arms to +the chair, he made the ends fast behind. + +Snapping out the lights, he gathered the gray bag into his arms and +deposited it on the deck in the narrow space between the life-boat and +the edge. He looked down. The coolie was staring up, clinging to the +rope, waiting. + +The bag slipped down half-way. A warm moist hand clutched at his +wrist. A faint moan issued from the unseen lips. He jerked again. +The bag came away free, and he tossed it overboard. The yellow current +snatched it instantly from sight. + +The hand clung desperately at his wrist. "Don't let them----" began a +sweet voice in his ear. + +He wrapped his legs around the rope and worked his way over the edge. +"Arms around my neck!" he commanded hoarsely. "Hold tight!" + +Soft arms enfolded him. They dangled at the edge. + +The coarse rope slipped swiftly through his fingers, scorching the +palms, seeming to rake at the bones in his hand. + +A wild shout came from the wireless house. An echo, forward, answered. + +They slipped, twisting, scraping, down the rough strand. His hands +seemed hot enough to burst. Maddened blood throbbed at his eyes, his +ears, and dried his throat. Dimmed lights of the promenade deck soared +upward. A glimmering port-hole followed. + +For an eternity they dangled, then shot downward. + +Something popped in Peter's ears. His feet struck a yielding deck. He +staggered backward, sprawled. The rope was whipped from his hand. The +warm arms still clung about his neck. + +As the world wheeled, a drunken universe, a sullen voice yelped at his +ear. The arms loosened. + +The _Vandalia_ twinkled closely and was swept into the mist, a blur, a +phantom. His hands blazed with infernal fire. + +He sat up and looked behind him. The river was murderously dark. +Water gurgled under the flimsy bow. The dull tread of feet and a +watery flailing behind him advised Peter that the coolie was struggling +against the rushing current. + +Slowly he became conscious of a weight upon his breast, a low sobbing. +A delicate, feminine odor brought him to earth, unraveled his tangled +wits. + +He was sitting upon the wet floor of the sampan's low cabin. His +captive had crept close to him for protection. Protection! He +snorted, wondering if the coolie was licensed. + +"Hai! Hai! Woo-Sung way." The voice was villainously stubborn. + +"Shanghai-way. _Kuai cho_--hurry!" roared Peter. A sigh escaped from +the girl. She snuggled closer. "Woo-Sung. _Pu-shih_! Savvy?" + +"Hai! Mebbe can do." The sampan reared, braving the direct onslaught +of the Whang-poo's swift tide. + +A myriad of questions in his brain strove for utterance. But the girl +spoke first. + +"Who are you?" she whispered. "I am Eileen Lorimer." + +"I am--I was the wireless operator of the _Vandalia_." + +The coolie paused a moment for breath, then the mad plunging of the +paddle sounded again. + +"The wireless operator? You heard my call?" + +"Been waiting for China's lights--ever since. But how--what?" he +demanded. + +She was silent a moment. "I know the code. My brother owned a private +station. We lived in Pasadena--ages ago. It does seem ages." She +stirred feebly. "You don't mind?" + +"No, no," he protested. + +"I am afraid--such a long time. Weeks? Years?" She shuddered. "I do +not know. Oh--I want to go home!" + +The coolie broke into a working sing-song as he struggled. The tide +should shift before long. + +"Were you in the loft above Ah Sih King's?" + +"Roped! I broke loose." + +"The red note?" + +"I scribbled with a nail, and threw it before she knocked me down. +That woman was a demon!" + +A pale, yellow glow seemed to body forth from the enshrouding mist. +Dawn was breaking. Soon the great river would be alight. + +"School-teacher," the girl was murmuring. "A wedding present for +her--in Ah Sih King's." A small hand fumbled for his, and found it. +"In the back room they began gibbering at me. And this demon came. +Meaningless words--Ah Sih King leered. Called me the luckiest woman in +China." + +"But how did you know?" + +An empty freighter with propellers flailing half out of water pounded +through the yellow mist close to them. + +"Hie! Hie!" shrilled the coolie's warning. + +Light seeped through the doorway. The outlines of a dark skirt were +silhouetted against the scrubbed white floor. + +"He said when I saw the lights of China I would go aboard a beautiful +ship. She was watching you. Three times our stateroom was changed. +Always at night." + +"You used a coil?" Peter was professionally interested on this point. + +The girl murmured affirmatively. "She had some affliction. A San +Francisco doctor said the electric machine would cure it. And I +pretended to use it, too. But it broke down that night." + +The yellow light grew stronger. Equipment of the cabin emerged: a +crock of rice and fish, a corked jug, a bundle of crude chop-sticks +bound with frayed twine, a dark mess of boiled sea-weed on a greasy +slab. + +He looked down. The girl moved her head. Their eyes met. + +Timid, gray ones with innocent candor searched him. Shining dark hair +rippled down either side of a pale, lovely face. She was younger than +he had expected, more beautiful than he had hoped. Her rosebud of a +mouth trembled in the overtures of a smile. + +His feelings were divided between admiration for her and horror--she +had escaped so narrowly. In the realization of that moment Peter +shaped his course. His following thought was of finances. + +He brought to light a handful of change. Less than one dollar, +disregarding four twenty-cent Hu-Peh pieces; hardly enough to pay off +the sampan coolie. + +His charge sighed helplessly, thereby clinching his resolution. "I +haven't a penny," she said. + +He explored the side-pocket of his coat, hoping against fact that he +had not changed his bill-fold to his grip. His fingers encountered an +unfamiliar object. + +The struggling pantheress flashed into his mind. And the wrinkled +envelope she had drawn from her satin jacket and pressed into his hand. +Past dealings with Chinese gave him the inkling that he had been +unknowingly bribed. + +A scarlet stamp, a monograph, was imposed in the upper right corner of +the pale blue oblong. + +"Money--Chinese bills. Full of them!" Miss Lorimer gasped. "I saw it. +What are they for? And why did that dreadful woman----" + +"Jet-t-e-e-ee!" sang the coolie, swinging the oar hard over. The +sampan grated against a landing. "Shanghai. _Ma-tou_! _H[=a]n liang +bu dung y[=a]ng che l[=a]i_!" + +Peter was counting the pack. "Fifty one-thousand-dollar Bank of China +bills!" + +Excited yelpings occurred on the _ma-tou_. The rickshaw coolies were +dickering for their unseen fare. + +Peter tossed the sampan boy all the coins he had, and left him to +gibber over them as he lifted the girl to the jetty. She clung to his +arm, trembling, as the coolies formed a grinning, shouting circle about +them. More raced in from the muddy bund. + +"What are we going to do?" she groaned. + +"We are going to cable your mother that you are starting for home by +the first steamer," Peter cried, swinging her into the cleanest and +most comfortable rickshaw of the lot. "The _Mongolia_ sails this +afternoon." + +"What will become of you?" she demanded. + +Peter gave her his ingenuous smile. "I will vanish--for a while. +Otherwise I may vanish--permanently." + +Miss Lorimer reached out with her small white hand and touched his +sleeve. They were jouncing over the Su-Chow bridge, on their way to +the American Consulate. "Won't I see you again? Ever?" She looked +bewildered and lost, as if this strange old land had proved too much +for her powers of readjustment. Her rosebud mouth seemed to quiver. +"Are you in danger, Mr. Moore?" + +Peter glimpsed a very yellow, supercilious face swinging in his +direction from the padding throng. + +"A little, perhaps," he conceded. + +"Because of me?" + +The yellow face reappeared and was swallowed again by the crowd, as a +speck of mud is engulfed by the Yangtze. + +Miss Lorimer repeated her question. Peter shook his head in an +extravagant denial, and helped her down from the rickshaw. They had +stopped before the consulate in the American quarter. + +"I'm leaving you here," he said. + +"But--but I like you!" her small voice faltered. "Aren't you going to +explain--anything? Is this--is this all?" + +Peter smothered his rising feelings under an air of important haste. +"Your way lies there"--he pointed down river. "For the present mine +lies here"--and he jerked a thumb in the general direction of +Shanghai's narrow muddy alleys. + +"Shall I--won't you--gracious!" Miss Lorimer stared into her left +hand. Two one-thousand-dollar Bank of China bills were folded upon it. +She was confused. When she looked back the young man who had +miraculously delivered her from an unguessable fate had been spirited +with Oriental magic from her sight. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +The bund of Shanghai was striped with the long, purple shadows of +coming night, a night which seemed to be creeping out of the heart of +the land, ushering with it a feeling of subtle tension, as though the +touch of darkness stirred to wakefulness a populace of shadows, which +skulked and crouched and whispered, comprising an underworld of +sinister folk which the first glow of dawn would send scampering back +to a thousand evil-smelling hiding-places. + +The rhythmic chant of coolies on the river ended. Mammoth go-downs, +where the products of China flowed on their way to distant countries, +became gloomily silent and empty. Handsome, tall sikhs, the police of +the city, appeared in twos and threes where only one had been stationed +before; for in China, as elsewhere, wickedness is borne on the night's +wings. + +With the descent of the velvety darkness the late wireless operator of +the transpacific greyhound, the _Vandalia_, slipped out of an obscure, +shadowy doorway on Nanking Road and directed his steps toward the +glittering bund, where he was reasonably sure his enemies would have +difficulty in recognizing him. + +Peter's uniform now reposed on a dark shelf in the rear of a silkshop. +He had no desire to be stabbed in the back, which was a probability in +case certain up-river men should find him. The Chinese gentleman who +conducted the silkshop was an old friend, and trustworthy. + +Peter now wore the garb of a Japanese merchant. His feet were +sandaled. His straight, lithe figure was robed in an expensive gray +silk kimono. Jammed tight to his ears, in good Nipponese fashion, was +a black American derby. His eyebrows were penciled in a fairly +praiseworthy attempt to reproduce the Celestial slant, and he carried a +light bamboo cane. + +Yet the ex-operator of the _Vandalia_ was not altogether sure that the +disguise was a success. If the scowling yellow face he had detected +among the throngs on the bund that morning should have followed him to +the silk-shop, of what earthly use was this silly disguise? + +He padded along in the lee of a money-changer's, keeping close to the +wall. By degrees he became aware that he was followed; and he +endeavored to credit the feeling to imagination, to raw nerves. A +ghostly rickshaw flitted by. The soft chugging of the coolie's bare +feet became faint, ceased. A muttering old woman waddled past. + +He looked behind him in time to see a gaunt face, lighted by the dim +glow of a shop window, bob out of sight into a doorway. Turning again +a moment later, he saw the man dive into another doorway. + +Peter ran to the dark aperture, seized a muscular, satin-covered arm, +and dragged a whispering Chinese, a big, brawny fellow, into the +circular zone of the yellow street-light. Quickly recovering from his +surprise, the Chinese reached swiftly toward his belt. Peter, hoping +that only one man had been set on his trail, gave a murderous yell, and +at the same time drove his fist into a yielding paunch. + +With a groan the Chinese staggered back against the shop window, caving +in a pane with his elbow. Peter raised his fist to strike again. + +Then a monumental figure, with a clean turban coiled about his head, +strode austerely into the circle of yellow light. + +"_Ta dzoh sh[=e]n m[=o] szi_?" + +"Thief," said Moore simply, indicating the broken shop window. + +"L[=a]o sh[=e]n l[=a]o sh[=e]n!" growled the sikh. He seized the +luckless window-breaker by both shoulders, backed him against an iron +trolley-post, and strapped him to it. + +With a jovial, "Allah be with you!" Peter Moore continued his stroll +toward the bund. Now that the trailer was out of his way for the night +at least, he could make his way in peace to the Palace bar and find out +what might be in the wind for him. + +As he crossed Nanking Road where it joined the bund, a frantic shout, +mingled with a scream of fear or of warning, impelled him to leap out +of the path of a rickshaw which was making for him at a breakneck +speed. A white face, with a slender gloved hand clutched close to the +lips, swept past. + +Peter gasped in surprise quite as staggering as if the girl in the +rickshaw had slapped him across the face. He shouted after her. But +she went right on, without turning. + +"Licksha?" A grinning coolie dropped the shafts of an empty rickshaw +at Peter Moore's heels. + +He ceased being angry as a softer glow crept into his veins. The +rickshaw turned to the right, following the other, which occupied the +center of the almost deserted bund, and speeding like the wind. + +"_Ní chü bà_!" shouted Peter Moore. The girl seemed to be headed for +the bund bridge. But why? A number of questions stormed futilely in +his brain. Why had the girl ignored him? Why had she not gone aboard +the _Manchuria_, as she had promised? + +The coolie joggled along, his naked legs rising and falling +mechanically. The wireless operator drew the folds of the kimono more +closely about his throat, for the night air blowing off the Whang-poo +was chill and damp. + +At the bridge the rickshaw ahead suddenly stopped, waiting. Peter +Moore drew alongside, and leaped to the ground. + +The near-by street-light afforded him the information that he had made +a mistake. Undeniably similar to the girl he had sent away on the +_Manchuria_ that morning was the young lady in the rickshaw. She had +the same white, wistful face, the same alert, appealing eyes, the same +rosebud mouth. Any one might have made such a mistake. It was very +embarrassing. + +"Why are you following me?" she demanded. + +"I thought I knew you. I am sorry. I'll go at once." + +"No! Wait." Her volte relented. It was a fresh young voice, not +indeed unlike that of Miss Lorimer's. She was smiling. "Why are you +dressed as a Jap?" + +"I am sorry," Peter faltered, retreating. "Mistake. You're not the +girl I--I expected. _Sayonara_!" + +"_Please_ don't run away," said the girl with a soft laugh. "I'm not +afraid, or I would have run, instead of waiting, when you followed me. +I've just come up from Amoy--alone. And I leave to-morrow for +Ching-Fu--alone. You're American!" she murmured. "But why the +Jap--disguise? I'm American, too. I used to live in New York, on +Riverside Drive. Oh! It must have been ages ago!" + +"Why?" asked Peter unguardedly. + +"I haven't met one of my countrymen in centuries! And to-morrow I go +up the river, 'way beyond Ching-Fu, beyond Szechwan!" + +"Bad travelling on the river this time of the year," Peter murmured +politely. "She's out of her banks up above Ichang, I have been told." + +"Yes," replied the girl sadly. "If I could only have just one evening +of fun--a dance or two, maybe--I--I--wouldn't mind half so much. +I--I----" + +Peter advised himself as follows: I told you so. Aloud he said: + +"I believe there's a dance at the Astor Hotel. If we can get a +table----" + +"Oh, how lovely!" exclaimed the girl. "Do--do you mind very--much?" + +"Tickled to death," Peter declared amiably. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +At a small round table in the end of the room over which hung the +orchestra balcony, Peter found himself in the presence of two disarming +gray eyes, which drank in every detail of his good-looking young face, +including the penciled eyebrows. + +Miss Vost--Miss Amy Vost--gave him to understand that she was really +grateful for his hospitality, rushed on to assure him that it was not +customary for her to meet strange young men as she had met him, and +then frankly asked him what he was doing in China. Every time she +thought of him her curiosity seemed to trip over the Japanese kimono. + +Influenced by his third glass of Japanese champagne, he almost told her +the truth. He modified it by saying that he was a wireless operator; +that he had missed his ship, and that his plans were to linger in China +for a while. He liked China. Liked China very much. + +Miss Vost caressed the tip of her nose with a small, pink thumb. She +was not the kind who hesitated. + +"You can do me a favor," she said, and halted. + +The Philippine orchestra burst into a lilting one-step. Miss Vost +arched her eyebrows. Peter arose, and they glided off. It developed +that Miss Vost was well qualified. There was divineness in her +youthful grace; she put her heart into the dance. It seemed probable +to Peter Moore that she put her heart into everything she did. + +"You spoke about my doing a favor," he suggested, glancing sternly at a +dark-eyed Eurasian girl who seemed to be trying to divert his attention. + +"There is a man in Shanghai I want you to try to find for me--to-night. +Last time I saw him--this morning--he was drunk. He was the first +officer on the steamer that brought me up from Amoy. Perhaps you know +him. He's only been on the coast a short while. Before that he ran on +the Pacific Mail Line between San Francisco and Panama. His name is +MacLaurin, a nice boy. Scotch. But he drinks." + +"MacLaurin? I know a man named MacLaurin--Bobbie MacLaurin." + +"No!" gasped Miss Vost. "I suppose I ought to make that old remark +about what a small world it is! Do you know where Bobbie MacLaurin is?" + +"No," he murmured. "Why is he drunk?" + +"That is a matter," replied Miss Vost, somewhat distantly, "that I +prefer not to discuss. Will you try to find him for me? He threatened +to be--be captain of the river-boat, the _Hankow_, that I leave on +to-morrow for Ching-Fu. I'd rather like to know if he intends to carry +out his threat. Will you find out, if you can, if he is going to be +sober enough to make the trip--and let me know?" requested Miss Vost, +as the music stopped. "I'd rather he wouldn't, Mr. Moore," she added +quickly. "But I do wish _you_ were going to make the trip. I'd love +to have you!" + +The ex-operator of the _Vandalia_ experienced a warm suffusion in the +vicinity of his throat. In the next breath he felt genuinely guilty. +As he looked deep into the anxious, appealing gray eyes of Miss Vost, +he cursed himself for being, or having the tendencies to be, a trifler; +and in his estimation a trifler was not far removed from the reptile +class. Yet somehow, damn it, that trip to Ching-Fu on the _Hankow_ +appealed to him now as a most profitable excursion, for Ching-Fu was +only a few hundred li from Len Yang. + +Something of the doughtiness of a mongoose marching into a den of +monster cobras characterized Peter Moore's intention to penetrate the +stronghold of the cinnabar king. He knew that his chances for entering +Len Yang were absurdly small. Yet the whole of the Chinese Empire was +not particularly safe for him now. The Gray Dragon had paid him the +compliment of recognizing in him an enemy. He no longer doubted +Minion's warning; the dragon of Len Yang controlled a powerful +organization. No part of China was safe. If he desired to run away +from this very actual danger in which direction could he run? + +"_When menaced by danger_," runs an old Chinese proverb, "_go to the +very heart of it; there you will find safety_." + +It lacked a few minutes of midnight when Peter entered the Palace bar +by the bund side. Only a few lights were burning, and the exceedingly +long teak bar--"the longest bar east of Suez"--was adorned by a few +knots of men only. Tobacco smoke was thick in the place, nearly +obscuring the doorway into the hotel lobby. + +He scanned the idlers, looking for the cloth of sailormen. His quest +was ended. Bobbie MacLaurin was here, disposing of all of the imported +Scotch whiskey that came convenient to his long and muscular reach. + +In a deep and sonorous voice he was pointing out to a group of +uniformed sailors, burdening his point with a club-like forefinger with +which he pounded on the edge of the teak bar, that while he rarely +drank off duty, he never drank when on. This claim Peter had reason to +know was not untrue. + +The wireless operator edged his way to MacLaurin's side, and touched +his arm, making a whispered remark which the Scotchman evidently did +not comprehend. For MacLaurin wheeled on him, and bestowed upon him a +red, glassy, and hotly indignant stare. + +Bobbie MacLaurin was, in the language of the sea, a whale of a man. +His head seemed unnecessarily large until you began to compare it with +his body; and his body was the despair of uniform manufacturers, who +desire above all things to make a fair percentage of profit. He was +like a living monument, two and a half hundred weight of fighting flesh +and bones, which, when all of it went into action, could better be +compared to a volcano than to a monument. Otherwise he was an +exceedingly amiable young giant. + +The redness and hotness of the stare he imposed upon the friend of more +than one adventurous expedition slowly receded, leaving only the +glassiness in evidence. Bobbie fidgeted uneasily. + +"Damn my hide!" he roared. "Your face is familiar! It is! It is! +Where have I seen that face before? Ah! I know now! I had a fight +with you once." + +"More than once," corrected Peter Moore, grinning. "The last time was +in Panama. Remember? I tripped you up, after you knocked the wind out +of me, and you fell, clothes and all, into the Washington Hotel's +swimming tank." + +"Peter Moore!" gasped Bobbie MacLaurin, and Peter Moore was smothered +in log-like arms and the fumes of considerable alcohol. + +Extricating himself at length from this monstrous embrace, Peter +permitted himself to be held off at arm's length and be warmly and +loquaciously admired. + +"My old side-kick of the damn old _San Felipe_!" announced Bobbie +MacLaurin to the small group of somewhat embarrassed sailors. "The +best radio man that God ever let live! He can hear a radio signal +before it's been sent. Can't you, Peter? Boys, take a long look at +the only livin' man who can fight his weight in sea serpents; the only +livin' man who ever knocked me cold, and got away with it! Boys, take +a long, lastin' look, for the pack o' you're goin' out o' that door +inside of ten counts! God bless 'um! Just look at that there Jap +get-up! Sure as God made big fish to eat the little fellows, Peter +Moore's up to some newfangled deviltry, or I'm a lobster!" + +"Sh!" warned Peter Moore, conscious that in China the walls, doors, +floors, ceilings, windows, even the bartenders, have ears. + +"Out with the lot of you!" barked MacLaurin. "There's big business +afoot to-night. We must be alone. Eh, Peter?" + +And Peter was convinced that business could not be talked over +to-night. Of one thing only did he wish to be certain. + +"You're taking the _Hankow_ up-river to-morrow?" + +"That I am, Peter!" + +"Then we'll take the express for Nanking to-morrow morning." + +"Aye--aye! Sir!" + +"We'll turn in now. Otherwise you'll look like a wreck when Miss Vost +sees you." + +"Miss Vost!" exploded MacLaurin. "When did you see Miss Vost?" + +"A little while ago, Bob. Shall we turn in now?" + +"Miss Vost is why I'm drunk, Peter," said Bobbie MacLaurin sadly. + +"So she admitted. To-morrow we'll talk her over, and other important +matters." + +"As you say, Peter. I'm the brawn, but you're the brains of this +team--as always! The bunks are the order." + + +When Bobbie MacLaurin's not unmusical snore proceeded from the vast +bulk disposed beneath the white bedclothes, Peter Moore again descended +to the lobby, let himself into the street, and hailed a rickshaw. + +The mist from the Whang-poo had changed to a slanting rain. The bund +was a ditch of clay-like mud. Each street light was a halo unto itself. + +He lighted a cigarette, suffered the coolie to draw up the clammy +oilskin leg-robe to his waist, and dreamily contemplated the quagmire +that was Shanghai. + +The rickshaw crossed the Soochow-Creek bridge and drew up, dripping, +under the porte-cochère of the Astor House Hotel, where a majestic +Indian door-tender emerged from the shadows, bearing a large, opened +umbrella. + +Contrary to her promise Miss Vost was not waiting for his message. +However, she sent back word by the coolie, that she would dress and +come down, if he desired her to. Peter pondered a moment. A glimpse +of Miss Vost at this time of night meant nothing to him. Or was he +hungry for that glimpse? Nonsense! + +He dashed off a hasty note, sealed it in an envelope, and gave it to +the room-boy to deliver. + +He pictured her sleepy surprise as she opened it, and read: + + +Bobbie seems much put out. We take morning express to Nanking. Try to +make it. We'll have tea, the three of us, at Soochow. + + +At Soochow! There he was--at it again! A trifler. + +"Damn my withered-up sense of honor, anyway!" observed Peter Moore to +himself, as he climbed into the rain-soaked rickshaw. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +With the pristine dawn, Robert MacLaurin arose from his bed like a +large, yellow mountain; for his pajamas--every square yard of +them--were of fine Canton silk, the color of the bulbous moon when it +reposes low on China's horizon. + +Satisfying himself at length that the bedroom had another occupant, he +drained the contents of a fat, white water-jug, then tossed the jug +upon the incumbent of the bedroom's other bed. + +At such times as this critical one, the smiling destiny which held the +fate of Peter Moore in the hollow of her precious hand was ever +watchful, and the white water-jug caromed from his peaceful figure with +no more than an unimportant thud. The jug bounded to the floor and +ended its career against the hard wall. Peter Moore sat up, rubbing +his eyes. + +"Dead or alive, Peter?" + +"You nearly broke my back." + +"Serves you right, old slug-abed! You tucked me in last night with the +warning that we pick up the early express for Nanking." + +"Quite so," admitted Peter Moore thickly. In the past two days he had +managed to set aside altogether four hours for sleep; and he felt that +way. He examined his room-mate, but was not surprised at what met his +glance. + +Bobbie MacLaurin, disregarding the fact that he had not yet shaved, +looked as fresh as a rose. His endurance was like that of a range of +mountains. His sea-blue eyes were cannily clear, his complexion was +transparent and glowing. The ill effects of last night had been +absorbed with about as much apparent effort as a gigantic sponge might +display in absorbing a dewdrop. + +"Chinamen's eyes and Chinamen's knives have been running through my +dreams," Peter muttered. + +"Cheer up! The pirates are thick above Ichang. We'll both have our +bloody necks slit a dozen times before we make Ching-Fu." Bobbie +turned from the miniature mirror. His sea-blue eyes glared through a +white lake of lather. "Hurry up and shave, you loafer! We'll miss +that train." + +"I'm not going to shave for six months!" + +"Election bet?" + +"When your utterly worthless life has been endangered as many times +as----" + +"What you need is a drink, my lad!" + +"When you have evidence that the greatest criminal-at-large wants to +have you stuck like a pig----" + +MacLaurin swung his big frame about and stared. "You're not serious." + +"I am referring to--a Gray Dragon. Ever hear of one?" + +The razor in the large, red hand of Bobbie MacLaurin flashed. It came +away from his cheek. A broad trickle of crimson spread down the +lathered jaw, But he did not curse. + +"We must hurry for that train," rumbled his big voice. "We must talk +this over. We must hurry, Peter," he said again. + +Miss Amy Vost was not in evidence when the two rickshaws rattled up to +the platform of the red brick station. + +"Perhaps she's waiting for us in the coach, holding seats for us," +Peter suggested. + +"Just like her," said MacLaurin. "She's a little peach!" + +Peter entered the compartment first and scanned the heads. The only +tresses in evidence were the long, black, shining ones of a bejeweled +Chinese lady. The other passengers were men. + +"There will be no tête-à-tête in Soochow," observed Peter Moore to his +conscience. + +"I'd go to hell for that girl!" declared Bobbie MacLaurin as he sat +down at Peter's side. "Now, tell me what you were doing in that Jap +rigging. Two years, isn't it, since we were chased out of Panama City +by the _spigotties_?" + +"I came over on the _Vandalia_." + +"And didn't go back, I gather." + +"She sailed up-river for Soo-chow yesterday. No, I won't go back. +Bobbie, I started something on that ship, and I'm on my way to +Ching-Fu--and 'way beyond Ching-Fu--to finish it." + +"It will be beautifully finished, Peter! Or your name's not Moore." + +"There was a girl, a beautiful girl----" + +"There usually is," MacLaurin sighed. + +Peter gazed bitterly at the scenery flitting evenly past the window: +groves of feathery bamboo, flaming mustard fields, exquisite gardens, +and graves--graves beyond count. + +"Perhaps she is passing through the Inland Sea by now. Bobbie, I +wanted her to go home. She was--she was that kind of a girl. She +wanted to stay. Bobbie, that girl could have made a man of me! +She--she even told me she--liked me!" + +"They have a way of doing that," commented Bobbie sadly. + +Several miles rolled by before either of the men spoke. + +"Why is Miss Vost making the trip to Ching-Fu?" + +"You'll have to find that out, Peter. I was too busy letting her know +how bright my life has become since she entered it!" + +The square, red jaw swung savagely toward Peter. Of a sudden the +sea-blue eyes seemed a trifle inflamed. "She's probably going to +Ching-Fu on serious business. She's like that. She's not like you!" + +"What do you mean?" said Peter. + +"You're going to try to break into Len Yang; that's what I mean! Some +day, on one of these reckless expeditions of yours, Peter, you're going +to run plumb into a long, sharp knife! If I could head you off, I +would." + +"You can't, Bobbie. My mind is made up." + +"Get out of China. Why enter the lion's den? You're too confiding, +too trusting, too young. In duty to my conscience, I oughtn't to let +you go. But I know you'd walk or fly or swim if I tried to head you +off." + +"I certainly would," agreed Peter. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +No member of the earth's great brotherhood of dangerous waterways is +blessed with quite the degree of peril which menaces those hardy ones +who dare the River of the Golden Sands. + +Bobbie MacLauren's steamer, the _Hankow_, was the net result of long +ship-building experience. Dozens of apparently seaworthy boats have +gone up the Yangtze-Kiang, not to return. After years of experiment a +somewhat satisfactory river-boat has been evolved. It combines the +sturdiness of a sea-going tug with the speed of a torpedo-boat +destroyer. + +The _Hankow_ was ridiculously small, and monstrously strong. Chiefly +it consisted of engines and boilers. Despite their security, despite +the shipwrecks and deaths that have been poured into their present +design, Yangtze river-boats sink, a goodly crop of them, every season. + +But the world of commerce is an arrogant master. There is wealth in +the land bordering the upper reaches of the river. This wealth must be +brought down to the sea, and scattered to the lands beyond the sea. In +return, machinery and tools must be carried back to mine and farm the +wealth. + +Little is heard, less is told, and still less is written of the men who +dare the rapids and the rocks and the sands of the great river. +Sometimes the spirit of adventure sends them up the Yangtze. +Frequently, as is the case with men who depart unexplainedly upon +dangerous errands, a woman is the inspiration, or merely the cause. + +Miss Amy Vost, of New York City, but more recently of Amoy, China, +province Fu-Kien, was the generator in the case of Bobbie MacLaurin. + +When Miss Vost tripped blithely aboard the _Sunyado Maru_, anchored off +the breaks of Amoy, and captured, at first blush, the hearts of the +entire forward crew, Bobbie MacLaurin was the most eager prisoner of +the lot. + +Perhaps she took notice of him out of the corner of her glowing young +eyes long before he became seriously and mortally afflicted. Certainly +the first mate of the _Sunyado Maru_ was no believer in the theory of +non-resistance. + +Had Miss Vost been a susceptible young woman, it is safe to assume that +Bobbie MacLaurin would not have accepted command of the _Hankow_ from +tide-water to that remote Chinese city, Ching-Fu. + +He wooed her in the pilot-house--where passengers were never allowed; +he courted her in the dining-room; and he paid marked attention to her +at all hours of the day and night, in sundry nooks and corners of the +generous promenade deck. + +Miss Vost sparred with him. As well as being lovely and captivating, +she was clever. She seemed to agree with the rule of the philosopher +who held that conversation was given to mankind simply for purposes of +evasion. By the end of the first week Bobbie MacLaurin was earning +sour glances from his staid British captain, and glances not at all +encouraging from Miss Vost. + +He informed her that all of the beauty and all of the wonder of the +stars, the sea, the moonlight, could not equal the splendor of her +wide, gray eyes. She replied that the moon, the stars, and the sea had +gone to his head. + +He insisted that her smile could only be compared to the sunrise on a +dewy rose-vine. He threw his big, generous heart at her feet a hundred +times. Being fair and sympathetic, she did not kick it to one side. +She merely side-stepped. + +He closed that evening's interview with the threat that he would follow +her to the very ends of the earth. She gave him the opportunity, +literally, by observing dryly that her destination was precisely at the +world's end--in the hills of Szechuen, to be exact. + +He took the breath out of her mouth by saying that he would travel on +the same river-boat with her to Ching-Fu, if he had to scrub down decks +for his passage. She told him not to be a silly boy; that he was, +underneath his uncouthness, really a dear, but that he didn't know +women. + +When the _Sunyado Maru_ dropped anchor off Woo-sung, Miss Vost let +Bobbie hold her hand an instant longer than was necessary, and +stubbornly refused to accompany him in the same sampan--or the same +tug--to the customs jetty. Summarily, she went up the Whang-poo all +alone, while Bobbie, biting his finger-nails, purposely quarreled with +the staid British captain, and was invited to sign off, which he did. + +Through devious subterranean channels Bobbie MacLaurin found that the +berth of master on the _Hankow_ was vacant, the latest incumbent having +relinquished his spirit to cholera. Was he willing to assume the +tremendous responsibility? He was tremendously willing! Did he +possess good papers? He most assuredly did! + + +When the Shanghai express rolled into the Nanking station, Bobbie +MacLaurin climbed into a rattling rickshaw and clattered off in the +direction of the river-front, registering the profound hope that Miss +Vost had somehow managed to reach the _Hankow_ ahead of him. Peter +Moore, who knew China's ancient capital like a book, struck off in a +diagonal direction on foot. + +He made his way to a Chinese tailor's, who bought from him the Japanese +costume and sold him a suit of gray tweeds, which another customer had +failed to call for. While not an adornment, the gray tweeds were +comfortably European, a relief from the flapping, clumsy kimono. + +He wanted to have a little talk with Miss Vost before she saw Bobbie. +He had so much affection for Bobbie that he wanted to ask Miss Vost to +please not be unnecessarily cruel with him. He did not know that Miss +Vost was never unnecessarily cruel to any living creature; for he made +the mistake there of classifying all women into the good and the cruel, +of which Miss Vost seemed to be among the latter. As a matter of fact, +Miss Vost was simply a young woman very far from home, compelled to +believe in and on occasion to resort to primitive methods of +self-defense. + +Peter took a rickshaw to the river. He picked out the _Hankow_ among +the clutter of shipping, anchored not far from shore, and out of reach +of the swift current which rushed dangerously down midchannel. Black +smoke issued from her single chubby funnel. Blue-coated coolies sped +to and fro on her single narrow deck. Bobbie MacLaurin leaned far out +across the rail as Peter's sampan slapped smartly alongside. The +coolie thrashed the water into yellowy foam. + +"Have you seen Miss Vost?" shouted MacLaurin above the hiss of escaping +steam. "We pull out in an hour, Miss Vost or no Miss Vost. That's +orders." + +Peter, reaching the deck, scanned the pagoda-dotted shore-front. +"She'll be here," he said. + +Pu-Chang, the _Hankow's_ pilot, a slender, grayed Chinese, grown old +before his time, in the river service, sidled between them, smiling +mistily, and asked his captain if the new tow-line had been delivered. +While MacLaurin went to make inquiries, Peter watched a sampan, bow on, +floating down-stream, with the intention, evidently, of making +connections with the _Hankow's_ ladder. On her abrupt foredeck was a +slim figure of blue and white. + +Startled a little by recollection, Peter leaned far out. For a moment +he had imagined the white face to be that of Eileen Lorimer. The +demure attitude of Miss Vost's hands, caught by the finger-tips before +her, gave further grounds to Peter Moore for the comparison. Her youth +and innocence had as much to do with it as anything, for there was +undeniably an air of youth and extreme innocence about Miss Vost. + +Something in the shape of a triumphant bellow was roared from the +engine-room companionway. Whereupon the companionway disgorged the +monumental figure of Bobbie MacLaurin, grinning like a schoolboy at his +first party. He seized Miss Vost by both hands, swinging her neatly to +the deck. + +She panted and fell back against the rail, holding her hand to her +heart, and welcoming Bobbie MacLaurin by a glance that was not entirely +cordial. + +"The sampan boy hasn't been paid," she remarked, opening her purse. +"It's twenty cents." + +While MacLaurin pulled a silver dollar from his pocket and spun it to +the anxious coolie, Miss Vost turned with the warmest of smiles to +Peter. Rarely had any girl seemed more delighted to see him, for +which, under the circumstances, he found it somewhat difficult to be +grateful. + +He experienced again that dull feeling of guilt. He felt that she +ought to show more cordiality to Bobbie MacLaurin. Here was Bobbie, +trailing after her like a faithful dog, on the most hazardous trip that +any man could devise, and he had not been rewarded, so far, with even +the stingiest of smiles. + +Women were like that. They took the fruits of your work, or they took +your life, or let you toss it to the crows, without a sign of +gratitude. At least, _some_ women were like that. He had hoped Miss +Vost was not that kind. He had hoped---- + +Miss Vost laid her small, warm hand in his, and she seemed perfectly +willing to let it linger. Her lips were parted in a smile that was all +but a caress. She seemed to have forgotten that the baffled young man +who stared so fixedly at the back of her pretty, white neck existed. + +It was quite embarrassing for Peter. The feeling of the little hand, +that lay so intimately within his, sent a warm glow stealing into his +guilty heart. + +Then, aware of the pain in the face of Bobbie MacLaurin, a face that +had abruptly gone white, and realizing his duty to this true friend of +his, he pushed Miss Vost's hands away from him. + +That gesture served to bring them all back to earth. + +"Aren't you glad--aren't you a little bit glad--to see me--me?" said +the hurt voice of Bobbie MacLaurin. + +Miss Vost pivoted gracefully, giving Peter Moore a view of her +splendid, straight back for a change. "Of course I am, Bobbie!" she +exclaimed. "I'm always glad to see you. Why--oh, look! Did you ever +see such a Chinaman?" + +They all joined in her look. A salmon-colored sampan was riding +swiftly to the _Hankow's_ riveted steel side. With long legs spread +wide apart atop the low cabin stood a very tall, very grave Chinese. +His long, blanched face was more than grave, more than austere. + +Peter Moore stared and ransacked his memory. He had seen that face, +that grimace, before. His mind went back to the shop front, on Nanking +Road, last evening, when he was skulking toward the bund from the +friendly establishment of his friend, the silk merchant, Ching Gow Ong. + +This man was neither Cantonese nor Pekingese. His long, rather +supercilious face, his aquiline nose, the flare of his nostrils, the +back-tilted head, the high, narrow brow, and the shock of blue-black +hair identified the Chinese stranger, even if his abnormal, rangy +height were not taken into consideration, as a hill man, perhaps +Tibetan, perhaps Mongolian. Certainly he was no river-man. + +It seemed improbable that the window-breaker could have been released +by the heartless Shanghai police so quickly; yet out of his own +adventurous past Peter could recall more than one occasion when +"squeeze" had saved him embarrassment. + +There was no constraint in the pose of the man on the sampan's flat +roof. With indifference his narrow gaze flitted from the face of +Bobbie MacLaurin to that of Miss Vost, and wandered on to the stern, +sharp-eyed visage of Peter Moore. + +Here the casual gaze rested. If he recognized Peter Moore, he gave no +indication of it. He studied Peter's countenance with the look of one +whose interest may be distracted on the slightest provocation. + +An intelligent and wary student of human nature, Peter dropped his eyes +to the man's long, claw-like fingers. These were twitching ever so +slightly, plucking slowly--it may have been meditatively--at the hem of +his black silk coat. At the intentness of Peter's stare, this +twitching abruptly ceased. + +The sampan whacked alongside. The big man tossed a small, orange-silk +bag to the deck. He climbed the ladder as if he had been used to +climbing all his life. + +"I don't care for his looks," remarked Miss Vost, looking up into +Peter's face with a curious smile. + +"Nor I," said Bobbie MacLaurin. + +The richly dressed stranger vaulted nimbly over the teak-rail, +recovered the orange bag, and approached MacLaurin. His head drooped +forward momentarily, in recognition of the authority of the blue +uniform. + +He said in excellent English: "I desire to engage passage to Ching-Fu." + +"This way," replied the _Hankow's_ captain. + +"You seemed to recognize him," said Miss Vost to Peter, when they had +the deck to themselves. + +"Perhaps I was mistaken," replied Peter evasively. He suddenly was +aware of Miss Vost's wide-eyed look of concern. + +Impulsively she laid her hand on his arm. She had come up very close +to him. Her head moved back, so that her chin was almost on a level +with his. + +"Mr. Moore," she said in a low, soft voice, "I won't ask you any +questions. In China, there are many, many things that a woman must not +try to understand. But I--I want to tell you that--that I think you +are--splendid. It seems so fine, so good of you. I--I can't begin to +thank you. My--my feelings prevent it." + +"But--why--what--what----" stammered Peter. + +"Oh, Mr. Moore, I know--I know!" Miss Vost proceeded earnestly. "Like +all fine, brave men, you are--you are modest! It--it almost makes me +want to cry, to think--to think----" + +"But, Miss Vost," interrupted Peter, gently and gravely, "you are +shooting over my head!" + +In the rakish bows of the _Hankow_ arose the clank and clatter of wet +anchor-chains. A bell tinkled in the engine-room. The stout fabric of +the little steamer shuddered. The yellow water began to slip by them. +On the shore two pagodas moved slowly into alignment. The _Hankow_ was +moving. + +Miss Vost strengthened her gentle hold upon Peter's reluctant arm. Her +bright eyes were a trifle blurred. "Last night, when we met on the +bund," she went on in a small voice, "I knew +immediately--immediately--what you were. A chivalrous gentleman! A +man who would shelter and protect any helpless woman he met!" + +"That was nice of you," murmured Peter. + +Like Saul of Tarsus, he was beginning to see a bright light. + +"And it was true!" Miss Vost plunged on. "Now--now, you are risking +your life--for poor, unworthy little me! Please don't deny it, Mr. +Moore! I only wanted to let you know that I--I understand, and that I +am--g-grateful!" Her eyelids fluttered over an unstifled moistness. + +"Bobbie _loves_ you," blurted Peter. "He'd do anything in the world +for you. He told me so. He told me----" + +Miss Vost opened her eyes on a look that was hurt and humiliated. +"What?" + +"He'd go to hell for you!" + +"He's an overgrown boy. He doesn't know what he says. That's +nonsense," declared Miss Vost, looking away from Peter. "I know his +type, Mr. Moore. He falls in love with every pretty face; and he falls +out again, quite as easily." + +"You don't know Bobbie, the way I do," said Peter stubbornly. + +"I don't have to. I know his kind--a girl in every port." + +"No, no. Not Bobbie!" + +For a moment it seemed that they had come to an _impasse_. Miss Vost +was blinking her eyes rapidly, appearing to be somewhat interested in a +junk which was poling down-stream. + +She looked up with a wan smile. Tears were again in her eyes. "Mr. +Moore," she said in a broken voice, "what you've told me about Mr. +MacLaurin, Captain MacLaurin, moves me--deeply!" + +"Do try to be nice to Bobbie," begged Peter. "He is the finest fellow +I know. He is true blue. He would give his life for your little +finger. Really he would, Miss Vost!" + +The bright eyes gave him a languishing look. + +"I'll try," she said simply. + +That night the banks of the great river were gray and mysterious under +the effulgence of a top-heavy yellow moon. The search-light on the +peak pierced out the fact that a low, swirling mist was creeping up +from the river's dulled surface. + +The air was damp with the breath of the land. Occasionally the gentle +puffs of the wind bore along the water the flavor of queer, +indistinguishable odors. + +Elbow to elbow, glancing down at the hissing water, Miss Vost and Peter +stood for a number of sweet, meditative moments in silence. At length +Miss Vost slipped her arm through his. + +"Sometimes," she murmured, inclining her head until it almost rested +against his shoulder, "I feel lonely--terrible! Especially on such a +night as this. The moon is so impersonal, isn't it? Here it is, a +great, gorgeous ball of cold fire, shining across China at you and me. +In Amoy it seemed to frown at me. Now--it seems to smile. The same +moon!" + +"The same moon!" whispered Peter as her warm hand slipped down and +snuggled in his. + +"Don't _you_ ever feel lonely--like this?" demanded Miss Vost suddenly. + +Peter sighed. "Oh, often. Often! The world seems so big, and so +filled with things that are hard to learn. Especially at night!" He +wondered what she thought he meant. + +"I--I feel that way," Miss Vost's absorbed voice replied. "I try--and +try--to reason these things out. But they are so baffling! So +elusive! So evasive! Here is China, with its millions of poor +wretched ones, struggling in darkness and disease. There are so many! +And they are so hard to help. And out beyond there, not so many miles +beyond that ridge, lies Tibet, with her millions, and her ignorance, +and her disease. And to the left--away to the left, I think, is India. + +"If a person would be happy, he must not come to China or India. Their +problems are too overwhelming. You cannot think of solutions fast +enough, and even while you think, you are overcome by the weariness, +the hopelessness, of it all. I wish I had never come to China. + +"I happened to be in Foo-Chow not long ago. There is in Foo-Chow a +thing that illustrates what I mean. It is called the baby tower. +Girls, you know, aren't thought much of in China. At the bottom of the +tower is a deep well. Women to whom are born baby girls go to the baby +tower----" Miss Vost shuddered. "The babies are thrown into the well. +I have seen them. Poor--poor, little creatures--dying like that!" + +Miss Vost sniffled for a moment. Brightly she said: + +"I like to talk to you, Mr. Moore. You're so--so sympathetic!" + +A great, dark shadow bulked up against the rail alongside Peter. + +"Good evening, folks!" declared the pleasant bass voice of Bobbie +MacLaurin. + +"We were just talking about you, Bobbie," said Peter affably. "As I +was telling Miss Vost, you're the most sympathetic man I ever knew! +Good night, Miss Vost. Night, Bobs!" + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +When Peter descended the stairway into the narrow vestibule which +served as reception-hall, dining-saloon, and, incidentally, as the +corridor from which the _Hankow's_ four small staterooms were entered, +he had the chilly feeling that the darkness had eyes. + +Yet he saw nothing. The cabin was dark. Three round ports glimmered +greenly beyond the staircase on the cabin's forward side. The glimmer +was occasioned by the refracted rays of the _Hankow's_ dazzling +searchlight. But these were not the ones he felt. + +Gradually his own eyes became accustomed to the pulp-like darkness. He +steadied his body against the gentle swaying of the steamer, and +endeavored to listen above, or through, the imminent thrashing and +clattering of the huge engine. + +He examined the four stateroom doors anxiously. As the darkness began +to dissolve slightly, Peter, still conscious that eyes were fastened +upon him, made the discovery that the stateroom adjoining his was +slightly ajar. The moon favored him--Miss Vost's impersonal moon. It +outlined against the slit what appeared to be a large, irregular block. + +Peter decided that the irregular block was nothing more nor less than +the head of a man. To prove that his surmise was correct, Peter +quickly shifted the revolver from his right hand to his left, brought +it even with his eyes and--struck a match. + +In the startling flare of the phosphorus the evil glint of Celestial +eyes was instantly revealed in the partly opened door. + +With incredible softness the door was closed. Where there had been +half-lidded eyes, a positive snarl, and a shock of blue-black hair was +now a white-enameled panel. + +Peter continued to smile along the barrel, which glistened in the dying +flame of the match. He unlocked his door, closed it, and shot the +bolt. Switching on the electric light, he cautiously drew back the +sheet. Apparently satisfied, he sniffed the air. It was nothing more +than stuffy, as a stateroom that has been closed for a week or so is +apt to be. + +Unscrewing the fat wingbolts which clamped down the brass-bound +port-glass, he let in a breath of misty river air. Simultaneously +voices came into the room. + +Miss Vost and Bobbie MacLaurin were conversing in clear, tense +syllables. Peter could not help eavesdropping. They were standing on +the deck, directly over his stateroom, only a few scant feet from his +porthole, which was situated much nearer the deck than the surging +water. + +"But I do--I do love you!" Bobbie was complaining in his rumbling +voice. "Ever since you set foot on the old _Sunyado Maru_ I've been +your shadow--your slave! What more can any man say?" he added bitterly. + +"Not a great deal," rejoined Miss Vost lightheartedly. She became +abruptly serious. "Bobbie, I do like you. I admire you--ever so much. +But it happens that you are not the man for me. You don't understand +me. You can never understand me. Don't you realize it? You're too +sudden--too brutal--too----" + +"Brutal! I've treated you like a flower. I want to shield you----" + +"But I don't _need_ shielding, Bobbie. I'm prudent, fearless, +and--twenty-two. I don't need a watch-dog!" + +"Good God, who said anything about being a watchdog?" exclaimed Bobbie. +"I--I just want----" + +"You just want me," completed Miss Vost. "Well, you can't have me." + +"You love somebody else, then. That young pup!" + +Peter stared sourly at the bilious moon. + +"Don't you dare call him a young pup, Robert MacLaurin," retorted Miss +Vost resentfully. "He is a fine young man. I admire him and I respect +him very, _very_ much." + +"He can't fool around any girl of mine!" + +Peter heard Bobbie sucking the breath in between his teeth, as if he +might have pricked himself with a pin. Bobbie had done worse than that. + +"A girl of _yours_!" snapped Miss Vost. + +Followed low, anxious and imploratory whispers. These were terminated +by a long, light, and delicious laugh. + +"Bobbie, you're so _funny_!" Miss Vost gurgled. + +"I wish I was dead!" declared Bobbie despondently. + +"You should go to Liauchow," Miss Vost chirped. + +"_Why_ should _I_ go to Liauchow?" grumbled the bass voice. + +"To be happy, you must be born in Soochow, live in Canton and die in +Liauchow. So runs the proverb." + +"Why should I go to Liauchow?" persisted Bobbie. + +"Because Soochow has the handsomest people, Canton the most luxury, and +Liauchow the best coffins!" + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +Peter Moore's curiosity regarding the motives which were sending Miss +Amy Vost into Szechwan, most deplorable, most poverty-stricken of +provinces, was satisfied before the _Hankow_ had put astern the great +turbulent city after which it had been named. + +At Hankow the _Hankow_ picked up the raft which it would tow all the +way up to Ching-Fu. Upon this raft was a long, squat cabin, in and out +of which poured incessantly members of China's large and growing family. + +There were thin, dirty little men, and skinny, soiled little women, and +quantities of hungry, dirty little boys and girls. A great noise went +up from the raft as the _Hankow_ nosed in alongside, and the new +towline was passed and made fast over the bitts. + +As the big propeller thumped under them and churned the muddy water +into unhealthy-looking foam, Peter Moore and Miss Vost leaned upon the +rail, where it curved around the fantail, and discoursed at length, +speculating upon the probable destination of that raftful of dirty +humanity, and offering problematic answers to the puzzling question as +to why were all these people deserting relatively prosperous Hankow for +the over-populated, overdeveloped province of Szechwan. + +Peter had an inkling that Miss Vost was distressed by the scene. + +"Let's take a stroll forward," he suggested. + +An urchin, directly below them, stood rubbing his eyes with two grimy +fists. His whines were audible above the churning of the engines. + +"No, no. I'm quite accustomed to this. Look--just look at that +miserable little fellow!" + +"He is blind," stated Peter quietly. + +"Half of them are blind," Miss Vost replied. Her features were +transfixed by a look of sadness. "Wait for me. I'll return in a +second." + +Peter watched the graceful swing of her shoulders as she strode down +the deck to the forward companionway, admiring the slim strength of her +silk-clad ankles. She was every inch an American girl. He was proud +of her. She returned, carrying a small oblong of cardboard, upon which +a photograph was pasted. + +Peter found himself looking into the sad, be-wrinkled eyes of a +gray-bearded man, a patriarchal gentleman, who stood on the hard clay +at the foot of a low stone stairway. His nose, his eyes, his +intellectual forehead were distinctly those of Miss Vost. A child in a +freshly starched frock, with eyes opened wide in surprise and interest, +was firmly clutching one of his trouser-legs. + +"My father," explained Miss Vost. "He was stationed at Wenchow then, +in charge of the mission. I have not seen him since." + +Peter remarked to himself that somehow Miss Vost did not seem to be the +daughter of a missionary, nor was the costly way she dressed in key +with her remark. Perhaps she divined his thoughts. + +"He has money--lots of it. He has a keen, broad mind. But he chose +this. When he was first married be brought mother to China. He saw, +and realized, China's vast problems. And he stayed. He wanted to +help." + +Peter gazed into her gray eyes, which seemed to take on a clear violet +tinge when she was deeply moved. + +"He told me to come to see him because he was growing old. I stopped +off in Amoy," said Miss Vost with a ghost of a smile. "A young +missionary he wanted me to meet lives there. I met him. But I could +not admire that young missionary. He was a--a _poseur_. He was +pretending. One reason I like you, Mr. Moore, is because you're so +sincere. He was so transparent. And his 'converts' saw through him, +too. They were bread-and-butter converts. They listened to him; they +devoured his food--then they went to the fortune-tellers! Father could +not have known Doctor Sanborn longer than a few minutes--or else he's +not the father that he used to be! I inherit his love for sincerity. +I--I'm sure he will like you!" + +"But--but----" stammered Peter--"I don't expect to go to Wenchow. +Better say he'd like--Bobbie!" + +"Oh, he'd like anybody that I liked," Miss Vost said lightly. +"It--it's really interesting, you know, from Ching-Fu to Wenchow. We +take bullock carts--if we can find them. Otherwise we walk. Doesn't +it--appeal to you--just a little--to be all alone with me for nearly a +hundred miles?" + +"Very much indeed," replied Peter earnestly. "But our roads part--at +Ching-Fu. I go directly south." + +"In search of more adventure and romance? Perhaps--perhaps a girl who +is not so silly as I have been? Or--is it India--or Afghanistan?" + +"Neither. An old friend!" + +"Is that why you are growing a beard--to surprise--_him_?" + +"Perhaps," said Peter, absently fingering the bristles. "Don't tell me +it's unbecoming or I'll have to shave it off!" + +"As if what I thought made a particle of difference!" retorted Miss +Vost defiantly. + +Peter gave her a thoughtful, a puzzled stare. "I overheard you last +night. You broke your promise. You promised to be nice to him." + +"I was. Do you mean what I said about Liauchow?" + +"You don't realize what you _mean_ to Bobbie. My dear, dear girl----" + +"I am not your dear, dear girl!" + +Peter groaned. + +"Does your heart ache, too, Peter?" + +"Of course it does! I--I'd like----" + +"Then why don't you?" + +"It wouldn't be fair, that's why!" + +"To--Bobbie?" + +"Bobbie, too." + +"Then there _is_ another girl," Miss Vost cried bitterly. She bit her +lip. "You should have told me before." + +"I thought it wouldn't be necessary." + +Miss Vost dropped her eyes to Peter's hand which was resting on the +rail. Her own hand moved over and nestled against it. + +"Do--do you l-love her as much as th-this?" Her eyes returned to his +face. + +"I did think I did!" + +"But you're not sure--now?" + +"Oh, I thought I was sure! I _am_ sure'" + +"There's little more to say, then, is there?" Her lids were blinking +rapidly as she looked down at the mob of filthy little Arabs on the +flat. Her fingers plucked, trembling, at the embroidered hem of a +white, wadded handkerchief. + +"Bobbie _does_ care for you so," observed Peter with unintentional +cruelty. + +"Oh--oh--_him_!" sobbed Miss Vost, leaving him to stare after her +drooping figure as she retreated down the deck. + +She seemed on a sudden to be avoiding the entrance to the forward +companionway. He wondered why. + +The girl stopped, with her hands clenched into white fists at her sides. + +From the doorway, smiling suavely and wiping one hand upon the other in +a gesture of solicitous meekness, emerged the tall and commanding +figure of the Mongolian--or was he a Tibetan? He was attired now in +the finest, the shiniest of Canton silks. His satin pants, of a +gorgeous white, a _courting_ white, were strapped about ankles which +terminated in curved sandals sparkling with gold and jewels in the +mid-day sun. His jacket, long and perfectly fitting, was of a robin's +egg blue. His blue-black queue, freshly oiled, gleamed like the coils +of an active hill snake. + +He was a picture of refined Chinese saturninity. + +Miss Vost, beholding him, was properly impressed. She stepped back, +not a little appalled, and swept him from queue to sandal with a look +that was not the heartiest of receptions. The Mongolian was speaking +in oiled, pleasing accents. + +Peter strode toward them. + +"He insulted me!" panted Miss Vost. "Like many fine, Chinese +gentlemen, he thought, perhaps, that I might be--what do they call +'em--a 'nice li'l 'Melican girl!' Impress him with the fact that I am +not, Mr. Moore--please do that!" + +She hastened around the forward cabin, out of sight. + +The Mongolian was regarding Peter with a cool, complacent smile. His +expression was smug, uninjured. + +"Looka here, Chink-a-link," Peter advised him, "my no savvy you; you no +savvy my. My see you allatime. Allatime. You savvy, Chink-a-link?" + +"I comprehend you, my friend," replied the Mongolian in polished +accents. "In my case, 'pidgin' is not, let me hasten to say, +necessary." + +"Very good, Chink; the next time you so much as glance in Miss Vost's +direction, you're going to walk away with a pair of the dam'dest black +eyes in China! Get that--you yellow weasel?" + +"Unfortunately," replied the Mongolian, lifting his fine, black +eyebrows only a trifle, "your suggestion--your admonitions--are again, +most inappropriate. Miss Vost--do I pronounce it correctly? Miss Vost +and yourself are the victims of a misunderstanding." + +"Take off your coat, and prove I'm wrong!" shouted Peter. "I'm a +better man than you are! Swallow it or--fight!" + +Peter's gray tweed coat flopped in a heap upon the ironwood deck. + +The Mongolian retired a few feet, with indications of anxiety. + +"I--I did not intend to offend her," he retracted. His ropy throat +muscles seemed to convulse. His long face flamed hotly red. He burst +out, as though unable to control himself: "My savvy allatime you no +savvy! _Ní bùh yào t[=i] nà gò hwà! Djan gò chü, ràng ó dzóu!_" + +"_Lao-shu_," laughed Peter. "_Dang hsin!_" + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +They came to Ichang next noon. Peter was on deck watching the somewhat +hazardous procedure of transferring large grass-bound cases of tools +from a tidewater steamer to the stern of the flat when he saw the +Mongolian emerge from the companionway and walk to the rail, forward. +Peter gave him a full stare, but the man did not glance in his +direction. He was looking down at the muddy river, and beckoning. + +Peter observed a sampan coolie give an answering wave, and the sampan +sidled alongside the flat. + +The Mongolian returned a few minutes before the _Hankow_ hauled in her +anchor. He retired to his stateroom and stayed there until late +afternoon. + +The river above Ichang was swifter, more dangerous, than in its lower +course. Except for the junks and an occasional sampan, the _Hankow_ +had the stream to herself. The yellow waters were tinged with red, +dancing and sparkling to a fresh breeze under a fair blue sky. Great +blue hills confined the swollen current. This was not the Yangtze of +yesterday. It was a maddened millrace, gorged by the mountain rains. +Even the gurgle under the sharp-cut waters seemed to convey a menace. + +Dikes were broken down. The brown waters had flowed out to right and +left, forming quiet lakes where there had been fields of paddy and +wheat. The junks from up-river were having a strenuous time of it. +Swarms of gibbering coolies manned the long sweeps, striving above all +to keep their clumsy craft in safe mid-current. + +They were passing a long row of pyramids, green, brown and red. But +Miss Vost was staring along the deck. + +"The Mongolian!" she muttered. "How he is grinning at you!" + +The Mongolian had come upon them, apparently unintentionally. He +hesitated and paused when Peter looked up. Peter saw no grin upon his +lips. They were set in a firm, straight line. His long arms were +folded behind his back, and his eyes were empty of mirth--or malice. +They simply expressed nothing. He looked at Peter shortly, and favored +Miss Vost with a long stare. + +Her eyes faltered. Peter stepped forward. + +But the Mongolian bowed, passed them at a slow, meditative walk, and +was lost from their sight behind the cabin's port side. + +The idea took hold of Peter that the stalker had become the killer. +There was a telegraph station at Ichang through which ran the frail +copper wires connecting the seventy millions of Szechwan Province with +civilization. Had it been possible for the Mongolian to signal his +master in Len Yang and receive an answer while the _Hankow_ lay at +Ichang? + +After dinner, curious and nervous, Peter went below. The light was +burning over the table of weapons in the main cabin. + +The Mongolian's door was slightly ajar, and as Peter descended the +stairs, the door closed. + +He waited. His heart thumped, louder than the thump of the laboring +engine. He walked to his stateroom, opened the door, kicked the +threshold, and--slammed the door! He hastened to the table, and hid +behind it. Between the table legs he had a splendid view of both doors. + +Holding a kris, point down, in front of him, the Mongolian slipped out, +tried the adjacent door-knob and entered Peter's room. When he came +out, he looked perplexed and angry. He slid the dagger into his silk +blouse and looked up the stairway, listening. + +His expression of rage passed away; now his look was inscrutable. +Stealing across the vestibule, he approached Miss Vost's door, and +rapped. + +Peter ran his fingers along the edge of the table until they +encountered the hilt of a cutlass. He waited. + +The Mongolian rapped a little louder. There was no answer. Again he +knocked, imperatively. Peter heard Miss Vost's sleepy voice pitched in +inquiry. Her door opened an inch or two. + +The Mongolian forced his way inside! + +Miss Vost uttered a short, sharp scream, which was instantly smothered. + +As Peter burst into the room, the Mongolian turned with a snarl, +reaching for his silk blouse. Peter clapped his free hand to the +muscled shoulder, and dragged him into the corridor. + +Miss Vost, in a long, white nightgown, was framed in the doorway, +staring sleepily. Her hand was clutched to her lips. Her hair tumbled +about her bare shoulders in dark, silky clusters. + +Bright steel flashed in the Mongolian's hand. "_Ha-li!_" he muttered. + +Peter braced himself, and thrust straight upward, striking with fury. +He drove the sword through the Mongolian's right eye. + +Miss Vost, a slender pillar of white, stared down at the floundering +heap. She seemed to be going mad, with the green light of the electric +glittering in her distended eyes. + +Bobbie MacLaurin bounded down the steps. + +"He tried to come into my room," said Miss-Vost. "He tried to come +into my room!" + +"I know. I know. But it's all right," soothed Peter, panting. "You +must go back to bed. You must try to sleep." He talked as though she +were a child. "He was a bad man. He had to--to be treated--this way!" + +"You--you look like an Arab. The dark. And that beard. Where is +Bobbie?" + +"Right here. Right here beside you!" + +"You're not hurt--either of you? You're both all right?" + +"Yes. Yes. _Please_ go to bed!" begged Peter. + +"Please!" implored Bobbie. + +To them there was something unreligious, something terrible, in the +notion of Miss Vost standing in the presence of the grim black heap in +the shadow. Nor were her youth and her innocence intended to be bared +before the eyes of men in this fashion. + +As if a chill river wind had struck her, she shivered--closed the door. + +The men carried the limp body, which was unaccountably heavy, to the +deck. After a minute there--was a splash. The _Hankow_ had not been +checked. On the Yangtze formal burial ceremonies are seldom performed. + +Peter went to bed at once. He tried to sleep. He counted the +revolutions of the propeller. He added up a stupendous number of sheep +going through a hole in a stone wall. Every so often the sheep faded +away, to be replaced by the fearful countenance of the Mongolian, who +was now perhaps ten miles or more downstream. + +After a while the engines were checked, turning at half speed for a +number of revolutions, then ceasing as a bell rang. The only sound was +the soughing gurgle of the water as it lapped along the steel plates, +and the distant drone of the rapids. + +He heard the splash of an anchor, accompanied by the rumble and clank +of chains, forward; and a repetition of the sounds aft. Directly under +him, it seemed a loud, prolonged scraping noise took place. The fires +were being drawn. + +The sounds could only mean that the _Hankow_ had reached the journey's +end. The trip was over; the _Hankow_ was abreast Ching-Fu. She would +lie in the current for a few days, before facing about and making for +tidewater. + +To-day would see the last of Miss Vost, a termination of that +serio-humorous love affair of theirs, which, on the whole, had been one +of his most delightful experiences. He wondered whether or not she +would ask him to kiss her good-bye. He rather hoped she would. + +On the other hand, he hoped she would do nothing of the kind. Distance +was lending enchantment to Eileen Lorimer. He was sure this was not +infatuation. She was not the first; he had had affairs; oh, numbers of +them! But they were mere fragments of his adventurous life. They were +milestones, shadowy and vague and very far away now. Dear little +milestones, each of them! + +Sometime he would go to Eileen, and get down on his knees before her in +humility, and ask her if she could overlook his systematic and hardened +faults! When would he do this? Frankly, he did not know. + +He dozed off, and it seemed only an instant later when he was awakened +by a harsh cry. + +The port-hole was still dark. Morning was a long way off. + +The cry was repeated, was joined by others, excited and fearful. + +Peter sat up in bed, and was instantly thrown back by a sudden lurch. +Next came a dull booming and banging. The stateroom was filled with +the hot, sweet smell of smoking wood, the smell that is caused by the +friction of wood against wood, or wood against steel. + +Another pounding and booming. Some one hammered at the door. Peter +tried to turn on the electric light. There was no current. He opened +the door. + +Bobbie, shoeless and collarless, dressed only in pants and shirt, +towered over the light of a candle which he held in a hand that shook. + +"A collision! Junk rammed us! Get up quick! Don't know damage. Call +Miss Vost! Get on deck! Take care of her! My hands filled with this +dam' boat." + +Peter snatched his clothes, and before he was out of his pajamas the +_Hankow_ began to keel over. It slid down, until the port-hole dipped +into the muddy current. Water slopped in and drenched his knees and +feet. + +He yanked open the door, not stopping to lace his shoes, and called +Miss Vost. She had heard the excitement, and was dressing. The floor +lurched again, and he was thrown violently against a sharp-edged post. + +Miss Vost's door was flung open, and she stumbled down the sloping +floor, bracing her hands against his chest to catch herself. + +"We're sinking," she said without fear. + +To Peter it was evident that Miss Vost had never been through the +capsizing of a ship before. He fancied he caught a thrill of eager, +almost exultant, excitement in her voice. In that vestibule, he knew +they were rats in a water-trap, or soon would be. + +He still felt weak and limp from his fall against the post, and he was +trying hard to regain his strength before they began their perilous +ascent to the deck. + +Miss Vost misunderstood his hesitancy. + +"I am not afraid, not a bit!" she declared, holding with both hands the +folds of his unbuttoned shirt. "I am never afraid with _you_! When I +am in danger, you--you are always near. It--it seems that you were put +here to--to look after me. But there is no danger--is there?" She +shook him almost playfully. + +"Cut out your babbling," he snapped. "Get to that stairway!" + +He heard the breath hiss in between her teeth. But she clung to his +arm obediently. They sprawled and slipped in the darkness to the +stairs. Clinging to the railing, they reached the deck, which was +inclined so steeply that they clung to the cabin-rail for support. + +In the dark on all sides of them coolies shouted in high-pitched +voices. Heavy rain was falling, drumming on the deck. The odor of +wood rubbing against steel persisted. They could see nothing. The +world was dark, and filled with contusion. + +A sharp explosion took place in the bows. Chains screamed through the +air and clanged on metal and wood. One of the forward anchor-chains +had parted. + +The deck was tilted again. Bobbie MacLaurin was not in evidence. +Peter shouted for him until he was hoarse. Then he left Miss Vost and +groped his way to the starboard davits. The starboard life-boat was +gone! + +Suddenly the rain ceased. A dull red glow smouldered on the eastern +heaven. + +Miss Vost was praying, praying for courage, for help. She clung to +him, and sobbed. By and by her nerves seemed to steady themselves. + +There was nothing to do but wait for daylight--and pray that the +gurgling waters might not rise any higher. + +The glow in the east increased, and permitted them to see the vague +outlines of a looming shape which seemed to grow out of the bows. As +dawn came, Peter made out the form of a huge junk, which had pinioned +and crushed the foredeck rail under her brawny poop. + +Then the remaining anchor-cable snapped like a rotten thread. Dimly +they saw the end of the chain whip upward and crash down. A coolie, +paralyzed, stood in its way. The broken end struck him in the face. +He screamed and rolled down the deck until he lodged against the rail. + +Bobbie shouted their names, and scrambled and slipped down. + +"We're trying to get up steam. Our only chance. Both forward anchors +gone. We'll swing around with the current and lose this damn junk. If +the after anchor holds till steam's up--we're safe!" He sped aft. + +The steamer shuddered, and they felt her swinging as the scattered +shore lights moved from left to right. The junk was acting as a drag. +The shore lights became stationary. A gang of coolies with grate bars +were trying to pry up the junk's coamings. + +Peter was aware then that Miss Vost's arms were clinging about his +neck, and that she was whimpering softly in his ear. + +Up-river boomed another explosion. The deck seemed to fall from under +his feet. Water splashed up over his toes. In the gold-speckled dawn +he could see the waters foaming and swirling, and rising higher. + +He knew it was suicide to swim the Yangtze rapids, knew the whirlpools +which sucked a man down and held him down until his body was torn to +shreds. There was no alternative. And the water was now half-way to +his knees. He dragged the unresisting girl to the rail. + +"Can you swim--at all?" + +"A--a little," she chattered. + +"Hold to my collar and swim with one hand. Only try to keep afloat." + +They slipped into the racing current, were seized, and spun around and +around. Above the drone of the waters he heard the roar of a +whirlpool, coming rapidly nearer. The firm clutch of Miss Vost's hand +on his collar was not loosened. Occasionally he heard her gasp and +sputter as a wave washed over her face. + +They were swept down. On they went, spinning, snatched from one eddy +to another. The roar of the whirlpool receded, became a low growl and +mutter. + +Now they could see the churning surface covered with torn bits of +wreckage. A body, bloated and discolored, spun by, and was caught and +dragged under, leaving only an indescribable stench. + +After a while the northern shore, a low, brown bank, crept out toward +them, like a long, merciful arm. In another minute Peter's bare feet +came in contact with slimy, yielding mud. They were in shoal water! + +He picked up Miss Vost in his arms, and carried her ashore; and she +clung to him, shivering and moaning. He did not realize until +afterward that she was kissing him over and over again on his wet lips +and cheeks. + + +Coolies found them, and carried them to a village, and deposited them +in a little red clay compound behind a building of straw. A bonfire +was kindled. The sun came up, a disk that might have been cut out of +red tissue-paper. + +Some time later a tall man came into the clearing with a little group +of coolies who were pointing out the way. A white patriarchal beard +extended nearly to his waist. + +He saw Miss Vost and shouted. She leaped up, was enfolded in his arms. + +Peter stared at them a moment with a look that was somewhat dazed. He +picked himself up, and skulked out of the compound, in the direction of +the foaming river. + +His mind was not in a normal state just then, or he would not have +wanted to cross to Ching-Fu in a sampan. But he did want to cross. In +the back of his brain foolish words were urging him: "You must get to +Ching-Fu. You must go on to Len Yang. Hurry! Hurry!" + +He had no money. A box filled with perforated Szechwan coins now lay +at the bottom of the river in what was left of the _Hankow_. +Nevertheless, he hailed a sampan as though his pockets were weighted +down with lumps of purest silver. + +The boat leaked in dozens of places. The paddle, scarred and battered, +clung to the stern by means of a rotting leather thong. As Peter +looked and hesitated, a long, imperative cry issued from behind him. +Possibly Miss Vost wanted him to return. + +The coolie stipulated his price, and Peter stepped aboard without a +murmur, without looking around, either. The crossing was precarious. +They skirted the edge of more than one whirl; they were caught and +tossed about in waves as large as houses. Peter kept his eye on the +rotting thong, and marveled because it actually held. + +Deposited on the edge of Ching-Fu's bund, he confessed his poverty, and +offered his shirt in payment. The shirt was of fine golden silk, woven +in the Chinan-Fu mills. For more than a year it had worn like iron, +and it had more than an even chance of continuing to do so. + +Peter stripped off the shirt before a mob of squealing children, and +the coolie scrutinized it. He accepted it, and blessed Peter, and +Peter's virtuous mother, and called upon his green-eyed gods to make +the days of Peter long and filled with the rice of the land. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +With the coming of noon Peter sat down under a stunted cembra pine tree +and contemplated the distant rocky blue ridge with a wistful and +discouraged air. He removed from his trouser-pocket two yellow loquats +and devoured them. + +He was dreadfully hungry. His stomach fathered a dull, persistent +ache, which forced upon his attention the pains in his muscles and +bones. It was their way of complaining against the abuse he had heaped +upon them during the past twenty-four hours. + +He was beginning to feel weak and dispirited. His was a constitution +that arose to emergencies in quick, battling trim; but when the +emergency was past, his vitality seemed to be drained. + +He looked down the muddy brown road as he finished the second loquat +(which he had stolen from a roadside farm in passing) and estimated +that Ching-Fu was all of ten miles behind him. Walking through the +pasty blue mud in his bare feet, with the rain streaming through his +hair and down his beard and shoulders, had been tedious, trying. +Several times he had stopped, with his feet sinking in the clay, and +cursed the Yangtze with bitterness. + +What had become of Bobbie MacLaurin? Had that noble soul been snatched +down by the River of Golden Sands? + +He cursed the river anew, for Bobbie was a man after God's own heart. +Never had there lived such a generous, such a fine and brave comrade. +More than once the mule-kick which lurked behind those big, kind, red +fists had saved Peter from worse than black eyes. + +He would never forget that night on the pier at Salina Cruz, when the +greaser had flashed out a knife, bent on carving a hole in Peter's +heart--and Bobbie had come up from behind and knocked the raving +Mexican a dozen feet off the pier into the limpid Pacific! + +Those days were ended now. The adventures, the excitement, the +sorrows, and the fiery gladness were all well beyond recall. + +Peter leaned back against the thorny trunk of the cembra pine, and +sniffed the odors of drenched earth, listened to the drip and patter of +the cold, gray rain, and gazed pessimistically at the blue crest of +rock which lifted its granite shoulders high into the mist miles away. + +He stretched himself, groaned, and staggered on through the mire. + +The valley was filled with the blue shades of dusk when he espied some +distance beyond him what was evidently a camp, a caravan at rest. The +setting sun managed at last to burrow its way through a rift of purple +before sinking down behind the granite range, to leave China to the +mercies of its long night. + +These departing rays, striking through the purple crevice, and setting +its edges smolderingly aflame with red and gold, became a narrow, +dwindling spotlight, which brought out in black relief the figures of +men and mules, of drooping tents and curling wisps of cookfire smoke. +The sun was swallowed up, and the camp vanished. + +Peter plunged on, with one leg dragging more reluctantly than the +other. But he had sensed the odor of cooking food in the quiet air. + +A sentry whose head was adorned by a dark-red turban presented the +point of his rifle as Peter approached. He shouted, was joined by +others, both Chinese and Bengalis, and Peter, not adverse even to being +in the hands of enemies as long as food was imminent, was inducted into +the presence of a kingly personage, who sat upon a carved teak stool. + +This creature, by all appearances a mandarin, of middle age, was garbed +in a stiff, dark satin gown, heavy with gold and jewels which flashed +brightly in the light of a camp-fire. His severe, dark face was long, +and stamped with intelligence of a high order. He wore a mustache +which drooped down to form a hair wisp on either side of his small, +firm mouth. + +As Peter was whisked into his presence he placed his elbow with a slow, +deliberate motion upon his knee, and rested his rounded chin in his +palm, bestowing upon the mud-spattered newcomer a look that searched +into Peter's soul. + +A single enormous diamond blazed upon the knuckle of his forefinger. + +He put a question in a tongue that Peter did not understand. It was a +deep, resonant voice, with the mellow, rounded tones of certain +temple-bells, such a sound as is diffused long after the harsh stroke +of the wooden boom has subsided. Vibrant with authority, it was such a +voice as men obey, however much they may hate its owner. He repeated +the question in Mandarin, and again Peter indicated that that was not +his speech. + +A different voice, yet quite as impelling as the other, caused Peter to +look up sharply. The mandarin smiled wisely, but not unkindly. + +"The darkness deceived me," he said in English of a strange cast. "I +mistook you for a beggar. You are far from the river, my friend. The +bones of your steamer lie fathoms deep by now. Why are you so far from +Ching-Fu? You were stunned, perhaps?" + +"I am only hungry," said Peter boldly. "My way lies into India. There +I have friends." + +The mandarin studied him dubiously, and clapped his hands, the great +diamond cutting an oval of many colors. Coolies were given up by the +night, and ran to obey his guttural, musical commands. They returned +with steaming bowls of rice and meat, and a narrow lacquer table. + +"Come and sit beside me. Your feet must be sore--bleeding. You may +call me Chang. So I am known to my British friends on the frontier. I +have been ill, a mountain fever, perhaps. In Ching-Fu. I had expected +medicine on the river steamer." + +He snapped his fingers, and whispered to a coolie whose face was gaunt +and stolid in the flickering red glow of the fire. + +So while Peter consumed the rice and stew, his bruised feet were bathed +in warm water, rubbed with a soothing ointment, and wrapped in a downy +bandage. + +A blue liquor served in cups of shell silver completed the meal. The +aromatic syrup, which exhaled a perfume that was indescribably +oriental, sent an exhilarating fire through his veins. It seemed to +clarify his thoughts and vision, to oil his aching joints, and remove +their pain. + +From the corner of his eye he detected the silken folds of the +mandarin's lofty tent, in the murky interior of which a fat, yellow +candle sputtered and dripped. When his eyes came back to the table, +the bowls and cups had been removed, and in their place was a +chess-board inlaid with ivory and pearl. + +Inspired by the cordial, and the queerness of this setting, Peter felt +that he was the central figure of a dream. The pungent odor of remote +incense, the distant tinkling of a bell, the stamping and pawing of the +mules and the brooding figure in silk and gold at his side, took him +back across the ages to the days and nights of Scheherezade. + +And the mandarin appeared to be hungry for Peter's companionship. Over +the chess-board, between plays, they discoursed lengthily upon the +greatness of the vast empire, once she should awake; upon the menace of +the wily Japanese; upon the lands across the mountains and beyond the +seas, and their peoples, of which Chang had read much but had never +visited. + +Wood was heaped upon the fire, which flared up and leaped after the +crowding shadows. + +It was the life that Peter dearly loved. + +The mandarin's eyes glowed, and rested upon him for longer spaces. His +words and sentences came fewer and more reluctant. + +In one of these pauses he seized Peter's hand. And Peter was forthwith +given the meagre details of a story, neither the beginning nor the end +of which he would ever know. It was the cross-section of a tale of +intrigue, of cold-blooded killings that chased the thrills up and down +his spine; a tale of loot, of gems that had vanished, of ingots and +kernels of gold that had leaked from iron-bound chests. + +The mandarin uttered his woe in a quivering voice, shifting from a +Bengal patois to Mandarin, and again to reckless English. + +Peter was given to understand that in Chang's camp was a traitor, a man +who eluded him, whose identity was shielded, a snake that could not be +stamped out unless the lives of every one of his attendants were taken! + +In a composed voice Chang, the mandarin, was saying: + +"You have walked far. You are weary. Another couch is in my tent. +You shall sleep there." + +The candle was guttering low in its bronze socket when Peter awoke. A +cool breeze stirred the tent flaps. A queer feeling oozed in his veins. + +He lay still, breathing regularly, searching the corners with eyes that +were brighter than a rat's. The low sleep-mutterings of the mandarin +continued from the couch across from him. + +Slowly the tent flaps were being drawn back. Peter strained his eyes +until they ached. He was impelled to shout, to awaken his companion. +Yet the visitor might be bent on legitimate business. He would wait. +In the final analysis it was Peter's profound acquaintance with the +ways of the East which sealed his lips. In the heart of China one does +not strike at shadows, or shriek at sight of them. Not always. + +At his side between the covers lay a strong, naked dagger. Why the +mandarin had provided him with the weapon he did not know. + +A gray shadow entered the tent and backed noiselessly against the front +pole. Indeed, not a sound was created by his entrance, not even the +rustling whisper of bare feet on dry grass. It seemed very ominous, +mysterious, and ghostly. + +The gray shadow floated into the candle-light, which waved and quivered +a little as the still air was disturbed. Peter was conscious that he +was being acutely examined. Not a muscle of his face twitched. He +continued to breathe regularly, with the heaviness of a man steeped in +sleep. Tentatively he permitted his lids to raise. + +The intruder's back was toward him. He was bending with slow stealth +over the mandarin's face. What was the fellow doing? + +Peter caught the glint of metal, or glass. At the same time a +powerful, sickening odor spread through the tent. + +Peter groped for the naked dagger, bounded up from the couch with a +nervous cry, and burled the steel up to its costly jeweled hilt in the +foremost shoulder. + +Without a sound the man in gray turned part way round, and a shudder +ran through him, causing the folds of his garment to flap slightly. He +sank down with a sigh like wind stealing through a cavern, and his +fingers clawed feebly in the leaping shadow. + +Peter detected a tiny glass vial spilling out its dark, volatile fluid +upon the dust. He picked it up, but it was snatched from his hand. +The dull pig-eyes of Chang stared very close to his, with the +stupefaction of sleep still extending the irises into round dark pools. +The vial was in his hand, and he was sampling its odor, waving it +slowly back and forth under his wide nostrils. He shouted, and +turbaned men filed into the tent, and carried the gray figure away. + +The hand of Chang rested upon Peter's shoulder, and in a voice that +throbbed with the sonorousness of a Buddha temple-gong he said: + +"You have rendered me a service for which I can never sufficiently +repay you--for I value my life highly! In the morning your mind will +have forgotten what has taken place. Try to sleep now. You will +obey--promptly!" + +The candle sputtered and jumped, as if it were striving mightily to +lengthen its golden life if only for another minute; and went out. + + +From Chow Yang to Lun-Ling-Ting all the land could not provide costlier +raiment than Peter found at his bedside when the long, high-keyed cries +of the mule men opened his eyes upon another morning. + +When camp was broken up, long before the sun became hot, he was given a +small but able mule; and he rode down the valley toward India at +Chang's side. They moved at the head of a long, slow train, for here +bandits were not feared, despite the loneliness of the land through +which they were traveling. Farms became more scattered, more widely +separated by patches of broken, barren rock; and, finally, all traces +of the microscopic cultivation which gave Szechwan Province its lean +fruitfulness were left behind them. + +The mandarin rode for many miles in silence, occasionally changing +reins, looking steadily and gloomily ahead of him, with his attention +riveted, it seemed, upon the sharp and ceaseless clatter of his mule's +hoofs and the twisting rock road. + +Peter's mind was fixed upon the problem which crept hourly nearer. His +head was cast between his shoulders as if the weight of a sorrowful +world rested upon that narrow, well-proportioned skull, with its +covering of shining light hair. + +He loved his task as a man might love a selfish and thoughtless woman, +who demanded and craftily accepted all that he could give, to the last +ounce of his gold and the final drop of his blood. It was a thankless +task, yet it had grace. + +It was well past mid-morning before Chang spoke the first word. + +"A grateful dream came into my sleep last night. For years I have +fought in the darkness with a man who has the heart of Satan himself. +He has robbed me. Time after time he has sent into my camp his spies. +Some were more adroit than others. But none so adroit as the coolie +from Len Yang." + +Peter repressed his surprise, and merely winked his eyes thoughtfully a +number of times. Chang went on: + +"In this dream last night a young man was given into my keeping whose +spirit and manliness have not yet been soiled. His gratitude was +immediate. In return for the acts which grew out of that gratitude, I +am prepared to give him anything that is mine, or in my power, whether +he desires wealth, or position, or my friendship." + +"The young man," said Peter gravely, "desires neither wealth nor +position. If he has been of service to the man who befriended him, +that is enough." + +"Should he desire a favor of any kind----" + +"Then help him to reach his enemy, who is your enemy, who is the Gray +Dragon of Len Yang!" + +"In jest----" + +"In all seriousness!" said Peter. + +"It is death to enter Len Yang!" + +"My mind is made up, mandarin!" + +They had entered a narrow ravine, and on both sides of the slender +trail rose up sharp elbows of hard rock. Peter's head was inclined a +little to the right in an attitude he unconsciously assumed when +listening for important words of man or wireless machine. + +"It is the folly of adventurous youth," rang out the melodious and +sincere voice of the mandarin. "It is a quest for a grail which will +end in a pool of your own blood! Come into India with me!" + +"But I decided--long ago--mandarin!" + +"Your life is your life," said the mandarin sadly. "The City of Stolen +Lives is beyond the mountain. _Ch'ing_!" + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +A road as white and straight as a silver bar led directly between the +black, jutting shoulders of the hills to the gates of Len Yang. + +Peter, with his heart beating a wild symphony of anticipation and fear, +drew rein. + +The small mule panted from the long desperate climb, his plump sides +filling and caving as he drank in the sharp evening air. + +Close behind the city's faded green walls towered the mountain ranges +of Tibet, cold, gloomy, and vague in the purple mystery of their +uncertain distances. They were like chained giants, brooding over the +wrongs committed in the City of Stolen Lives, sullen in their mighty +helplessness. + +In the rays of the swollen sun the close-packed hovels enclosed within +the moss-covered walls seemed to rest upon a blurring background of +vermilion earth. + +As Peter clicked his tongue and urged the tired little animal down the +slope, he recalled the fragment of the description that had been given +him of this place. Hideous people, with staring eyes, dripping the +blood-red slime of the cinnabar-mines--leprosy, filth, vermin-- + +His palace! It stood out above the carmine ruck like a cube of purest +ivory in a bleeding wound. Its marble outrivaled the whiteness of the +Taj Mahal. It was a thing of snow-white beauty, like a dove poising +for flight above a gory battlefield. And it was crowned by a dome of +lapis lazuli, bluer than the South Pacific under a melting sun! But +its base, Peter knew, was stained red, a blood-red which had seeped up +and up from the carmine clay. + +The gate to the city was down, and by the grace of his blue-satin robe +Peter was permitted to enter. + +And instantly he was obsessed with the flaming color of that man's +unappeased passion. Red--red! The hovels were spattered with the red +clay. The man, the skinny, wretched creature who begged for a moment +of his gracious mercy at the gate, dripped in ruby filth. The mule +sank and wallowed in vermilion mire. + +Scrawny, undernourished children, naked, or in rags that afforded +little more protection than nakedness, thrust their starved, +red-smeared faces up at him, and gibed and howled. + +And above all this arose the white majesty of his palace--the throne of +the Gray Dragon! + +Peter urged the mule up the scarlet alley to a clearing in which he +found coolies by the thousands, trudging moodily from a central orifice +that continued to disgorge more and more of them. The dreadful, +reeking creatures blinked and gaped as if stupefied by the rosy light +of the dying day. + +Some carried lanterns of modern pattern; others bore picks and shovels +and iron buckets, and they seemed to pass on interminably, to be +engulfed in the lanes which ran in all directions from the clearing. + +It was as though the earth were vomiting up the vilest of its +creatures. And in the same light it was consuming others of equal +vileness. Down into the red maws of the shaft an endless chain of men +and women and children were descending. + +Quite suddenly the light gave way, and Peter was aware that the night +of the mountains was creeping out over the city, blotting out its +disfigurements, replacing the hideous redness with a velvety black. + +At the shaft's entrance a sharp spot of dazzling light sprang into +being. It was an electric arc light! Somehow this apparition struck +through the horror that saturated him, and he sighed as if his mind had +relinquished a clinging nightmare. + +Professionally now he gave this section of Len Yang another scrutiny. +Thick cables sagged between stumpy poles like clusters of black snakes, +all converging at the mine's entrance. His acute ears were registering +a dull hum, indicating the imminence of high-geared machinery or of +dynamos. + +At the further side of the red shaft, now crusted with the night's +shades, and garishly illuminated by the diamond whiteness of the frosty +arc, he made out a deep, wide ditch, where flowed slowly a ruddy +current, supplied from a short fat pipe. + +Peter believed that electric pumps sucked out the red seepage waters +from the mine and lifted them to the bloody ditch. + +On impulse he lifted his eyes to the darkening heavens, and he knew now +that the threads of this, his greatest adventure, were being drawn to a +meeting point; for he detected in the sun's last refracted rays the +bronze glint of aerial wires! What lay at the base of the antenna he +could guess accurately. He hastened to the base of the nearest aerial +mast--a pole reaching like a dark needle into the sky--and found there +a low, dark building of varnished pine with a small door of eroded, +green brass. + +The rain-washed pine, the complete absence of windows, and the +austerity of the massive brass door contributed to a personality of +dignified and pessimistic aloofness. The building occupied a place to +itself, as if its reserve were not to be tampered with, as if its dark +and sullen mystery were not meant for the prying eyes of passing +strangers. + +Peter knocked brazenly upon the door, and it clanked shallowly, giving +forth no inward echo. He waited expectantly. + +It yawned open to the accompaniment of grumbled curses in a distinctly +tenor whine. + +A man with a white, shocked face stared at him from the threshold. The +countenance was long, tapering, and it ended nowhere. Dull, mocking +eyes with a burned-out look in them stared unblinkingly into Peter's +face. + +Peter could have shouted in recognition of the weak face, but he +compressed his lips and bowed respectfully instead. + +"What the hell do you want?" growled the man on the threshold. + +"May Buddha bring the thousandth blessing to the soul of your virtuous +mother," said Peter in solemn, benedictive tones. "It is my pleasure +to desire entrance." + +"Speak English, eh?" shrilled the man. "Dammit! Then come in!" And +to this invitation he added blasphemy in Peter's own tongue that made +his heart turn sour. It was the useless, raving blasphemy of a +weakling. It was the man as Peter had known him of old. But a little +worse. He still wore what remained of his Marconi uniform, tattered, +grease-stained coat and trousers, with the ragged white and blue +emblems of the steamship line by which he had been employed before he +had disappeared. His bony hands trembled incessantly, and his face had +the chalky pastiness native to the opium eater. + +Peter, reflecting upon the honor which that uniform had always meant +for him, felt like knocking this chattering, wild-eyed creature down +and trampling upon him. But he bowed respectfully. The door clanged +behind him, and his eye absorbed in an instant the details of the +ponderously high-powered electrical apparatus. + +"Speak God's language, eh?" whined the man. "Sit down and don't stare +so. Sit down. Sit down." + +"A mandarin never seats himself, O high one, until thrice invited." + +"Thrice, four, five times, I tell you to sit down!" he babbled. "Men, +even rat-eaters like you, who speak my language, are too rare to let go +by. Mandarin?" + +He stepped back and eyed his guest with stupid humor. + +"I say, men who speak my language are rare. Nights I listen to fools +on this machine, and tell them what I please. What is the news from +outside? What is the news from home?" + +"From where?" + +"From America!" He stumbled over the words, and took in his breath +with a long, trembling hiss between his yellow teeth. + +"It is many years since I visited that strange land, O great one! It +is many, many years, indeed, since I studied for the craft which you +now perform so honorably." + +"You--what was that?" + +"I, too, studied to your honorable craft, my son. But it was denied +me. Buddha decreed that I should preach his doctrines. It is my life +to bring a little hope, a little gladness into the hearts----" + +"You stand there and tell me that you know the code?" cried the +white-faced man shrilly. + +"Such was my good fortune," Peter replied gravely. + +"Well, I believe you're a dam' liar, you Chink!" scoffed the other, who +was swinging in nervousness or irritation from side to side. + +Peter shrugged his shoulders, and permitted his gaze to fondle the +monstrous transmission coil. + +"I'll show you!" railed the man. "I'll give you a free chance, I will! +Now, listen to me. Tell me what I say." He pursed his lips and +whistled a series of staccato dots and dashes. + +"What you have said," replied Peter in a deep voice, "is true, O high +one!" + +"What did I say?" + +"You said: 'China, it is the hell-hole of the world!' Do I speak the +truth?" + +Peter thought that this crazy man--whose name had formerly been +Harrison--was preparing to leap at him. But Harrison only sprang to +his side and seized his hands in a clammy, excited grip. Tears of an +exultant origin glittered in the man's eyes, now luminous. + +"You stay with me, do you hear?" he babbled. "You stay here. I'll +make it worth your while! I'll see you have money. I'll see----" + +"But I have no need of money, O high one!" interrupted Peter in a +somewhat resentful tone, striving to mask his eagerness. + +"You stay!" cried Harrison. + +"Lotus eater!" Peter said, knowing his ground perfectly. + +"What if I am?" demanded Harrison defiantly. "So are you! So are we +all! So is everybody who lives in this rotten country!" + +"To the sick, all are sick," Peter quoted sorrowfully. + +"Rot! As long as I must have opium, there's nothing more to be said. +Now, I pry my eyes open with matches to stay awake. With you here----" + +His thin voice trailed off. He had confessed what Peter already knew. +It was the blurted confession, and the blurted plea, of a mind that was +half consumed by drugs. A diseased mind which spoke the naked truth, +which caught at no deception, which was tormented by its own gnawings +and cravings to such an extent that it had lost the function of +suspecting. Suspicion of a low, distorted sort might come later; but +at its present ebb this mind was far too greedy to gain its own small +ends to grope beyond. + +The lids of Harrison's smoldering eyes drew down, and they were blue, a +sickly, pallid blue. With their descent his face became a death-mask. +But Peter knew from many an observation that such signs were deceptive; +knew that opium was a powerful and sustaining drug; knew that Harrison, +while weak and stupid and raving, was very much alive! + +"There is little work to be done," went on the thin voice. "Only at +night. Say you will stay with me!" he pleaded. + +Peter permitted himself to frown, as if he had reached a negative +decision. Harrison, torn by desire, flung himself down on his ragged +knees, and sobbed on Peter's hand. Peter pushed him away loathfully. + +"What is my task?" + +Harrison sank back on his heels, oblivious of the wet streak which ran +down from his eyes on either side of his thin, sharp nose, and delved +nervously into his pocket. He withdrew a lump of black gum, about the +size of a black walnut, broke off a fragment with his finger-nails, and +masticated it slowly. He smirked sagely. + +"He won't care. Why should he care?" + +"Who, my son?" + +"That man--that man who owns Len Yang, and me, and these rat-eaters. +All _he_ wants is results." + +"Ah, yes. He owns other mines?" + +"What does _he_ care about the mines? Of course he directs the other +mines by wireless. He owns a sixth of the world. _He_ does. He is +rich. Rich! You and I are poor fools. He gives me opium"--Harrison +glared and gulped--"and he does not ask questions." + +"Wise men learn without asking questions, my son," said Peter gravely. + +"Certainly they do! He knows everything, and he never asks a question. +Not a one! He answers them, _he_ does!" + +"You have asked him questions?" + +"I? Humph! What an innocent fool you are, in spite of that gold on +your collar! Have I seen him to ask questions?" + +"That is what I meant." + +"Not I. He is no fool. You may be the Gray Dragon for all of me. No +one in Len Yang sees him. No one dares! It is death to see that man! +Didn't I try? But only once!" + +"You did try?" + +"That was enough. I got as far as the first step of the ivory palace. +Some one clubbed me! I was sick. I thought I was going to die! There +is a scar on my neck. It never seems to heal!" + +The senile whine trailed off into a thin, abusive whimper. His bony +jaws moved slowly and meditatively. He went on: + +"He is crazy, too. Women! Beautiful women for the mines! +Men--men--men everywhere know the price he will pay. In pure silver!" + +"He pays well, my son?" + +"A thousand taels, if he is satisfied. That is where this hole got its +name. You know the name--the City of Stolen Lives? It should be the +City of Lost Hope. For none ever leave. The mines swallow them up. +What becomes of them?" + +"Ah! What does become of the stolen lives?" + +The sunken eyes stared playfully at him. "What is a thousand taels to +him? He is rich, I tell you! They say his cellar is filled with +gold--pure gold; that his rooms and halls run and drip with gold, just +as his rat-eaters run and drip with the cinnabar poison. And the +wireless--he has stations, and this is the best. Mine is the best. I +see to that, let me tell you!" + +"To be sure!" + +"These hunters, these men who know his price for beautiful women--he +will have none other--and who are paid a thousand taels----" + +"Where did you say these stations are?" + +"In all parts. There is a station in Afghanistan, between Kabul and +Jalalabad, and one in Bengal, in the Khasi Hills, and another in +northern Szechwan Province, and one in Siam, on the Bang Pakong +River----" + +"A station on the Bang Pakong?" + +"Yes, I tell you. All over. These hunters find a woman, a lovely +girl; and they must describe their prize in a few words. He is sly! +The fewer the better. If the words appeal to him, he has me tell them +to come. Lucky devils! A thousand taels to the lucky devils! Some +day I myself may become a hunter." + +"It is tempting," agreed Peter. "But why does he want beautiful young +girls for his mine, my son?" + +Harrison ignored the question. + +"To-night I will listen. You can watch me. Then you can see how +simple it is. It is time." + +Peter was aware that the door had opened and closed behind his back, +and now he heard the faint scraping of a sandaled foot, heavy with the +red slime. A Chinese, in the severe black of an attendant, stood +looking down at him distrustfully. His eyebrows were shaved, and a +mustache drooped down to his sharp, flat chin like sea-weed. + +He asked Harrison a sharp question in a dialect that smacked of the +guttural Tibetan. + +"He wants to know where you came from," translated Harrison irritably. + +"From Wenchow. A mandarin. He should know." + +The man in severe black bowed respectfully, and Peter looked at him +frigidly. + +Harrison slipped the Murdock receivers over his ears, and his voice +went on in a weak, garrulous and meaningless whimper. + +"Static--static--static. It is horrible to-night. I cannot hear these +fellows. Ah! Afghanistan has nothing, nor Bengal. Hey, you fool, I +cannot hear this fellow in Szechwan. He has a message. Yes, you, I +cannot hear him. Not a word! He is faint, like a bad whisper. They +will beat me again if I cannot hear!" + +He tried again, forcing the rubber knobs against his ears until they +seemed to sink into his head. + +"Have you good hearing?" + +"I will try," said Peter. + +"Then sit here. You must hear him, or we will both be beaten. This +fellow goes straight to _him_." + +Peter slipped into the vacated chair and strapped down the receivers. +A long, faint whisper, as indistinguishable as the lisp of leaves on a +distant hill, trickled into his ears. Ordinarily he would have given +up such a station in disgust, and waited for the air to clear. Now he +wanted to establish his ability, to demonstrate the acuteness of +hearing for which he was famous. + +Behind him the black-garbed attendant muttered, and Peter scowled at +him to be silent. + +With deftness that might have surprised that wretch, Harrison, had his +wits been more alert, he raised and closed switches for transmission, +and rapped out in a quick, professional "O.K." + +He cocked his head to one side, as he always did when listening to +far-away signals, and a pad and pencil were slid under his hand. + +The world and its noises and the tense, eager figures behind him, +retreated and became nothing. In all eternity there was but one +thing--the message from the whispering Szechwan station. + +His pencil trailed lightly, without a sound, across the smooth paper. + + +A message for L. Y. An American girl. Brown hair. Eyes with the +moon's mystery. Lips like a new-born rose. Enchantingly young. + + +The blood boiled into Peter's brain, and the pencil slipped from +fingers that were like ice. There was only one girl in the world who +answered to that description. Eileen Lorimer! She had been captured +again, and brought back to China! + +He grabbed for the paper. It was gone. Gone, too, was the +black-garbed attendant, hastening to his master. + +Harrison was pawing his shoulder with a skinny, white hand, and making +noises in his throat. + +"You lucky fool! He'll give you _cumshaw_. God, you have sharp ears! +Only one man I ever knew had such sharp ears. He always gives +_cumshaw_. _Na-mien-pu-liao-pa_! You must divide with me. That is +only fair. But--what difference? Here you can enter, but you can +never leave. You have no use for silver. I have." + +The face of Eileen Lorimer swam out of Peter's crazed mind. Miss Vost, +that lovely innocent-eyed creature, fitted the same description! + +Peter stared stupidly at the massive transmission key, and disdained a +reply. Miss Vost--and the red mines! He shuddered. + +Harrison was whining again at his ear. "He says yes. Yes! Tell that +fellow yes, and be quick. The Gray Dragon will give him an extra +thousand taels for haste. Oh, the lucky fool! Two thousand taels! +Tell him, or shall I?" + +How could Peter say no? The ghastly white face was staring at him +suspiciously now. + +While he hesitated Harrison pushed him aside, and his fingers flew up +and down on the black rubber knob. "Yes--yes--yes. Send her in a +hurry. A thousand taels bonus. The lucky devil!" + +Out of Peter's anguish came but one solution, and that vague and +indecisive. He must wait and watch for Miss Vost, and take what +drastic measures he could devise to recapture her when the time came. + +The pallid lips trembled again at his ear. "Here! You must divide +with me. A bag of silver. _Yin_! A bag of it! Listen to the chink +of it!" + +Peter seized the yellow pouch and thrust it under his silken blouse. +He was beginning to realize that he had been exceptionally lucky in +catching the signals of the Szechwan station. He was vastly more +important now than this wretch who plucked at his arm. + +"Give me my half!" whined Harrison. + +Peter doubled his fist. + +"Give me my half!" Harrison clung to his arm and shook him irritably. + +Peter hit him squarely in the mouth. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +As night melted into day and day was swallowed up by night, the problem +which confronted Peter took on more serious and baffling proportions. +His hope of entering the ivory palace was dismissed. It was imperative +for him to give up the idea of entering, of piercing the lines of armed +guards and reaching the room where the master of the City of Stolen +Lives held forth until some later time. + +That had been his earlier ambition, but the necessity of discarding the +original plan became hourly more important with the drawing near of the +girl captive. + +If he could deliver Miss Vost from this dreadful city, that would be +more than an ample reward for his long, adventurous quest. + +He could not sleep. Perched on an ancient leather stool upon the roof +of the wireless building, he kept a nightly and a daily watch with his +eyes fixed upon the drawbridge. A week went by. Food was carried up +to him, and he scarcely touched it. The rims of his eyes became +scarlet from sleeplessness, and he muttered constantly, like a man on +the verge of insanity, as his eyes wandered back and forth over the red +filth, from the shadowy bridge to the shining white of the palace. + +Drearily, like souls lost and wandering in a half world, the prisoners +of Len Yang trudged to the scarlet maws of the mine and were engulfed +for long, pitiless hours, and were disgorged, staggering and blinking, +in Tibet's angry evening sun. + +The woeful sight would madden any man. And yet each day new souls were +born to the grim red light of Len Yang's day, and clinging remorsefully +to the hell which was their lot, other bleeding souls departed, and +their shrunken bodies fed to the scarlet trough, where they were washed +into oblivion in some sightless cavern below. + + +It was a bitterly cold night, with the wind blowing hard from the ice +and snow on the Tibetan peaks, when Peter's long vigilance was +rewarded. A booming at the gate, followed by querulous shouts, aroused +him from his lethargy. He looked out over the crenelated wall, but the +cold moonlight revealed a vacant street. + +The booming and shouting persisted, and Peter was sure that Miss Vost +had come, for in cities of China only an extraordinary event causes +drawbridges to be lowered. + +He slipped down the creaking ladder into the wireless-room. Harrison +was in a torpor, muttering inanely and pleadingly as his long, white +fingers opened and closed, perhaps upon imagined gold. + +Peter opened the heavy brass door, and let himself into the deserted +street. The jeweled sandals with which Chang had provided him sank +deep into the red mire, and remained there. + +He sped on, until he reached the black shadow of the great green wall. +Suddenly the bridge gave way with many creakings and groanings and +Peter saw the moonlight upon the silvery white road beyond. + +A group of figures, mounted on mules, with many pack-mules in +attendance, made a grotesque blot of shadow. Then a shrill scream. + +Hoofs trampled hollowly upon the loose, rattling boards, and the +cavalcade marched in. + +A slim figure in a long, gray cloak rode on the foremost mule. Peter, +aided by the black shadow, crept to her side. + +"Miss Vost! Miss Vost!" he called softly. "It is Peter, Peter Moore!" + +He heard her gasp in surprise, and her moan went into his heart like a +ragged knife. + +Peter tried to keep abreast, but the red clay dragged him back. Behind +him some one shouted. They would emerge into the sharp moonlight in +another second. + +"Help me! Oh, help me!" she sobbed. "He's following! He is too late!" + +She was carried out into the moonlight. At the same time, countless +figures seemed to rise from the ground--from nowhere--and in every +direction Peter was blocked. The stench of Len Yang's miserable +inhabitants crept from these figures upon the chill night air. + +Naked, unclean shoulders brushed him; moist, slimy hands pressed him +back. But he was not harmed; he was simply pushed backward and +backward until his bare foot encountered the first board of the bridge +which was still lowered. + +Behind him an order was hissed. He placed his back to the surging +shadows. Coils of heavy rope were unfolding. The drawbridge was being +raised. + +Down the white road, veering drunkenly from one side to the other, came +a leaping black dot. + +The drawbridge creaked, the ropes became taut, and the far end lifted +an inch at a time. + +Peter shouted, but no one heeded him. His breath pumped in and out of +his lungs in short, anguished gulps. He leaped out upon the bridge, +and shouted again. The creaking ceased; the span became stationary. + +The drunken dot leaped into the form of a giant upon a galloping mule +which swept upon them in a confusion of dust. Hoofs pounded on the +bridge; the giant on the mule drew rein, and to Peter it was given to +look upon the face of the man he thought dead. The raging eyes of +Bobbie MacLaurin swept from his face to his muddy feet. + +"Moore! Where have they taken her?" ripped out the giant on the mule. + +"Dismount and follow me. To the white palace! Are you armed?" + +"And ready to shoot every dam' yellow snake in all of China!" + +He jumped heavily to the boards, and Peter caught the gleam of +steel-tipped bullets in the narrow strap which was slung from shoulder +to waist. + +The foreman of the rope-pullers dared to raise his head, and Bobbie +kicked him with his heavy-shod foot in the stomach, and the coolie +bounded up and backward, and lay draped limply over the side. + +As they ran under the broad, dark arch into the street, he gave Peter +in one hand the thick butt of an army automatic, and in the other a +half-dozen loaded clips. + +And they began blazing their way to the palace steps. Weird figures +sprang up from the muck, and were shot back to earth. + +They reached the hill top, and the green moon of Tibet scored the roof +of the white palace. + +A handful of guards, with rifles and swords, rushed down the broad, low +flight. + +The two men flung themselves upon the clay, while high-powered bullets +plunked on either side of them or soughed overhead. The two automatics +blazed in shattering chorus. The guards parted, backed up, some ran +away, others fell, and Peter felt the sudden burn of screaming lead +across his shoulder. He slipped another clip of cartridges into the +steel butt; they leaped up and raced to the white steps. A rifle +spurted and roared in the black shadow. Bobbie groaned, staggered, and +climbed on. Now they were guided by a woman's sharp cries issuing from +an areaway. And they stopped in amazement before a majestic +white-marble portal. + +With two coolies struggling to pinion her arms, the girl was kicking, +scratching, biting with the fire of a wildcat, dragging them toward the +broad, white veranda. + +Bobbie shot the foremost of them through the brain, and the other, +gibbering terribly, vanished into the shadow. + +Peter caught Miss Vost by one hand and raced down the steps. Bobbie, +holding his head in a grotesque gesture, ran and staggered behind them. + +Bobbie waved his free arm savagely. "Don't wait for me! Get her out +of this place! Don't take your eyes from her till you reach Wenchow!" + +He wheeled and shot three times at a figure which had stolen up behind +him. The figure spun about and seemed to melt into a hole in the earth. + +Peter wrapped his arm about Bobbie's waist and dragged him down the +hill. Miss Vost, as he realized after that demonstration in the +areaway, could handle herself. + +The bridge was up. Lights glowed from hovel ways like evil red eyes. +Peter released the rope and the bridge sprang down to the road with a +boom that shook the solid walls. Bobbie's mule nosed toward them, and +Peter all but shot the friendly little animal! + +Between Peter and Miss Vost, who was chattering and weeping as if her +heart was breaking, their wounded companion was lifted into the saddle. +They crossed the bridge, and the bridge was whipped up behind them. + +Not until they attained the brow of the hill did they look back upon +the gloomy walls, now black and peaceful under the high clear moon. +And it was not until then that Peter marveled upon their easy escape, +upon the snatching up of the bridge as they left. Why had no shots +been fired at them as they climbed the silver road? + +They trusted to no providence other than flight. All night long they +hastened toward the highway which led to Ching-Fu--and India. And they +had no breath to spare for mere words. At any moment the long arm of +the Gray Dragon might reach out and pluck them back. + +Only once they paused, while Peter ripped out the satin lining of his +robe and bound up the wound in Bobbie's dazed head. + +Miss Vost sat down upon a moss-covered rock and wept. She made no +effort to help him, but stared and wiped her eyes with her hands. + +A misty, rosy dawn found them above the valley in which ran the +connecting road between Ching-Fu and the Irriwaddi. + +Miss Vost was the first to see the camp-fires of a caravan. She +laughed, then cried, and she tottered toward Peter, who stood there, a +lean weird figure in his tattered blue robe and his tangled beard. + +She extended her arms slightly as she approached, and her gray eyes +were luminous with a soft and gentle fire. + +Bobbie staggered away from the mule's heaving sides, with one hand +fumbling weakly at the satin bandage, and in his eyes, too, was the +look that rarely comes into the eyes of men. + +In a single glance Peter could see to the very depths of that man's +unselfish soul. It was like glancing into the light of a golden autumn +morning. + +Miss Vost lifted both of Peter's hands, and one was still blue from the +back-fire of the automatic. She lifted them to her lips and kissed +them solemnly. With a little fluttering sigh she looked up at Bobbie, +standing beside her and towering above her like a strong hill. + +They looked long at one another, and Peter felt for a moment curiously +negligible. He had cause to feel that his presence was absolutely +unessential when, with a happy, soft little laugh, Miss Vost sprang up +and was crushed in the cradle of Bobbie's great arms. + +Peter looked down into the green valley with tears standing in his +grave, blue eyes. The caravan was slowly winding out upon the trail. +In five weeks it would leave Kalikan, the last soil of China, on the +frontier of India. + +Peter felt exceedingly happy as he hastened down the hillside to catch +the caravan. + + + + +PART II + +THE BITTER FOUNTAIN + + +CHAPTER I + + She bends over her work once more: + "I will weave a fragment of verse among the flowers of his robe, + and perhaps its words will tell him to return." + --LI-TAI-PE. + + +The newly arrived wireless operator of the Java, China, and Japan +liner, _Persian Gulf_, deposited his elbows upon the promenade +deck-rail, and cast a side-long glance at the Chinese coolie who had +taken up a similar position about a bumboat's length aft. And the +coolie returned his deliberate stare with a look of dreamy interest, +then quickly shifted his glance to the city which smoldered and +vibrated across Batavia's glinting, steel-blue harbor. + +Without turning his head the wireless man continued to watch sharply +the casual movements of this Chinese, quite as he had been observing +him since they had left Tandjong Priok in the company's launch and come +out to the _Persian Gulf_ together. + +He had suspected the fellow from the very first, and he was prepared, +on the defensive; yet he was willing and eager to take the offensive +should this son of the yellow empire so much as show the haft of his +kris, or whisper a word of counsel in his ear. The latter he feared +quite as much as the former, for it would mean many things. + +As the fellow sidled a little closer, Peter was aware that the man was +making queer signals with his slanting eyes for the purpose of +attracting his attention, without arousing the curiosity or interest of +any persons who might be observing the two. + +Whereupon Peter turned on his left heel, walked to the other's side and +gave him a stare of deliberate hostility. + +The coolie moved backward a few inches by flexing his body; his feet +remained as they were. And as Peter ran his eye from the black crown +hat to the faded blue jacket, the black-sateen pants, which were +clipped about the ankles, giving them a mild pantaloon effect, and to +the black slippers with their thick buck-soles, the coolie smiled. + +It was a smile of arrogance, of self-satisfaction. Indeed, it was the +smile of a hunter who has winged his prey, and smiles an instant to +watch it squirm before administering the death-shot. + +"You wanchee my?" inquired Peter succinctly. + +"You allatime go Hong Kong way?" replied the coolie, his smile becoming +a little more civil, while he measured Peter's length, breadth, and +seemed to estimate his brawn. + +It was a foolish question, for the _Persian Gulf_, as everybody in +Batavia knew quite well, made a no-stop run from the Javanese port to +Hong Kong. Peter indicated this fact impatiently. + +"No go Hong Kong way?" persisted the coolie, not relaxing that devilish +grin. "_Maskee_ Hong Kong. _Nidzen yang gïang_?" + +The wheezy old whistle of the _Persian Gulf_ told the world in +unmistakable accents that sailing time was nigh. The _Persian Gulf_ +was not a new boat or a fast boat, and she sailed in the intermediate +service south of Java. Yet she was stout, and typhoons meant very +little to her as yet. + +"Why not?" demanded Peter in the tones of an interlocutor. + +The coolie simply lifted the flap of his blue tunic, and Peter was +given the singular glimpse of a bone-hafted knife, the blade of which +he could guess lay flat against the man's paunch. + +Still the Chinese smiled, without avarice. Plainly he was stating the +case as it was known to him, reciting a lesson, as it were, which had +been taught him by one skilled in the ways of killing and of espionage. + +The facts of this case were that Peter Moore should immediately +postpone or give up entirely his trip to Hong Kong for reasons best +known to the powers arrayed against him. And strangely enough, Hong +Kong was one of the two cities in China where Peter had pressing +business. + +It made him furious, this knowledge that the man of Len Yang had picked +up the trail again. + +So Peter glanced up and down the deck to see if there would be any +witness to his act, and there was only one, a passenger. The Chinese +was still smiling, but by degrees that smile was becoming more evil and +sour. He was perplexed at the wireless operator's furtive examination +of the promenade deck. Yet he was not kept in the dark regarding +Peter's intentions much longer than it would have taken him to utter +the Chinese equivalent of Jack Robinson. + +With an energetic swoop, Peter seized him by the nearest arm and leg, +and in the next breath the coolie was shooting through an awful void, +tumbling head over heels like a bag of loose rice, straight for the +oily bosom of Batavia's harbor! + +So much for Peter's slight knowledge of jiu-jitsu. + +He was angrily at a loss to account for the appearance of this trailer, +for he had been watchful every moment since escaping from the green +walls of that blood-tinted city, and he was positive that he had shaken +off pursuit. Yet somewhere along that trail, which ran from Len Yang +to Bhamo, from Rangoon to Penang, and around the horn of Malacca, his +escape had been betrayed. + +The spies of Len Yang's master must have possessed divining rods which +plumbed the very secrets of Peter's soul. + +In Batavia Peter attended to a task long deferred. He despatched a +cablegram to Eileen Lorimer in Pasadena, California, advising her that +he was still on top, very much alive, and would some day, he hoped, pay +her a visit. + +He wondered what that gray-eyed little creature would say, what she +would do, upon receipt of the message from far-away Java. It had been +many long months since their parting on the rain-soaked bund at +Shanghai. That scene was quite clear in his mind when he turned from +the Batavia cable office to negotiate his plan with the wireless man of +the _Persian Gulf_. + +Peter found the man willing, if not positively eager, to negotiate--a +circumstance that Peter forecasted in his mind as soon as his eyes had +dwelt a fleeting moment upon the pudgy white face with its greedy, +small, black eyes. The man was quite willing to lose himself in the +hills behind Batavia until the _Persian Gulf_ was hull down on the +deep-blue horizon, upon a consideration of gold. + +Peter could have paid his passage to Hong-Kong, and achieved his ends +quite as handily as in his present role of wireless operator. But his +fingers had begun to itch again for the heavy brass transmission-key, +and his ears were yearning for the drone of radio voices across the +ethereal void. + +It was on sailing morning that he was given definite evidence in the +person of the Chinese coolie that his zigzagged trail had been picked +up again by those alert spies of Len Yang's monarch. + +He steamed out to the high black side of the steamer in the company's +passenger-launch, gazing back at the drowsy city, quite sure that the +pursuit was off, when he felt the glinting black eyes of the coolie +boring into him from the tiny cabin doorway. + +His suspicions kindled slowly, and he admitted them reluctantly. It +was the privilege of any Chinese coolie to stare at him, quite as it +was the privilege of a cat to stare at a king. But the seed of +mistrust was sown, and it was sown in fertile soil. + +Peter ignored the stare, however, until the launch puffed up alongside +the sea-ladder, then he gave the coolie a glance pregnant with +hostility and understanding. + +Taking the swaying steps three at a time, Peter hastened to his +stateroom, emerging about five minutes later in a white uniform, the +uniform of the J. C. & J. service, with a little gold at the collar, +bands of gold about the cuffs, and gold emblems of shooting sparks, +indicative of his caste, upon either arm. + +He looked for the coolie and found him on the starboard side of the +promenade deck. The subsequent events have already been partly +narrated. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +The coolie plunged into the water with a weltering splash which sent a +small spiral of spray almost to the deck. For a moment the man in the +water pedaled and flailed, vastly frightened, and gasping, above the +clang of the engine-room telegraph, for a rope. The black side of the +_Persian Gulf_ started to slide away from him. + +"You better make for shore!" shouted Peter between megaphonic hands. + +Several boatmen were poling in the coolie's direction, but all of them +refrained from slipping within reach of the thrashing hands. A +Javanese boatman can find more amusing and enjoyable scenes than an +angry Chinese coolie flailing about in the water; but he must travel +many miles to find them. + +"Swim to the _ma-fou_," Peter encouraged him. He knew there were +sharks in that emerald pond. + +His attention then was diverted by a flutter of white at his elbow. He +turned his head. The lonely passenger, a girl, was smiling +mischievously into his face. But in her very dark eyes there was a +blunt question. + +"Why did you do that?" she asked in a voice that rang with a low +musical quality. Her voice and her beauty were of the tropics, as were +the features which, molded together, gave form to that beauty; because +her hair and eyes were of a color, dark like walnut, and her olive skin +was like silk under silk, with the rosy color of her youth and fire +showing underneath. + +She was rather startling, especially her deep, dark and restless eyes. +It was by sense rather than by anything his eyes could base conclusions +upon that Peter realized her spirited personality, knew instinctively +that radiant and destructive fires burned behind the sombre, +questioning eyes. The full, red lips might have told him this much. + +And now these lips were forming a smile in which was a little humor and +a great deal of tenderness. + +Why there should be any element of tenderness in the stranger's smile +was a point that Peter was not prepared to analyze. He had been +subjected to the tender smiles of women, alas! on more than one +occasion; and it was part of Peter's nature to take these gifts +unquestioningly. He was not one to look a gift smile in the mouth! +Yet, if Peter had looked back upon his experience, he would have +admitted that such a smile was slightly premature, that it smacked of +sweet mystery. + +And it is whispered that richly clad young women do not ordinarily +smile with tenderness upon young ruffians who throw apparently peaceful +citizens from the decks of steamers into waters guarded by sharks. + +To carry this argument a step farther, it has always seemed an unfair +dispensation of nature that women should fall in love so desperately, +so suddenly, so unapologetically and in such numbers with Peter the +Brazen. + +The phenomenon cannot be explained in a breath, or in a paragraph, if +at all. While he was good to look upon, neither was Peter a god. +While he was at all times chivalrous, yet he was not painstakingly +thoughtful in the small matters which are supposed to advance the cause +of love at a high pace. Nor was he guided by a set of fixed rules such +as men are wont to employ at roulette and upon women. + +Peter did not understand women, yet he had a perfectly good working +basis, for he took all of them seriously, with gravity, and he gave +their opinions a willing ear and considerable deference. + +The rest is a mystery. Peter was neither particularly glib nor witty. +Instinctively he knew the values of the full moon, the stars, and he +had the look of a young man who has drunk at the fountain of life on +more than one occasion, finding the waters thereof bitter, with a trace +of sweetness and a decided tinge of novelty. + +Life was simply a great big adventure to Peter the Brazen; and he had +been shot, stabbed, and beaten into insensibility on many occasions, +and he was not unwilling for more. He dearly loved a dark mystery, and +he had a certain reluctant fondness for a woman's bright, deceptive +eyes. + +As from a great distance he heard the jeers of the Javanese boatmen and +the flounderings of the coolie as he looked now into the dark, deep +eyes of this pretty, smiling stranger. + +"Why did you do that?" she repeated softly. + +"Because I wanted to," returned Peter with his winning smile. + +"But there are sharks in there." This in a voice of gentle reproof. + +"I hope they eat him alive," said Peter, unabashed. + +"You threw him overboard just because you wanted to. And if you want +to, I'll go next, I suppose." + +"You might," laughed Peter. "When I have these spells I simply grab +the nearest person and over he goes. It is a terrible habit, isn't it?" + +"Perhaps he insulted you." + +"Or threatened me." + +"Ah!" Her sigh expressed that she understood everything. "May I ask: +Who are you?" + +"I? Peter Moore." + +"I mean, your uniform. You are one of the ship's officers, are you +not?" + +"The wireless operator. Shall we consider ourselves properly +introduced?" + +"My name is Romola Borria. I presume you are an American--or British." + +"American," informed Peter. "And you? Spanish _señorita_?" + +"I have no nationality," she replied easily. "I am what we call in +China, a 'B. I. C.'" + +"Born in China!" + +"Born in Canton, China. Father: Portuguese; mother: Australian. +Answer: What am I?" She laughed deliciously, and Peter was moved. + +They lingered long enough to see the coolie drag himself up on the +shore unassisted, and then separated, the girl to make ready for lunch +and to request the steward to assign them to adjoining seats at the +same table, and Peter to take a look at the register, the crew, and +what passengers might be on deck. + +The passengers, lounging in steamer-chairs awaiting the call to tiffin, +and the deck crew, strapping down the forward cargo booms and battening +the forward hatch, Peter gave a careful inspection, retaining their +images in an eye that was rapidly being trained along photographic +lines. + +It was a comparatively simple matter, Peter found, to remember peoples' +faces; the important point being to select some striking feature of the +countenance, and then persistently drive this feature home in his +memory. He knew that the human memory is a perverse organ, much +preferring to forget and lose than to retain. + +So he looked over the crew and found them to be quite Dutch and quite +self-satisfied, with no more than a slight but polite interest in him +and his presence. Wireless operators, as a rule, are self-effacing +individuals who inhabit dark cabins and have very little to say. + +He called at the purser's office and helped himself to the register, +finding the name of Romola Borria in full, impulsive handwriting, +giving her address as Hong Kong, Victoria; and a long list of Dutch +names, representing quite likely nothing more harmful than sugar and +coffee men, with perhaps a sprinkling of copra and pearl buyers. + +Peter then investigated the wireless cabin, which was situated aft on +the turn of the promenade deck, and commanding a not entirely inspiring +view of the cargo well and the steerage. + +Assuring himself that the wireless machine was in good working order, +Peter hooked back the door, turned on the electric fan to air the place +out, and with his elbows on the rail gave the steerage passengers a +looking over. + +He did not look far before his gaze stopped its traveling. + +Directly below him, sitting cross-legged on a hatch-cover, was a +Chinese or Eurasian girl whose face was colorless, whose lips were red, +and whose eyes, half-lidded, because of the dazzling sunlight, were of +an unusual blue-green shade. + +Had Peter wished to make inquiries regarding this maiden, he would have +found that she was from the Chinese settlement in Macassar, and on her +way to Canton, to pay a visit to a grandmother she had never seen. But +it was Peter's nature to spin little dreams of his own whenever he +contemplated exotic young women, to place them in settings of his own +manufacture. + +Her blue-black hair was parted in a white line that might have been +centered by the tip of her tiny nose and an unseen point on the nape of +her pretty neck. + +Peter could not know, as he studied her, how this innocent maid from +Macassar was destined to play an important and significant part in his +life, entering and leaving it like a gentle and caressing afternoon +monsoon. His guess, as he looked away, was that she was a woman of no +caste, from her garb; probably a river girl; more than likely, worse. +Yet there was an undeniable air of innocence and youth in her narrow +shoulders as she slowly rocked. Peter could see the tips of bright-red +sandals peeping from under each knee, and he guessed her to be about +eighteen. + +She caught sight of Peter, who had folded his arms and was resting +their elbows idly upon the teak rail, and their eyes met and lingered. +A light, indescribably sad and appealing, shone in the blue-green eyes, +which seemed to open larger and larger, until they became round pools +of darting, mysterious reflection. It was a moment in which Peter was +suspended in space. + +"I am afraid that wireless operators are not always discreet," purred a +low, sweet voice at his side. + +Peter smiled his grave smile, and vouchsafed nothing. The girl in the +steerage had returned to her sewing and was apparently quite oblivious +of his presence. And still that look of demure, wistful appeal stood +out in his memory. + +Romola Borria was murmuring something, the context of which was not +quite clear to him. + +"Eh? I beg pardon?" + +"It is quite dreadful, this traveling all alone," she remarked. + +"Yes," he admitted. "Sometimes I bore myself into a state of agony." + +"And it breeds such strange, such unexplainable desires and caprices," +the girl went on in her cultivated, honeyed tones. "Strangers +sometimes are so--so cold. For instance, yourself." + +"I?" exclaimed Peter, supporting himself on the stanchion. "Why, I'm +the friendliest man in the world!" + +Romola Borria pursed her lips and studied him analytically. + +"I wonder----" she began, and stopped, fretting her lip. "I should +like to ask you a very blunt and a very bold question." Her expression +was darkly puzzled. + +"Go right ahead," urged Peter amiably, "don't mind me." + +"Why I speak in this way," she explained, "is that since I ran away +from Hong Kong----" + +"Oh, you ran away from Hong Kong!" + +"Of course!" She said it in a way that indicated a certain lack of +understanding on his part. "Since I ran away from Hong Kong I have +been looking, looking for such--for such a man as you appear to be, +to--to confide in." + +"Don't you suppose a woman would do almost as well?" spoke Peter, who, +through experience, had grown to dislike the father-confessor role. + +"If you don't _care_ to listen----" she began, as though he had hurt +her. + +"I am all ears," stated Peter, with his most convincing smile. + +"And I have changed my mind," said Romola Borria with a disdainful toss +of her pretty head. "Besides, I think the Herr Captain would have a +word with you." + +The fat and happy captain of the _Persian Gulf_ occupied the breadth if +not the height of the doorway, wearing his boyish grin, and Peter +hastened to his side with a murmured apology to the girl as he left her. + +He merely desired to have transmitted an unimportant clearance message +to the Batavia office, to state that all was well and that the +thrust-bearing, repaired, was now performing "smoot'ly." + +Dropping the hard rubber head-phones over his ears, Peter listened to +the air, and in a moment the silver crash of the white spark came from +the doorway. + +Romola Borria stared long and venomously at the little Chinese maiden, +who was sewing away industriously as she rocked to and fro on the +hatch. Immersed in her own thoughts the girl, removing her quick eyes +from the flying needle, glanced up at the deep-blue sky, and, smiling, +shivered in a sort of ecstasy. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +At dinner Peter met the notables. It seemed the fat and handsome +captain had taken a fancy to him. And it was as Peter had deduced +earlier. These passengers were stodgy Dutchmen, each with a little +world of his own, and forming the sole orbit of that little world. For +the most part they were plantation owners escaping the seasonal heat +for the cool breezes of a vacation in Japan, boastful of their +possessions, smug in their Dutch self-complacency, and somewhat +gluttonous in their manner of eating. + +The fat captain beamed. The fat plantation owners gorged themselves +and jabbered. The three-piece orchestra played light opera that the +world had forgotten. The company became light-hearted as more frosty +bottles of that exotic drink, _arracka_, were disgorged by the _Persian +Gulf's_ excellent ice-box. And all the while, speaking in light, +soothing tones, Romola Borria gazed alluringly into the watchful eyes +of Peter Moore. + +At length the chairs were pushed back, and Peter, with this fairy-like +creature in a dinner-gown of most fetching pink gossamer clinging to +his arm, took to the deck for an after-dinner Abdullah. + +They chatted in low, confiding tones of the people in the dining-room. +They whispered in awe of the Southern Cross, which sparkled like frost +on the low horizon. She confessed that at night the moon was her god, +and Peter, feeling exalted under the influence of her exquisite charm, +the touch of the light fingers upon his arm which tingled and burned +under the subtle pressure, became bold and recited that verse of +"Mandalay" wherein "I kissed her where she stood." + +It was quite thrilling, quite delicious, and altogether quite too fine +to last. + +After a while, when they were passing the door of the wireless cabin, +Romola squeezed his arm lightly and expressed a desire to have him send +a message, a message she had quite forgotten. When Peter replied that +such a message would be costly, involving an expensive retransmission +by cable from Manila to Hong Kong, she only laughed. + +Peter snapped on the green-shaded light and handed her pad and pencil. +Dropping lightly to the couch which ran the length of the opposite +wall, she nibbled at the pencil's rubber, and her smooth brow was +darkened by a frown of perplexity. + +Peter, lowering the aerial switch, sent out an inquiring call for the +Manila station. The air was still as death. A dreary hush filled the +black receivers, and then, through this gloomy silence trickled a +far-away silver voice, the brisk, clear signals of Manila. + +He swiveled half around, and the girl nervously extended the pad of +radio blanks. + +The message was directed to Emiguel Borria, the Peak, Hong Kong, and it +contained the information that she would reach the Hong Kong anchorage +on the following Tuesday morning. The last sentence; "Do not meet me." + +Peter inclined his eyebrows slightly, but not impertinently, counted +the words and flashed them to the operator at Manila. + +This one shot back the following greeting: + +"Who are you? Only one man on the whole Pacific has a fist like that." + +Peter changed the manner of his sending, resorting to a long and +painful "drawl." + +"I am a little Chinese waif," Peter spelled out slowly, and smiled, +adding: "Good hunting to you, Smith!" He signed off. + +The silvery spark of Smith was quick in reply. + +"If you are Peter Moore, the Marconi people are scouring the earth +trying to find you. Are you Peter Moore?" + +"In China," replied Peter breezily, changing back to the inimitably +crisp sending for which he was famous, "we bite off people's noses who +are inquisitive. Good night, old-timer!" + +The voice of Manila screamed back in faint reprisal, but Peter dropped +the nickeled band to the ledge, and pivoted quickly, to face the girl. + +It was startling, the look she was giving him. Perhaps he had +completed the transmission before she was aware. At all events, when +Peter turned with a smile, her eyes bored straight into his with a +distorted look, a look that seemed cruel, as if it might have sprung +from a well of hate; and hard and glinting and black as polished jade. + +All of this vanished when she caught Peter's eyes, and it was as the +passage of a vision, unreal. In its place was an expression of +demureness, of gentle, almost fondling meekness. Had she been staring, +not at him, but beyond him, over the miles to a detestable scene, a +view of horror? It seemed more than likely. + +Then he observed that the door of the wireless room was closed. He +made as if to open it, but she interrupted him midway with a commanding +gesture of her white, small hand. + +"Lock it, and sit down here beside me." + +Somewhat dazed and greatly flabbergasted, Peter obeyed. + +He locked the door, then sat down beside her. She moved closer, took +his hand, wrapped both of hers tightly around it, and leaned toward him +until the breath from her parted lips was upon his throat, moist and +warm, and her eyes were great shining balls of limpid mystery and +dancing excitement, so close to his that he momentarily expected their +eyelashes to mingle. + +She caught her breath, and then, for such dramatic circumstances, made +a most ridiculous remark. She realized that herself, for she whipped +out: + +"It is a foolish question. But, Mr. Moore, do you believe in love at +first sight?" + +Peter's tense look dissolved into a smile of giddy relief. He was +expecting something quite frightful, and the clear wit of him found a +ready answer. + +"Foolish?" he chuckled. "Why, I'm the most devout worshiper at the +shrine! The shrine brags about me! It says to unbelievers: Now, if +you don't believe in love at first sight, just cast your orbs upon +Peter Moore, our most shining example. Allah, by Allah! The old +philanderer is assuredly of the faith!" + +"I am quite serious, Mr. Moore." + +"As I was afraid, Miss Borria. Seriously, if you must know it, then +here goes: As soon as I saw you I was mad about you! Call it +infatuation, call it a rush of blood to my foolish young head, call it +anything you like----" + +"Why don't you stop all this?" she broke him off. + +"All what?" he inquired innocently. + +"This--this life you are leading. This indolence. This constant +toying with danger. This empty life. This sham of adventure-love that +you affect. It will get you nothing. I know! I, too, thought it was +a great lark at first, and I played with fire; and you know just what +happens to the children who play with fire. + +"At first you skirt the surface, and then you go a little deeper, and +finally you can do nothing but struggle. It is a terrible feeling, to +find that your wonderful toy is killing you. Certain people in China, +Mr. Moore, are conducting practises that you of the western world frown +upon. And blundering upon these practices, as perhaps you have, you +believe you are very bold and daring, and you are thrilled as you rub +elbows with death, in tracing the dragons to their dens." + +"Dragons!" The syllables cracked from Peter's lips, and his wits, +which were wandering in channels of their own while this lecture +progressed, suddenly were bundled together, and he was alert and keenly +attentive. + +"Or call them what you will," went on the girl in a low-pitched +monotone. "I call them dragons, because the dragon is a filthy, +wretched symbol." + +"You have some knowledge of my encounters with--dragons?" put in Peter +as casually as he was able. + +"I profess to know nothing of your encounters with anybody," replied +the girl quietly and patiently. "I base my conclusions only on what I +have seen. This morning I saw you throw a Chinese coolie into the +harbor at Batavia. It happens that I have seen that coolie before, and +it also happens that I know a little--do not ask me what I know, for I +will never tell you--a little about the company that coolie keeps." + +"I guess you are getting a little beyond my depth," stated Peter +uncomfortably. "Would you mind sort of summing up what you've just +said?" + +"I mean, I want to try to persuade you that the life you have been +living is wrong. At the same time, I want you to help me, as only you +can help me, in putting a life of wretchedness behind me. It is asking +a great deal, a very great deal, but in return I will give you more +than you will ever realize, more than you can realize, for you cannot +realize the danger that surrounds your every movement, and will +continue to surround you until they--_they_--are assured that you have +decided to forget them." + +Peter shook his head, forgetting to wonder what an officer might think +upon finding the door locked. Would the jovial little captain be quite +so jovial viewing these incriminating circumstances? Not likely. But +Peter had dismissed the fat captain from his mind, together with all +other alien thoughts, as he concentrated upon the amazing words of this +exceedingly amazing and beautiful girl. She was looking down at the +chevron of gold sparks on his sleeve. + +"I can tell you but one more thing of consequence," she continued. "It +is this: Together we can stand; divided we will fall, just as surely as +the sun follows its track in the heavens. I have a plan that will +offend you--perhaps offend you terribly--but there is no other way. +When _they_ know that we have decided to forget them, we can breathe +easily. Our secrets, grown stale, are not harmful to them." + +"I am always open to any reasonable inducement," Peter said dryly. + +The eyes meeting his were quite wild. + +"How would you like to go to some lovely little place to have money, to +live comfortably, even luxuriously, with a woman of whom you could be +justly proud, and who would bend every power with the sole view of +making you happy?"--she was blushing hotly--"and all this woman would +demand in return would be your loyalty, your respect--and later your +love, if that were possible." + +"But this--this is--astounding!" Peter exclaimed. + +"I expected you to say that. But let me assure you, I have thought +this over. I have given it every possible consideration, and now I +know there is no other way. I want to leave China. I want to go away +forever and ever. I must leave." + +Her shoulders jerked nervously. + +"My life has been miserable--so miserable. And I am not brave enough +to go through with it alone. I am afraid, terribly afraid. And afraid +of myself, and of my weakness. I must be encouraged, must have some +one to make me strong and brave, and afterward to take the good in me +and bring it out, and kill the bad." + +She relinquished Peter's hand and thumped her chest with small fists. + +"There is good in me; but it has never been given a chance! I want a +man who will bring that good out, a man who will make me fine and true +and honorable. For such a man I would give everything--my life!" She +lowered her voice. "I would give my best--my love. When I saw you +lift the coolie, after he showed you his knife, I thought you were such +a man; and when I looked into your face I believed I had found such a +man. The rest--remains--for you to say." + +"Where do you want me to t-take you?" demanded Peter. + +"Ah! That is of so little importance! To Nara--Nagoya--to +Australia--America." + +She shrugged, as if to say, "and little I care." + +"Now I am offering you only two rewards for that sacrifice--your safety +against _them_--and money. You can name your price. I feel that you +will come to love me; but that can come, if it cares, any time. When +you want me--I will be waiting. I want you to consider this now. Now! +Will you? Tell me that you will!" + +"I--I don't know what to say!" stammered Peter in a husky voice. +"Are--you are not joking, are you, Miss Borria? You can't be! But +this is so serious! Shocking! Why, you never saw me before! Why +should you pick me for such a thing when you never saw me? You don't +know me. You don't know what a brute I might be. Why, I might be +married for all you know----" + +"I am reasonably sure," said the girl with some of her former serenity. + +"But this--this is unbelievable!" cried Peter. "You never saw me +before to-day. Why, you're a nice girl. You're not the kind of girl +who runs away with a man at first sight. You're not in love with me at +all. Not at all. Miss Borria----" + +A flame of hot suspicion shot athwart Peter's mind. He seized her +hands, glared into her eyes, dragged her to her feet. + +"See here!" he clamored. "Tell me what you really want. What's your +game, eh? You're a wise little bird, you are. I may look stupid, I +may not see all the way through this talk you've been giving me. +You're holding back. What is it? Come on! Out with it!" + +She was not disturbed in the least at his harshness, nor did she +seemingly disapprove of the rough way he handled her. + +"I am married," she said simply. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +To Peter this revelation was like the addition of a single grain to a +bucket brimming with sand. + +"Well, what of it?" he barked. + +"To a man who is fat and untidy, a man old enough to be my father, who +treats me as if I were a thief, or a dog. I loathe him. And he +detests me. You see"--she smiled ironically--"we are not very happy. +I ran away from him a month ago, from Hong Kong. I ran as far as +Singaraja, and now I have to go back because I have not the courage to +stay away. A stronger will would make me give him up. Would make me +go away, and stay. And I grabbed at you." + +"As a drowning man would grab at a straw." + +"Not at all! Perhaps, let us say, I had pictured such a man as you. +And then you came. He will beat me when I return." + +"No!" + +"Yes!" She pressed down the gauzy stuff which came up almost to her +throat in the form of a high "V." And across the rounded white curve +of her chest were four angry red stripes, the marks of a whip. + +He shuddered. "This is terrible." + +"Will you help me--now?" + +"What can I do? What can I do?" He was striving to adjust himself to +this exceedingly difficult situation. "But I don't understand how you +can place all this confidence in me." + +"Because when I saw you I knew you were a man who stopped at nothing." + +"But why--why does he beat you? It--it's incomprehensible!" + +He stared at the beautiful face, the long, white appealing face, and +the deep, dark eyes with their fringe of long lashes. If ever a girl +was meant to be loved and protected it was this one. + +"I know I am asking a great deal, far more than I have any right, and +not taking you into consideration at all. But you will help me. You +must. Have I talked to you in vain? Do--do you think I would make you +unhappy?" + +"That's not the question, not the question at all. But you don't know +me. We are perfect strangers!" + +That is what Peter had been trying to get out of his system all of this +time. Had he been thinking connectedly at this trying moment, not for +the life of him would he have uttered those words. He had convinced +himself that he was above and beyond all shallow conventions. And in +an unguarded moment this thought, which had been in and out of his +mind, popped out like a ghost from a closet. We are perfect strangers! + +"So is every man a stranger to his wife. What difference does time +make? Very little, I think. A day--a week--a month--a +year--twenty!--you and I would still be strangers, for that matter. +Who can see into any man's heart?" + +She stopped talking, and kneaded her hands as if in anguish. + +"And think! Do think of me!" + +"I am thinking of you," said Peter constrainedly. + +"We can go to Nara, if you like, to the little inn near the deer-park, +and be so happy--you and I. Think of Nara--in cherry-blossom time!" + +"I can't see the picture at all," said Peter dryly. "But since you've +elected me to be your--your Sir Galahad, I'll tell you what I will do." + +Nervously the girl was fumbling at her throat, where, suspended by a +fine gold chain, hung a cameo, a delicately carved rose, as red as her +lips, and as life-like. She nodded, quite as though her life hung by +that gold thread and depended at the high end upon his decision. + +"Your husband's nationality?" he asked abruptly. + +"He is a Portuguese gentleman, my father's cousin." + +"It would be possible for me, perhaps, to aid a lady in distress by +punishing the cause of it." + +"You mean----" + +"I will gladly undertake to thrash the gentleman, if it would do any +good." + +"No, no! That would not do." + +"Then there's no choice for me. Either I must accept or decline your +invitation." + +"I pray you will! I have told you frankly and quickly, because time is +valuable. We have none to lose. A steamer leaves for Formosa and Moji +the morning after we arrive--at daybreak. We would scarcely have time +to complete our plans, and embark." + +Peter raised his eyebrows. "Complete our plans?" he intoned. + +"Yes. We must raise money. You see, there is money, thousands of +dollars, always in that house. It would be necessary to--to take +whatever of it we needed. That is why I will need you, too." + +"I think," declared Peter with decision, "that we had better call this +a misdeal, and play another game for a while. In the first place, I +will not run away with you, because it is against my principles to run +away with a strange young woman. In the second place, stealing for +pleasure is one of the seven deadly sins that I conscientiously avoid. + +"Now that I have aired my views, now that I have proved to you I'm not +as fine and brave as you hoped me to be, let's shake hands and part the +best of friends--or the worst of enemies." + +The girl rose from the chair into which she had dropped when Peter +began his say. Alternately she was biting her upper and lower lips in +nervousness or irritation. She put her back to the door and braced her +hands against the white enameled panels. Her breast was heaving. She +was desperately pale, and little dots of perspiration shone on her +white forehead. And she was limp, as though his last remark had +drained the final drop of vitality from her. + +"I--I won't give you up," she said in a small, husky voice. "Besides, +you are wrong, wrong in saying and believing that stealing his money +would not be for a good cause. He is a brute, a monster, and worse +than a thief. I cannot tell you how he gets his money. I would not +dare to whisper it. You will be doing a fine and splendid thing in +taking his money. You will be freeing me! Does that sound like +heroics? I don't care if it does! But with that money you can buy my +soul out of bondage. You can make me happy. Won't you? Won't you +do--that--for me?" + +Peter stood there like a block of ice--melting rapidly! But he said +nothing. His thoughts were beyond the expression of clumsy words. + +Her dumb hand found the key, turned it. The door opened, and a sweet +breath of the cool sea air crept into the small room. + +For a moment her white, distraught face hung down on her breast like +that of a child who has been scolded without understanding why. Then +she darted out of the room. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +When Peter snapped off the switch he found that he was trembling, +trembling from his knees to his neck. With a feeling akin to guilt he +wiped the sweat from his face and walked unsteadily to the rail which +overhung the cargo-well. + +He lighted an Abdullah, and watched the little smoke pool, which the +wind snatched and tossed up into the booms and darkness. + +It must have been a nightmare, this scene just past. What an +incredible, a preposterous request for a woman to make! And the more +thought he fed to the enigma the more incredible and unreal it became. + +It was too big and complex a thought to hold all together in his tired +brain now. In the morning he would tackle it with some zest, with an +inner eye washed clean by a long sleep. Just now he felt the need of +relaxation, and as he smoked, his thoughts flitted afar, to come back +now and then, irresistibly drawn by the vivid picture painted in his +mind by Romola Borria. + +His eyes, commanders of his thoughts, traveled out over the stern, +which rose and sank with a ponderous, wallowing sound in the heaving +ground swells, and he made out the weaving and coiling, the lustrous +but dim windings of the phosphorescent wake. + +As he became more accustomed to the shadowy, pointed darkness of the +steerage cabins, he became aware of a small figure crouching on the +hatch-cover near the starboard rail. He studied this intently, and at +length he made out the long, black queue of the Chinese girl who had +stared at him in such bewitching fashion a little earlier in the day. + +And his mind was carried back at the thought of this small maiden to +the grim and red Tibetan city, whose memories now were scarcely more +than a confused and hideous dream. He pictured again the splendors of +the blue-domed white palace which reposed like a beast of prey atop the +red filth disgorged by the cinnabar mine. + +Peter's heart thumped in youthful resentment as the thought of that +evil spirit came to him now. When would he meet the Gray Dragon face +to face? When would he again penetrate the stronghold of that unhappy +red city? Who could say? Probably never. + +The small Chinese girl on the hatch-cover had found him staring at her, +and with a little shiver of surprise Peter made the discovery that she +was smiling archly at him; and she inclined her head. She was +beckoning? It seemed so, indeed. + +Because Peter was a youth of deep and subtle understandings, he did no +more than nod slightly, and forthwith descended the companion-ladder to +the well, and crossed the well to her side. + +Her eyes were given a queer little twinkle by the near-by electric +which burned dimly over the door of the engine-room galley, and she +motioned him to be seated. He squatted, Chinese fashion, and she took +a deep, sighing breath, holding out her hands with a quick gesture. + +Across her wrists and drooping to her knees and beyond them into the +shadow was a strip of heavy, deep-blue silk. All down its length were +stitched small, round dots of dark red. Peter knew this for a sarong, +an ornamental waist-sash, affected by most Javanese gentlemen and many +Australians and New Zealanders. + +While he hesitated, she laid this in his lap with a shy impulsiveness. + +"It is yours, sar," she informed Peter in English of a very strange +mold. She spoke in a rather high-pitched, bell-like voice, pure and +soft, and tinkling with queer little cadences. "It is yours, sar. I +made it for you." + +Indubitably the girl was Eurasian. Asiatic features predominated, with +the exception of her eyes, which were more round than oblique, from +which circumstance Peter could surmise that her Aryan blood, provided +she was a half-caste, came from her mother's side; the predominance of +the Mongolian in her features being due to an Asiatic father, a Chinese. + +The colorless face, relieved by the bright color of her lips, the +slightly oblique eyes, told him that; yet her accents were those of a +Javanese, a Malay from the south. + +"You made this--for me?" replied Peter, surprised. + +"Oh, yes, sar," said the tinkling little voice. + +"Well, that is fine. It is beautiful," he said, feeling his way with +prudence. "And how much do I owe you, small one?" + +She shook her head indignantly. + +"It is a geeft," she informed him. "I am no longer poor, my lord. I +can now give geefts. I like you. I give this to you." + +Peter was moved momentarily beyond speech. + +"You are very fine, _busar satu_," went on the tiny, musical voice. +"So is this sarong. You will wear it, great one, around thy middle?" + +"Around my middle, to be sure, small one," laughed Peter; "until my +middle is clay, or until the sarong is no more than a thread." + +"Well said, _busar satu_!" The girl giggled, bobbing her small head in +happy approval. "It is twice blessed: with my love and with my foolish +blood, for I pricked my finger on the wicked needle. But I covered +that spot with a red mata-ari (sun). You can never, never tell." + +"Assuredly not!" cried Peter gaily. + +"Let the sarong be wound about thy middle," commanded the Chinese +maiden. "Arise, sar, and wind it about thy middle." + +And Peter did rise, winding the sarong about his lean waist twice, +allowing one end to dangle down on his left side in a debonair and +striking fashion. If set off his slim figure in a rather bizarre way. + +"It's bully!" he exclaimed, pirouetting with one hand on his head after +the style of the matador. + +"It is bully!" she echoed, in such quaint reflection of his exclamation +that Peter laughed outright. "Now, sit down again, sar," she invited. +And when Peter had again disposed himself at the side of this +light-hearted young person, she went on: + +"I am coming a long, long way to visit my aged grandmother (may the +green-eyed gods grant her the twelve desires!) who lives Canton-way. +My dear father sells opium. He has grown rich in that trade, even +though the stupid eyes of the Dutch _babis_ are on him all the while. +When I have seen my ancient grandmother, and given her geefts, I will +go home, to the south, Macassar-way." + +"Now, where, oh where, do I fit in this scheme?" was what Peter +thought. "What have I that this maiden desires?" + +"Ah, _busar satu_!" the maiden was saying, deftly and unaffectedly +patting the sarong. "It is bully! And now----" + +"And now----" intoned Peter calmly, for even as a life pays for a life, +and an eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth, so does a gift pay for +a gift. + +"And now," went on the maid from Macassar, whose father had grown rich +in the opium-trade under the very eyes of the Dutch, "tell me but one +thing, my lord--is Hong Kong safe for such as I?" + +"When one is young and virtuous," spake Peter in the drone of an +ancient fortune-teller, "one keeps her eyes pinned on the front. One +hears nothing; and one becomes as discreet of tongue as the little blue +sphinx at Chow-Fen-Chu." + +"Those are the words of Confucius, the wise one," retorted the little +bell-like voice with a tinkling laugh. "I need no guide, then? I have +heard that China is unsafe. That is why I asked." + +"Small one," replied Peter, with a smile of gravity and with much +candor in his blue eyes, "in China, such a one as you are as safe as a +Javanese starling in a nest of hungry yellow snakes. You will travel +by daylight, or not at all. You will go from Kowloon to your venerable +grandmother by train. You will carry a knife, and you will use it +without hesitation. Have you such a knife?" + +The small head bowed vehemently. + +"In Hong-Kong you will go aboard a sampan and be rowed Kowloon-way, +from whence the train runs by the great river to Canton." + +"That will be safe, that sampan?" + +"I will make it safe, small one. For I will go with you as far as +Kowloon, if that is what you wish." + +"And does the brave one admire my sarong?" the small voice wavered. + +"It shames my ugly body," said Peter. "Now run along to bed--_kalak_!" +And he clapped his hands as the small figure bobbed out of sight, with +her long, black pigtail flopping this way and that. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +It came to Peter as he climbed up the iron-fretted steps to the lonely +promenade-deck that life had begun to take on its old golden glow, the +luster of the uncertain, the charm of women who found in him something +not undesirable. + +At this he smiled a little bit. He had never known, as far back as the +span of his adventures extended, a woman who deemed his companionship +as quite so valuable a thing as the mysterious and alluring Romola +Borria, the husband-beaten, incredible, and altogether dangerous young +woman who passionately besought him to accompany her on a pilgrimage of +forgetfulness into the flowery heart of dear old Japan. + +Ascending the ladder to the unoccupied deck, he was conscious of the +sweet drone of the monsoon, which blew off the shores of Annam over the +restless bosom of the China Sea, setting up a tuneful chant in the +_Persian Gulf's_ sober rigging, and kissing his cheeks with the ardor +of a despairing maiden. + +Peter the Brazen decided to take a turn or two round deck before going +to his bunk, to drink in a potion of this intoxicating, winelike night. +The wheel of fortune might whirl many times before he was again sailing +this most seductive of oceans. + +And he was a little intoxicated, too, with the wine of his youth. His +lips, immersed in the fountain, found very little bitterness there. +Life was earnest and grave, as the wiseacres said; but life was, on the +whole, sublime and poignantly sweet. A little bitterness, a little +dreary sadness, a pang at the heart now and again, served only to +interrupt the smooth regularity, the monotony, to add zest to the +nectar. + +When he had finished the cigarette, he flung the butt over the rail +into the gushing water, which swam south in its phosphorescent welter, +descended between decks to the stateroom that had been assigned to him, +and fitted the key to the lock. + +He felt decidedly young and foolishly exalted as he closed the door +after him and heard the lock click, for to few men is it given to have +two lovely young women in distress seek aid, all in the span of a few +hours. Perhaps these rosy events had served merely to feed oil to the +fires of his conceit; but Peter's was not a conceit that rankled +anybody. And there were always volunteers, hardened by the buffets of +this life, to cast water upon that same fire. + +So, humming a gay little tune, Peter snapped on the light, bathing the +milk-white room in a liquid mellowness, opened the port-hole, wound his +watch, hung it on the curtain-bar which ran lengthwise with his berth, +pushed the flowered curtains at either end as far back as they would +go, in order to have all the fresh air possible, and---- + +Peter gasped. He declared it was absolutely impossible. Such things +did not happen, even in this world of strange happenings and of +stranger stirrings below the surface of actual happenings. His +self-complacencies came shattering down about his ears like mountains +of senseless glitter, and he stooped to recover the object which was +lying upon, almost ready to tumble from, the rounded, neat edge of the +white berth. + +A rose of cameo! The hot breath from his lips, which drooped in +astonishment and chagrin, seemed to stir the delicate petals of the +exquisitely carved red rose which reposed in its mountain of soft gold +in the palm of his trembling hand. The fine gold chain, like a rope of +gold sand, trickled between his fingers and dangled, swinging from side +to side. + +The impossible thought pounded at the door of his brain and demanded +recognition. Romola Borria had been a visitor to his room. But why? +He had no secrets to conceal from the prying ears of any one, not now, +at all events, for he had destroyed all evidences depending upon the +excursion he had made from Shanghai to Len Yang, and from Len Yang to +Mandalay, to Rangoon, to Penang, Singapore, and Batavia. + +Naturally, his first impulsive thought was that Romola Borria was +somehow entangled with those who ruled the destinies of the hideous +mountain city, which crouched amidst the frosty emerald peaks on the +fringe of Tibet. He had felt the weight of that ominous hand on other +occasions, and its movements were ever the same. Night stealth, +warnings chalked on doors, the deliberate and cunning penetration of +his secrets; all of these were typical machinations of the Gray Dragon, +and of those who reported back to the Gray Dragon. + +No one would break into his stateroom who was not the tool of Len +Yang's unknown king. Thus the finger of accusation was brought to bear +tentatively upon Romola Borria. + +Yes, it was incredible that this girl, with those scarlet stripes +across her breast, could in any way be complicated with the wanton +designs of the beast in Len Yang. Yet here was evidence, damning her, +if not as a wilful tool of the cinnabar king, then at least as a +room-breaker. Why had she come into his room? And how? + +He searched the room, then dragged his suit-case from under the bunk to +the middle of the blue carpet, and spilled its contents angrily upon +the floor. It took him less than ten seconds to discover what was +missing; not his money, nor the few jewels he had collected in his +peregrinations, for they were untouched in the small leather bag. + +Peter looked again, carefully shaking each garment, hoping, and +refusing to hope, that the revolver would make its appearance. It was +an American revolver, an automatic, a gift from Bobbie MacLaurin. And +now this excellent weapon was missing. + +He felt that eyes were upon him, that ears were listening slyly to his +breathing, that lips were rustling in bated whispered comments upon the +fury with which he took this important loss. + +Snapping off the light, he plunged down the murky corridor, with the +guilty rose cameo clutched in his sweating hand, and came at length to +the purser's office. This dignitary was absent, at midnight lunch +probably; so Peter rifled the upper drawer in the desk, and brought out +the passenger-register, finding the name and room number he sought +after an instant of search. + +Carefully he replaced the ledger in its original position, closed the +drawer, and darted back up the corridor. + +In front of a room not far from his own he paused and rapped. His +knock, sharp and insistent, was one of practice, a summons which would +not be mistaken by the occupants of adjoining staterooms, nor was it +likely to disturb them. + +After a moment, light showed at the opened transom. Some one rustled +about within, and in another instant the door opened far enough to +admit a head from which dark masses of hair floated, framing a face +that was white and inquisitive. + +At sight of her midnight visitor Romola Borria opened her door wide and +smiled a little sleepily. She had paused long enough in arising to +slip into a negligee, a kimono of blackest satin, revealing at the +baglike sleeves and the fold which fell back from her throat a lining +of blood-red silk. + +One hand was caught up to her throat in a gesture of surprise, and the +other was concealed behind her, catching, as Peter surmised, nothing if +not his own automatic revolver, which had been loaded, ready for +instant use, immediately the safety-catch was released. + +She stared at him softly, with eyes still mirroring the depths of the +sleep from which he had so rudely aroused her, her delicate red lips +forming a curious smile. And she continued to smile more gently, more +tenderly, as she became quite conscious of his presence. + +"You have come to tell me that you will go to Japan with me," she +stated. + +Peter shook his head slowly, and with equal deliberateness lifted up +the small object in his hand until the light from the ceiling-lamp fell +directly upon it. + +"My cameo!" she exclaimed with a start of surprise. "Where did you +find it?" She reached impulsively for the ornament, but Peter closed +his fingers upon it firmly. + +"You have something to give me in return, I think," he said sternly. + +She was staring at the closed hand with something of despair and +fright, as if reluctant to believe this truth, while her fingers groped +at her throat to verify a loss apparently not before detected. + +She stepped back into the room and said: + +"Close the door. Come inside." + +He thought: If she had wanted to shoot me, she had plenty of chance +before. A shot in this room, a murder would fasten evidence upon her, +and besides, it would instantly arouse the occupants of the adjoining +staterooms, if not one of the deck crew on watch. + +So he entered and closed the door, presenting a full view of his broad, +white-uniformed back, and the gaudy-blue sarong about his waist. He +took more time than was necessary in closing the door and sliding the +bolt, to give her every opportunity to arrange this scene she desired. + +But the girl was only drawing the curtains over the port-hole, to keep +out prying eyes, when he turned about. + +She sat down on the edge of her berth, with her small white feet almost +touching the floor, and the huge blue automatic resting upon her knees. +It was unlikely that she did not appreciate fully the seductive charm +of the red and black gown which adapted itself in whatever pose to the +youthful curves of her body; and she permitted Peter to sit down on the +narrow couch opposite and to examine her and perhaps to speculate for a +number of seconds before she seemed to find her speech. + +Meekly her dark eyes encountered his. + +"I was afraid," she explained in a voice, low but free in her +remarkable self-possession. "I knew you would not care, and I hoped +that you would have a revolver in your room. So I went there. How did +I get in? I borrowed a pass-key from the purser on the plea that I had +left mine in my room. I hoped you would not miss it until we reached +Hong Kong, and I intended to return it then and explain to you. + +"My life," she added deprecatingly, "is in some slight danger, and, +like the small fool that I am--even though I am fully aware that no one +in the whole world cares whether I am living or dead--well, Mr. Moore, +for some reason I still persist in clinging to the small hope." + +She smiled wanly and earnestly, so Peter thought. A dozen impulses +militated against his believing a word of this glib explanation; his +common sense told him that he should seek further, that the explanation +was only half made; and yet it cannot be denied that she had gone +unerringly to his greatest weakness, perhaps his worst fault, his +belief in the sincerity of a woman in trouble. + +"Why didn't you ask me?" he demanded in his most apologetic voice, as +though he had wronged her beyond repair. "Why didn't you tell me you +were in danger? I'd have loaned you the revolver willingly--willingly!" + +"I did try to find you," she replied; "but the wireless room was dark. +You were nowhere on deck." + +Peter was aware that for some reason Romola Borria did not prefer to +share the secret of her real or fancied danger with him. He felt a +little dissatisfied, cheated, as though the straightforward answer for +which he had come had been turned into the counterfeit of evasion. + +The situation as it now had shaped itself demanded some sort of +decision. Without the whole truth he was reluctant to leave, and it +was imprudent to remain any longer. + +Romola, in this constrained pause in their conversation, feeling +perhaps the reason for his silence, lowered her dark lashes and drew up +her feet until they were concealed by the red folds of the kimono, and +she drew the satin more closely about her soft, white throat. + +"You have decided nothing, then?" she parried. + +"What decision I might have formed," he said, a trifle coolly, "has +been put off by--this. You see, I must admit it, this--this rather +complicates things for me. I'm in the dark altogether now, you see. I +wanted to help you, however I could. And then--then I find this cameo." + +She nodded absently, fingering the groove in the automatic's handle. + +"I'm afraid I took too much for granted," she said in a low voice. +"Don't you suppose my curiosity was aroused when you threw the coolie +overboard? I said nothing; rather, I asked you no questions; and I +thought that a man who was self-poised enough to meet his enemies in +that way would be--what shall I say?--charitable enough to overlook +such a----" She paused. "When I confessed that you and I are facing a +common enemy, that the same hands are eager to do away with both of us, +I thought that bond was sufficient, was strong enough, to justify what +might shock an ordinary man. I mean----" + +"I think I understand," Peter took her up in contrite tones. "I'll ask +nothing more. In the morning we will talk the other matter over. I +must have a little time. For the present, I want you to keep the +revolver, and--here is the cameo. Forgive me for being so +unreasonable, so--so selfish." + +He leaned over. She seemed uncertain a moment, then caught the gold +chain lightly from his hand. + +"And--your revolver," she said. "Those are the terms of the agreement, +I believe." + +"No, no," he protested. "I have no use for it; none whatever. You +keep it." + +But quite as resolutely Romola Borria shook her head and extended the +automatic, butt foremost, to him. "I insist," she said. + +"But you say you're in danger," he argued. + +"No. Not now. I have something else that will do quite as well. If +it is written that I am to die, why give Death cause to be angry? I am +a fatalist, you see. And I want you to take back your revolver, with +my apologies, and quite without any more explanation than I have given +you, please." + +"But----" began Peter. + +"Look," she said. + +In the small space of the stateroom he could not avoid bending so low +as to sense the warmth of her skin, in order to study the object toward +which she was directing his gaze. A sense of hot confusion permeated +him as her fingers lightly caressed his hand; her physical nearness +obsessed him. + +She had drawn back the fluffy pillow, and on the white sheet he +glimpsed a long, bright, and exceedingly dangerous-looking dagger, with +a jewel-incrusted hilt. + +The singular thing about this knife was the shape of the blade, which +was thin and with three sides, like a machinist's file. It would be a +good dagger to throw away after a killing because of the triangular +hole it would leave as a wound, a bit of evidence decidedly +incriminating. + +Peter straightened up, round-eyed, accepted the automatic, and slipped +it into his pocket, smoothing his coat and the sarong over the lump, +and approached the door. + +For a moment his heart beat in a wild desire, a desire to take her in +his arms as she stood so close and so quiet beside him, smiling +wistfully and a little sadly; and unaccountably she seemed to droop and +become small and limp and pitifully helpless in the face of him and of +all mankind. + +"Good night, Mr. Moore, and thank you so--much," she murmured. "And I +do hope you will forgive me for being a--a thief." + +He thought that she was on the point of kissing him, and his eyes swam +and became of a slightly deeper and more silky blue than a moment +before. But she faltered back, while the faintest suggestion of a sigh +came from her lips. + +In the next instant, as the door closed quietly behind him, Peter was +mighty glad that neither he nor she had yielded to impulse. He was +not, in the light of the literal version, the owner of a wholly +untarnished record, for he had given in to weakness, as most men do +give into weakness. + +But he was above temptation now, not because temptation was put behind +him, but because he had had the strength to resist; and it was his +full, deep desire to hold himself until that girl, far across the +Pacific, who inspired the finest and best in him, should bear the name +he bore. + +It was a splendid thing, that feeling. It gave him courage and +confidence, and took him quite light-heartedly, with head erect and +shoulders back, out of the dreariest of his moments. + +So, quick in a new and buoyant mood, Peter joggled the key in the lock +of his stateroom door, slipped in, and was before long dreaming of a +cottage built for two, of springtime in California, albeit snoring +almost loud enough to drown out the throb of the _Persian Gulf's_ old +but still useful engines. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +Because of the fatigue which possessed his every muscle, fatigue +springing from the arduous, the trying hours now past, Peter the Brazen +was sleeping the slumber of the worthy, when, at a somewhat later hour +in the night, some time before dawn crept out of the China Sea, a +figure, lean and gray, flitted past his stateroom on the narrow orlop +deck, peered in the darkened port-hole, and passed on. + +Awakened by an instinct developed to a remarkable degree by his +training of the past few months, Peter established himself upon one +elbow and looked and listened, wondering what sounds might be abroad +other than the peaceful churn of the engine. + +Quite as intuitively he slipped his hand under the pillow and +encountered the reassuring chill of the blued steel. Half withdrawing +this excellent weapon, he shifted his eyes, alternately from the door +to the port-hole, conscious of an imminent danger, a little stupefied +by his recent plunge into the depths of sleep, but growing more widely +awake, more alert and watchful, with the passage of each instant. + +The port-hole loomed gray and empty, one edge of it licked by the +yellow light of some not far distant deck-lamp. With his eye fastened +upon this scimitar of golden light, Peter was soon to witness an +unusual eclipse, a phenomenon which sent a shiver, an icy shiver, of +genuine consternation up and down his backbone. + +As he watched, a square of the yellow reflected light was blotted out, +as though a bar of some nature had cast its shadow athwart that +metallic gleam. This shadow then proceeded to slide first up and then +down the brass setting of the port-hole, and the shadow dwindled. + +As Peter sat up on the edge of his cot, gripping the square butt of the +automatic in his hand and tentatively fingering the trigger, the origin +of the shadow moved slowly, ever so slowly, into the range of his +perplexed and anxious vision. + +What appeared at first glance to be a cat-o'-nine-tails on a rather +thick stem, Peter made out to be, as he built some hasty comparisons, +the Maxim silencer attached either at the end of a revolver or of a +rifle; for the black cylinder on the muzzle was circumscribed at +regular intervals with small, sharp depressions, the clinch-marks of +the silencing chambers. + +As this specter crept up and over the edge of the port, Peter, with a +deliberate and cold smile, raised the automatic revolver, slipped out +of the berth with the stealth and litheness of a cat, crept into the +corner where the stateroom door was hinged, and leveled the weapon +until his eye ran along the dark obstruction of the barrel. + +Slowly and more slowly the silencer moved inward until the blunt end of +it was registered precisely upon a point where Peter's head would lie +if he were sleeping in a normal attitude. + +This amused him and perplexed him. All Peter wanted to see was the +head or even the eye of this early morning assassin, whereupon he would +take immediate steps to receive him with a warm cordiality that might +forestall future visitations of a kindred sort. + +In the space between heart-beats Peter stopped to inquire of himself +who his visitor might be. And even as he stopped to inquire, a bright, +angry, red flame spurted straight out from the mouth of the silencer, +and Peter would have willingly gambled his bottom dollar that the +bullet found its way into his pillow, a wager, as he later verified, +upon which he would have collected all of the money he was eager to +stake. + +The lance of yellow-red flame had occasioned no disturbance other than +a slight smack, comparable with the sharp clapping of a man's hands. + +In the second leaping flame Peter was far more interested. Having +delivered himself of one shot, the assassin could be depended upon to +make casual inquiries, and to drop at least one more bullet into the +darkness between the upper and lower berths, to make a clean job of it. + +And it was on the appearance of the inquiring head that Peter relied to +repay the intruder in his own metal, that metal taking the form of a +wingless messenger of nickel-sheathed lead. + +But the visitor was cautious, waiting, no doubt, for sounds of the +death struggle, provided the shot had not gone directly home, its home +being, as Peter shuddered to think, his own exceedingly useful brain. + +He waited a little longer before his guest apparently decided that the +time was come for his investigation; and thereupon a small, square head +with the black-tasseled hat of a Chinese coolie set upon it at a rakish +angle was framed by the port-hole. + +Smirking nervously, Peter released the safety catch and brought +pressure to bear slowly and firmly upon the trigger. + +_Click_! That was all. But it told a terrible story. The weapon was +out of commission, either unloaded or tampered with. And Peter's +panic-stricken thoughts leaped, even as the square head leaped away +from the window, to the Borria woman, to the cause of his desperate +helplessness. + +Romola Borria, then, had tampered with this revolver. Romola Borria +had plotted, that was sure, with the coolie outside the port-hole for +his assassination. That explained the visit to his room. That +explained her perturbation over his discovery of her visit, of her sly +and cool evasions and dissimulations. + +It was with these thoughts hammering in his brain that Peter dropped +out of range of the deadly porthole and squirmed, inching his way into +the doubtful shelter provided by the closet. At any instant he +expected another red tongue to burn the now still darkness above his +head, to experience the hot plunge of a bullet in some part of his +slightly clad anatomy. And then--death? An end of the glorious +adventures whose trail he had followed now for well upon ten years? + +And still the death bullet was withheld. Groping about in the darkness +with one hand as he loosened the magazine clip on the butt, and finding +that the clip of cartridges had been removed, he finally discovered the +whereabouts of the suit-case, and dragged it slowly toward him, with +his eyes pinned upon the vacant port. + +Fumbling among the numerous objects contained in the suit-case, his +fingers encountered at length a cartridge clip. He slipped this into +the magazine, and indulged in a silent grunt of relief as the clip +moved up into place. He drew back the rejecting mechanism, and heard +the soft, reassuring _snick_ of the cartridge as it slid from the +magazine into the chamber. + +Then sounds without demanded his attention, the sounds of a tussle, of +oaths spoken in a high, feminine tongue, in a language not his own. + +Peter would have shouted, but he had long ago learned the +inadvisability of shouting when such grim business as to-night's was +being negotiated. + +Slipping on his bath-robe, he opened the door and tentatively peered +out into the half-light of the orlop deck from the cross corridor +vestibule-way, for indications of a shambles. + +They were gone. The deck was deserted. But he caught his breath +sharply as he made out a long, dark shape which lay, with the inertness +of death, under his port-hole, blending with the shadows. He rolled +the man over upon his back, and dragged him by the heels under the +deck-light, and, dragging him, a dark trail spread out upon the boards, +and even as Peter examined the cold face, the spot broadened and a +trickle broke from it and crept down toward the gutter. + +Stabbed? More than likely. Pausing only long enough to reassure +himself that this one was the assassin whose square head had been +framed by the port, Peter looked for a wound, and shortly he found the +wound, and Peter was not greatly astounded at the proportions thereof. + +It was a small wound, running entirely through the neck from a point +below the left ear to one slightly below and to the right of the locked +jaw. Upon close scrutiny the death wound proved to be small and +thorough and of a triangular pattern. + +Just why he had expected to find that triangular wound Peter was unable +to explain even to himself, but he was quite as sure that Romola +Borria's hand was in this latest development as he had been sure a +moment before that her steady, small hand had deliberately removed the +clip of cartridges from the butt of the automatic, to render him +helpless in the face of his enemies. + +Silently contemplating the stiffening victim of Romola Borria's +triangular dagger, Peter heard the rustle of silk garments, and looked +up in time to observe the slender person of Romola Borria herself, +attired exactly as he had left her a few hours previous, detach itself +from the corridor vestibule-way which led to his stateroom. She +approached him. + +A thousand questions and accusations swam to his lips, but she was +speaking in low, impassioned tones. + +"I knocked at your door. God! I thought he had killed you! I was +afraid. For a moment I thought you were dead." + +"You stabbed him," said Peter in an expressionless voice. + +She nodded, and drew a long, sobbing breath. + +"Yes. He tried to shoot you. I saw him pass my window. I was +waiting. I watched. I knew he would try. Oh, I'm so glad----" + +"You knew? You knew that?" + +"Yes, yes. He was the--the mate of the coolie you threw overboard in +Batavia. You know, they always travel in pairs. You didn't know that?" + +"No; I did not know. But I could have defended myself easily enough if +it had not been for----" + +"Your clip of cartridges? Can you forgive me? Can you ever forgive me +for taking them out? I took them out. Oh, Mr. Moore, believe me, I am +concealing nothing! I did remove the clip, and in my carelessness I +forgot to give them back to you when you left my room." + +"I see. Have you them?" + +"Yes." + +"Please give them to me. You have not by any chance, in another of +those careless moods of yours, happened to tamper with the bullets, +have you?" + +"Mr. Moore----" she gasped, clutching her white hands to her breast in +indignation. + +"You _are_ clever," said Peter sarcastically. "You're altogether too +damn clever. What your game is, I'm not going to take the trouble to +ask. You--you----" + +"Oh, Mr. Moore!" She caught his arm. + +He cast it away. + +"Didn't tamper with the bullets, eh?" he went on in a deep, sullen +voice. "Well, Miss Borria, here is what I think of your word. Here is +how much I trust you." + +And with a single motion Peter whipped all seven cartridges from the +clip and tossed them into the sea. He snarled again: + +"You _are_ clever, damn clever. Poor, poor little thing! Still want +to go to Japan with me, my dear?" + +"I do," stated the girl, whose eyes were dry and burning. + +"Sure! That's the stuff," railed Peter bitingly; "whatever you do, +stick to your story." + +He grabbed her wrist, and her glance should have softened granite. + +"For example," he sniffed; "that neat little cock-and-bull story you +made up about your cruel, brutal husband. Expect me to believe that, +too, eh?" + +"Not if you don't care to," said the girl faintly. + +Peter knocked away her hand, the hand which seemed always to fumble at +her throat in moments of strain. He pulled down the black kimono and +dragged her under the light, forcing her back against the white cabin. +He looked. + +The white, soft curve of her chest was devoid of all marks. It was as +white as that portion of a woman's body is said to be, by the singing +poets, as white as alabaster, and devoid of angry stripes. + +Peter seized both limp wrists in one of his hands. + +"By God, you _are_ clever!" he scoffed. "Now, Miss Enigma, you spurt +out your story, and the true story, or, by Heaven, I'll call the +skipper! I'll have you put in irons--for murder!" + +She hung her head, then flung it back and eyed him with the sullen fire +of a cornered animal. + +"You forget I saved your life," she said. + +As if they were red hot, Peter dropped her hands, and they fell at her +sides like limp rags. + +"I--I----" he stammered, and backed away a step. "Good God!" he +exploded. "Then explain this; explain why you took the clip from my +automatic. Explain why you put up that story of a brutal husband, and +showed me scars on your breast to prove it--then washed them off. And +why--why you killed this man who would have murdered me." + +"I will explain what I am able to," she said in a small, tired voice. +"I took the clips from the revolver because--because I didn't want you +to shoot me. I know _their_ methods far better than you seem to; and I +knew I could handle this coolie myself far better than you could; and I +wanted to run no risk of being shot myself in attending to him. + +"As for the 'brutal-husband story,' every word of that is the truth. +If you must know, I used rouge for the scars. Since you are so +outspoken, I will pay you back in the same cloth. There are scars on +my body, on my back and my legs." + +Her face was as red as a poppy. + +"And I killed this man because--well," she snapped, "perhaps because I +hate you." + +Had she cut him with a whip, Peter could not have felt more hurt, more +humiliated, more ashamed, for gratitude was far from being a stranger +to him. + +He half extended his arms in mute apology, and, surprised, he found her +lips caressing his, her warm arms about his neck. He kissed +her--once--and put her away from him; and that guiding star of his in +California could be thankful that Romola Borria's embrace was rather +more forgiving than insinuating. + +"We must get rid of this coolie," she said, brushing the clusters of +dark hair from her face. "I will help you, if you like. But over he +goes!" + +"But the blood." + +"Call a deck-boy. Tell him as little as you need. You are one of the +ship's officers. He will not question you." + +He hesitated. + +"Can you forgive me for this--way I have acted, my--my ingratitude?" + +"Forgiveness seems to be a woman's principal role in life," she said +with a tired smile. "Yes. I am sorry, too, that we misunderstood. +Good-night, my dear." + +And Peter was all alone, although his aloneness was modified to a +certain extent by the corpse at his feet. The dead weight he lifted +with some difficulty to the railing, pushed hard, and heard the muffled +splash. Quickly he got into his uniform, slipped his naked feet into +looped sandals, and sought the forecastle. + +The occupants of this odorous place were sawing wood in an +unsynchronous chorus. No one seemed to be about, so he seized a pail +half filled with sujee, a block of holystone, and a stiff broom. + +With these implements he occupied himself for fully a half-hour, until +the spots on the deck had faded to a satisfactory whiteness. The +revolver with Maxim silencer attached he discovered, after a long +search, some distance away in the deck-gutter. + +He meditated at length upon the advisability of consigning this grim +trophy to the China Sea. Yet it is a sad commentary upon his native +shrewdness that Peter had not yet recovered from his boyish enthusiasm +for collecting souvenirs. + +At last he decided to retain it, and he dropped it through the +port-hole upon the couch, thereupon forgetting all about it until the +weapon was called to his attention on the ensuing morning. + +With all evidences of the crime removed, he replaced the pail, the +stone, and the broom in the forecastle locker, and sneaked back to his +stateroom. He locked the door, barricaded the port-hole with the +pink-flowered curtains--those symbols which had reminded him earlier of +springtime in California--and examined his pillow. + +It had been an exceedingly neat shot. The bullet had bored clean +through, had struck the metal L-beam of the bunk, and rebounded into a +pile of bedclothes. Dented and scorched, Peter examined this little +pellet of lead, balancing it in the palm of his hand. + +"Every bullet has its billet," he quoted, and he was glad indeed that +the billet in this case had not been his vulnerable cerebrum. + +Snapping off the light, he drew the sheet up to his neck and lay there +pondering, listening to the whine of the ventilator-fan. + +The haggard, distressed face of Romola Borria swam upon the screen of +his imagination. This woman commanded his admiration and respect. +Despite all dissemblings, all evasions, all actual and evident signs of +the double-cross, he confided to his other self that he was glad he had +kissed her. What can be so deliciously harmless as a kiss? he asked +himself. + +And wiser men than Peter have answered: What can be so harmful? + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +Night brings counsel, say the French. Only in sleep does one mine the +gold of truth, said Confucius. + +When Peter was aroused by the golden dawn streaming through the +swinging port-glass upon his eyes the cobwebs were gone from his brain, +his eyes were clear and of a bright sea-blue, and he was bubbling with +enthusiasm for the new-born day. + +His ablutions were simple: a brisk scrubbing of his gleaming, white +teeth, a dousing of his hands and face in bracing, cold water, with a +subsequent soaping and rinsing of same; followed by a hoeing process at +the mercy of a not-too-keen Japanese imitation of an American +safety-razor. + +Assured that the deck below his port-hole was spotless, he ventured to +the dining-room, half filled and buzzing with excitement. + +He was given to understand by a dozen gesticulating passengers that +some time in the course of the night a deck-passenger, a Chinese +coolie, from Buitenzorg to Hong Kong, or Macao, had fallen overboard, +leaving no trace. + +It was whispered that the helpless one had been done away with by foul +means. And Peter became conscious during the meal that his fat and +jovial little captain was looking at him and through him with a glance +that could not be denied or for long avoided. + +Wondering what his Herr Captain might know of the particulars of last +night's doings, Peter sucked a mangosteen slowly, arranging his +thoughts, card-indexing his alibis, and making cool preparations for an +official cross-questioning. Clever lying out of his difficulty was the +order, or the alternative for Peter was the irons. + +When the fat fingers of Mynheer the Captain at length dabbled in the +lacquered finger-bowl, after rounding out his fourth pomelo, Peter got +up slowly and walked thoughtfully to the foot of the staircase. Here +the captain caught up with him, touched his elbow lightly, and together +they proceeded to the promenade-deck, which was shining redly in places +where the wetness of the washing down had not yet been evaporated by +the warm, fresh wind. + +Mynheer the Captain fell into place at Peter's side, gripped his fat +Javanese cigar between his teeth, and caught his fat wrists together +stolidly behind his back, and his low, wide brow slowly beetled. + +"Mynheer," he began in a somewhat constrained voice, low and richly +guttural, "it iss known to you vat took place on der ship some dam +during der nacht? Ja?" + +"I overheard the passengers talking about a coolie falling overboard +last night, sir," replied Peter guardedly. As long as no direct +accusation came, he felt safer. He was reasonably sure, basing his +opinion of skippers on many past encounters, that this one would go +typically to his subject. In his growing cock-sureness, Peter expected +no rapier-play. It would be a case, he felt sure, of all the cards on +the table at once; a slam-bang, as it were. + +"You know nodding of dot business, young man?" + +"Nothing at all, Myn Captain." + +"Dot iss strange. Dot iss strange," muttered the captain as they +rounded the forward cabin and made their way in slow, measured strides +down the port side. "I haf seen you come aboard yesterday, mynheer; +und I haf seen you t'row over der side a coolie, a coolie who wass wit' +der coolie who dis'ppeared last nacht. Why did you t'row him over der +side, eh?" + +"He threatened me with his knife," replied Peter without an instant's +hesitation. "_Mynheer_, he was a bad Chink, a killer." + +"_Ja_. _Tot ver vlomme_! All of 'em are bad Chinks." + +"Why should he stab me?" intoned Peter. "I never saw him before. I am +a peaceful citizen. The only interest I have on this ship, Mynheer +Captain, is the wireless apparatus." + +"_Ja_? Dot iss gude to hear, young man. I haf liked you--how does one +say it?--immensely. Der oder man wass no gude. He is gude rittance. +You intend to stay wit' us. Ja?" + +"I hope so," said Peter heartily and with vast relief. + +"You like dis ship, eh?" + +"Very much, indeed." + +"And I vant you to stay, young man. I vant you to stay joost as long +as you feel like staying. But I vant to ask you one t'ing, joost one +t'ing." + +"I'll do anything you say, sir." + +The fat, jovial skipper of the _Persian Gulf_ eyed Peter with beady, +cunning eyes, and Peter was suddenly conscious of a sinking sensation. + +"Joost one t'ing. Better, first I should say, ven you t'row overboard +der coolies you dislike, it vould be best not to keep--vat are dey +called--der soufenirs. Sooch t'ings as peestols." + +"But, _mynheer_----" + +The fat hand waved him to silence. + +"Bot' of dem vas bad Chinks. I know. I know bot' of dose coolies a +long, long time. T'ieves and blood men. _Tot ver vlomme_! It iss +gude rittance, as you say. Young man, I haf nodding but one more t'ing +to tell you. I say, I like you--immensely. I vant you very much to +stay. But der next time coolies are to be t'rown over der side, I will +be pleased to haf you ask my permission." + +Peter stared hard at the fat little man, with a quick glaze of +gratitude over his eyes. The skipper left him, doubling back in the +direction of the wheel-house. And something in the unsteadiness of the +broad, plump shoulders gave to Peter in his perplexity the not +inaccurate notion that the fat little man had enjoyed his joke and was +giggling to such an extent that it almost interfered with his dignified +strut. + +Before buckling down to the day's business he made sure of one thing. +Gone from his stateroom was the revolver with its Maxim silencer. + +Because the wireless room at sea is a sort of lounging-room for those +passengers who are bored from reading, or poker, or promenading, or +simply are incompetent to amuse themselves without external assistance, +Peter ignored the dozen pair of curious and interested eyes which were +focussed on his white uniform as he passed, with those telltale +chevrons of golden sparks at the sleeves, strode into the wireless +cabin, hastily closed the door, locked it, and thereupon gave his +attention to the void. + +He was not surprised to hear the shrill yap of the Manila station +dinning in the receivers, and having no desire to allow his fair name +to be besmirched by what might be professional inattention to duty, he +gave Manila a crackling response, and told him to shoot and shoot fast, +as he had a stack of business on hand, which was the truth. + +Steamship and commercial messages were awaiting his nimble fingers, a +half-dozen of them, in a neat little pile where the purser had left +them to attract his attention as soon as he came on duty. + +Manila's first message, with a Hong Kong dateline, and via the +Philippine cable, was a service message, directed to Peter Moore, +"probably aboard the steamer _Persian Gulf_, at sea." The context of +this greeting was that Peter should report directly upon arrival in +Hong Kong to J. B. Whalen, representative of the Marconi Company of +America, residence, Peak Hotel. + +Following this transmission the Manila operator was anxious to know +whether or not this was Peter Moore at the key; that he had been given +instructions by the night man, who claimed to be a bosom companion of +Peter Moore's, to make inquiries regarding Peter Moore's whereabouts +during the past few months. + +He further expressed a profane desire to know, provided the man at the +key was Peter Moore, how in Hades he was, _where_ in Tophet he had been +keeping himself, and _why_ in Gehenna he had so mysteriously vanished +from the face of this glorious earth. + +"But why all the hubbub about Peter Moore?" flashed back Peter to the +inquisitive Manila operator, who was only about two hundred miles +distant by now and rather faint with the coming up of the sun. + +"Are--you--Peter--Moore?" came the faint scream. + +"No, no, no!" shrieked the voluptuous white spark of the _Persian Gulf_. + +"Is--he--on--board?" + +"No, no, no!" rapped Peter making no effort to disguise that inimitable +sending of his. + +"You--are--a--double-barreled liar!" said the Manila spark with +vehement emphasis. "No operator on the Pacific has that fist. You +might as well try to disguise the color of your eyes!" + +Manila tapped his key, making a long series of thoughtful little double +dots, the operator's way of letting his listener know he is still on +the job, and thinking. Then: + +"Why did you leave the _Vandalia_ at Shanghai?" + +"I never left the _Vandalia_ anywhere," retorted Peter. "I've just +come up from Singapore and Singaraja way. I am taking the _Persian +Gulf_ to Hong Kong, and back to Batavia." + +"No--you're--not," stated Manila's high-toned spark. "You're going to +be pinched as soon as you land in Hong Kong for deserting your ship at +Shanghai. That's a secret, for old friendship's sake." + +It was now Peter's turn to tap off a singularly long row of little +double dots. + +"It may be a secret, but only a thousand stations are listening in," he +said at length. "But, thanks, old-timer, just the same. If they pinch +Peter Moore in Hong Kong, they will have to extradite him from Kowloon. +In other words, they will have to go some. Besides, what Peter does in +Shanghai cannot be laid against him in Hong Kong. The law's the law." + +A savage tenor whine here broke in upon Manila's laughing answer, the +Hi! Hi! Hi! of the amused radio man; and Peter listened in some +annoyance to the peremptory summons of a United States gunboat, +probably nosing around somewhere south of Mindanao. + +"Stand by, Manila," shrilled this one. "Message for the _Persian +Gulf_." He broke off with a nimble signature. + +"Good morning, little stranger," roared Peter's stridulent machine. +"You're pretty far from home. Won't you get your feet wet? The +ocean's pretty dewy this morning. Well, what do _you_ want? Shoot it, +and shoot fast. Peter Moore's at the key, and the faster you shoot +them the better Peter likes them." + +The gunboat stuttered angrily. + +"A message for Peter Moore, operator in charge, steamer _Persian Gulf_, +at sea. Report immediately upon arrival in Hong Kong to American +consul for orders. (Signed) B. P. Eckles, commanding officer, U. S. S. +_Buffalo_." + +To which Peter composed the following pertinent reply: + +"To Commander Eckles, U. S. S. _Buffalo_, somewhere south of Mindanao. +What for? (Signed) Peter Moore." + +The promptness of the reply to this indicated that the recrudescence of +Peter Moore, dead or alive, was of sufficient interest to command the +presence of the gunboat's commander in the wireless house. In effect, +Peter now realized that his confession had got him into considerable +hot water. + +Back came the _Buffalo's_ nervous answer: "To Peter Moore, operator in +charge, steamer _Persian Gulf_, at sea. Orders. Obey them. (Signed) +B. P. Eckles." + +Peter cut out the formalities. "Please ask the commander what's the +trouble." + +And out of the void cracked the retort: "He says, ask the American +consul at Hong Kong." + +There seemed nothing much to do aside from attending to the accumulated +business on hand. In Hong Kong he could only decide which of the two +he would honor first, the Marconi supervisor or the American consul; +for in strange lands one falls into the custom of complying with the +requests of his countrymen. + +But Peter was beginning to feel a little of the old-time thrill. It +was fine to have the fellows recognize that lightning fist of his; fine +to have their homage. For the stumbling signals of both Manila and the +_Buffalo_ were homage of the most straightforward sort. + +For Peter Moore as wireless operator was swift of the swiftest; he +despatched with a lightning lilt, and the keenness of his ears, for +which he was famous on more than one ocean, made it possible for him to +receive signals with rarely the necessity for a repeat. + +Manila, obeying orders, was standing by, and Peter, tightening a screw +to bring the silver contacts of the massive transmission-key in better +alignment, despatched his string at the highest speed of which he was +capable. As long as his listeners knew he was Peter Moore, he might as +well give them, he decided, a sample of the celebrated Peter Moore +sending. + +For five minutes the little wireless cabin roared with the +undiminishing _rat-tat-tat_ of his spark explosions, and Manila, a navy +man of the old school, rattled back a series of proud O.K.'s. + +Proud? Because Peter Moore, of the old _Vandalia_, of the _Sierra_, +and a dozen other ships, was at the key. And an operator who said +"O.K." at the termination of one of Peter's inspired lightning +transmissions had every right to be proud, as any wireless operator who +has ever copied thirty-three words a minute will bear me witness. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +When Peter emerged from the wireless room, having completed his +business for the morning, he found Romola Borria with elbows on the +rail gazing thoughtfully at a small Chinese girl who sat cross-legged +on the hatch cover immersed in her sewing. + +And Peter marveled at the freshness of Romola Borria's appearance, at +the clarity of her sparkling brown eyes, the sweet pinkness of her +complexion, and the ease and radiance of her tender smile. + +"You look troubled," she said, as her smile was replaced by a look of +tender concern. "What is it?" She lowered her voice to a confidential +undertone. "Last night's affair, _desu-ka_?" + +Peter shook his head with a grave smile. + +"I am discovered, Miss Borria. That is to say, I have just given +myself away to the Manila navy station, not to speak of the commander +of a gunboat, not far from us, off the coast of Mindanao. It +seems"--he made a wry face--"Peter Moore is not popular with the +authorities for deserting a certain ship in Shanghai." + +"The _Vandalia_!" said the girl, and suddenly bit her lip, as though +she would have liked to retract the statement. + +Peter sank down on his elbows beside her, until his face was very close +to hers, and his expression was shrewd and cunning. + +"Miss Borria," he remarked stiffly, "I told you last night you're +clever; and now you've given me just one more reason to stick to my +guns; one more reason to believe that you know more than you're +supposed to know. Now, let's be perfectly frank--for once. Let's not +erase any more rouge stripes, so to speak. Won't you please tell me +just what you do know about my activities in this neighborhood?" + +His outflung gesture indicated the whole of Asia. + +The girl pursed her lips and a hard twinkle, like that of a frosty +arc-light upon diamonds, came into her eyes. "Yes, Mr. Moore," she +said vigorously, "I will. But you must promise--promise faithfully--to +ask no questions. Will you do that?" + +Peter nodded with a willingness that was far from assumed. + +Romola Borria placed the tips of her slender, white fingers together +and looked down at them pensively. "Well," she said, looking up and +raising her voice slightly, "you escaped from the liner _Vandalia_ in +the middle of the Whang-poo River, at night, in a deep fog, in a +sampan, with a young woman named Eileen Lorimer in your arms. This +occurred after you had delivered her from the hands of certain men, +whom I prefer to call, perhaps mysteriously, by the plain word _them_. + +"You sent this young lady home on the _Manchuria_, or the _Mongolia_, I +forget just which. That night on the bund near the French legation, +you met, quite by accident, another young lady who found your +companionship quite desirable. Her name was Miss Amy Vost, a bright +little thing." + +"You don't happen to know," put in Peter ironically, "what Miss Lorimer +had for breakfast this morning, by any chance?" + +"At last accounts she was studying for a doctor's degree in the +university at San Friole, Mr. Moore." + +"Indeed!" It was on the tip of Peter's tongue to tell this astounding +Romola Borria that she was nothing short of a mind-reader. Instead, he +nodded his head for her to continue. + +"As I was saying, you met Miss Vost, quite by accident, and danced with +her at a fancy dress ball at the Astor House. You wore the costume of +a Japanese merchant, I believe, thinking, a little fatuously, if you +will permit me, that those garments were a disguise. A little later in +the bar at the Palace Hotel, after you left Miss Vost, you met a sea +captain, ex-first mate of the Toyo Kisen Kaisha steamer, the _Sunyado +Maru_. He was an old friend. + +"With Captain MacLaurin and Miss Vost you made a trip on the +Yangtze-Kiang in a little river steamer, the _Hankow_, which foundered +in the rapids just below Ching-Fu. This occurred after you had stabbed +and killed one of their most trusted spies. + +"When the _Hankow_ sank, you followed what now appears to be your +professional habit of a trustworthy gallant, by taking a lady in +distress into your arms, and swam the whirlpools to the little village +across the river from Ching-Fu. Then Miss Vost was met by her father, +an incurable missionary from Wenchow, and by devious routes, well known +to _them_, you joined a caravan, owned by a garrulous old thief who +calls himself a mandarin, the Mandarin Chang, who told you many lies, +to amuse himself-- + +"Of course they were lies, Mr. Moore. Chang is one of _his_ most +trusted henchmen. He even permitted you to kill one of his coolies. +The coolie would have died anyway; he was beginning to learn too much. +But it tickled Chang, and _him_, to let you have this chance, to see +how far you would go. And Chang had orders to help you reach Len Yang. +It gave you confidence in yourself, did it not?" + +"I don't believe a word," declared Peter in a daze. He refused to +believe that Chang, kindly old Chang, was in league with that man, too. + +"Then you entered Len Yang, the City of Stolen Lives, and _he_ watched +you, and when you heard a difficult wireless message on the instruments +at the mine, _he_ gave you a present of money--five hundred taels, +wasn't it?--hoping, perhaps, that you would 'give up your foolishness,' +as he expressed it, and settle down to take the place of the +opium-befuddled wireless man you fooled so cleverly. _He_ valued you, +Mr. Moore, you see, and he was not in the least afraid of you! + +"A dozen times, yes, a hundred times, he could have killed you. But he +preferred to sit back and stroke those long, yellow, mandarin mustaches +of his, and watch you, as a cat watches a foolish mouse. I can see him +laughing now. Yes! I have seen him, and I have heard him laugh. It +is a hideous, cackling laugh. Quite unearthly! How he did laugh at +you when you rescued Miss Vost, dear little clinging Miss Vost, from +the jaws of his white palace! + +"But he let you go; and he and his thousand sharpshooters who lined the +great, green walls, when you and Captain MacLaurin and Miss Vost +galloped bravely out, with one poor little mule! A thousand rifles, I +say, were leveled upon you in that bright moonlight, Mr. Moore. But +_he_ said--_no_!" + +Peter looked up at the stolid rigging of the _Persian Gulf_, at the +sunlight dancing brightly on the blue waves, which foamed at their +crests like fresh, boiling milk; at the passengers sleeping or reading +in their deck chairs; and he refused to believe that this was not a +dream. But the level voice of Romola Borria purred on: + +"Then you joined a caravan for India, and, for a little while, they +thought your trail was lost. But you reappeared in Mandalay, attired +as a street fakir; and you limped all the way to Rangoon. Why did you +limp, Mr. Moore?" + +"A mule stamped on my foot, coming through the Merchants' Pass into +Bengal." + +"It healed rapidly, no doubt, for you were very active from that time +on. You took passage to Penang, to Singapore, doubling back to Penang, +and again to Singapore, and caught a blue-funnel steamer for Batavia." + +"But, Miss Borria," writhed Peter, "why, with all this knowledge, +hasn't he done away with me? You know. _He_ knows. You've had your +chance. You could have killed me in your stateroom last night. +Please----" And Peter cast the golden robe of the adventurer +temporarily from him, becoming for the moment nothing more than a +terribly earnest, terribly concerned young man. + +"I gave you an inkling last night," replied Romola Borria composedly. +"Until you left Batavia _he_ believed that you had given up your +nonsense. The coolie you threw overboard in Batavia was there, not to +stab you, but to warn you away from China. Those warnings, of which +you have had many, are now things of the past. You have thrown down +the glove to him once too often. He is through toying. + +"It was great fun for him, and he enjoyed it. He treats his enemies +that way--for a while. You have now entered upon the second stage of +enmity with him. Last night was a sample of what you may expect from +now on. Only the sheerest luck saved you from the coolie's bullet--and +my almost-too-tardy intervention." + +Peter gave her a hard, thoughtful and a thoroughly respectful stare. + +"I take it," he said, "that you are a special emissary, a sort of +minister plenipotentiary, from the Gray Dragon. As a matter of fact, +you are here simply to persuade me to correct my erring ways; to +persuade me to give you my promise for _him_ that I will put China and +Len Yang forever out of my plans." + +"Express it any way you please, Mr. Moore. I have told you about all +that I am able. I know this game, if you will permit me, a little, +just a little better than you do, Mr. Moore. I know when fun stops and +downright danger begins. The moment you put your foot in China, you +are putting your foot in a trap from which you can never, never so long +as you are permitted to live, extricate yourself. And, believe me, +seriously, that will not be for long. A day? Perhaps. An hour? Very +likely not any longer than that. + +"Call me a special emissary if you choose. Perhaps I am. Perhaps I am +only a friend, who desires above everything else to help you avoid a +most certain and a most unpleasant death. I have given you your +opportunity. From my heart I gave you, and I still do give you, the +chance to leave--with me. Yes; I mean that. Your promise, backed by +your word of honor, is a passport to safety for both of us. Your +refusal, I might as well confess, means to me--death! Won't you stop +and consider? Won't you say--yes?" + +Peter's head had snapped back during this epilogue; his white-clad +shoulders were squared, and his blue eyes were lighted by a fire that +might have made a Crusader envious. + +"You may report to him," said he, "that I have listened to his +proposal; that I have considered it calmly; and that, as long as the +gauntlet is down--it is--_down_! I want but one thing: a man's chance +at that beast. You can tell him just that from me, Miss Borria. I am +sorry." + +She seemed on the point of uttering a final word, a word that might +have been of the greatest importance to Peter the Brazen; but the word +never got beyond her lips. + +Into her eyes crept a look of despair, of mute horror. She half raised +her hand; withdrew it. Her shoulders sagged. She staggered to a deck +chair, and sank into it, with her head back, her eyes closed, her long, +dark lashes lying upon cheeks that had become marble. + +Standing there with his eyes glued to the blue of the sea, Peter the +Brazen felt the confidence oozing from him as water oozes out of a +leaky pail. He felt himself in the presence of a relentless power +which was slowly settling down upon him, crushing him, and overpowering +him. + +It occurred to him as his thoughts raced willy-nilly, to flash a call +of help to the gunboat which prowled south of Luzon, a call which would +have met with a response swift and energetic. + +Yet that impulse smacked of the blunderer. It would put an end forever +to his high plan, now boiling more strongly than ever before, in the +back of his racked brain: to meet and some day put down the beast in +Len Yang. + +A bright, waving hand distracted his attention from the sea. The maid +from Macassar was endeavoring to attract him. He looked down with a +pale, haggard smile. + +"You have not forgotten--Kowloon, _busar satu_?" said her tinkling +little voice. + +"Not I, small one!" Peter called back in accents that entirely lacked +their accustomed gaiety. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +During the remainder of the voyage Romola Borria did not once, so far +as Peter was aware, leave her stateroom. Her meals were sent there, +and there she remained, sending out word in response to his inquiries +that she was ill, could see no one--not that Peter, after that latest +astounding interview, cared particularly to renew the friendship. He +was simply thoughtful. + +Yet he felt a little angry at his demonstration of frank selfishness, +and not a little uneasy at the uncanny precision of her recital of his +recent history, an uneasiness which grew, until he found himself +waiting with growing concern for the rock-bound shore-line of Hong Kong +to thrust its black-and-green shoulders above the horizon. + +The _Persian Gulf_ anchored outside at night, and in the morning +steamed slowly in amidst the maze of masts, of sampans and junks, which +latter lay with their sterns pointing grotesquely upward, resembling +nothing so closely as great brown hawks which had flown down from a +Brobdingnagian heaven, to select with greater convenience and +fastidiousness what prey might fall within reach of their talons. + +Peter was aware that many of these junks were pirate ships, audacious +enough to pole into Victoria Harbor under the very guns of the forts, +under the noses of battleships of every nation. + +When the launch from quarantine swung alongside, Peter went below and +changed from the uniform to a light, fresh suit of Shantung silk, a +soft collar, a soft Bangkok hat, and comfortable, low walking shoes, +not neglecting to knot about his waist the blue sarong. + +The steerage passengers were lined up when he came above a little +later, sticking out their tongues for the eagle-eyed doctors, and +giggling at a proceeding serious enough, had they known it, to send +every mother's son and daughter of them back to the land whence they +came, if they displayed so much as a slight blemish, for Hong Kong was +then in the throes of her latest cholera scare. + +Satisfied at length that the eyes and tongues of the steerage and deck +passengers gave satisfactorily robust testimony, the doctors came up to +the first-class passengers, who stood in line on the promenade deck; +and Peter saw the change that had come over Romola Borria. + +Her face bore the pallor of the grave. Her large, lustrous eyes were +sunken, and lines seemed to have been engraved in a face that had +previously been as smooth and fair as a rose in bloom. + +He felt panic-stricken as she recognized him with an almost +imperceptible nod, and he stared at her a trifle longer than was +necessary, with his lips slightly ajar, his nails biting into his +palms, and he sensed rather than saw, that her beauty had been +transformed into one of gray melancholy. + +At that juncture, a tinkling voice shrilled up at him from the after +cargo-well, and Peter turned to see his small charge, the maid from +Macassar, smiling as she waited for him beside a small pile of silken +bundles of the rainbow's own colors. He had not forgotten the Eurasian +girl, but he desired to have a parting word with Romola Borria. + +He called over the rail, and instructed her of the black pigtail to +wait for him in a sampan, and he yelled down to one of the dozens of +struggling and babbling coolies, whose sampans swarmed like a horde of +cockroaches at the ladder's lower extremity. + +Romola Borria, alone, was awaiting him, adjusting her gloves, at the +doorway of the wireless cabin when he made his way back to that quarter +of the ship. She greeted him with a slow, grave smile; and by that +smile Peter was given to know how she had suffered. + +Her face again became a mask, a mask of death, indeed, as her lids +fluttered down and then raised; and her eyes were tired. + +He extended his hand, trying to inject some of his accustomed +cheerfulness into the gesture and into the smile which somehow would +not form naturally on his lips. + +"This--is _adieu_--or _au revoir_?" he said solemnly. + +"I hope--_au revoir_," she replied dully. "So, after all, you refuse +to take my counsel, my advice, seriously?" + +Peter shrugged. "I'm rather afraid I can't," he said. "You see, I'm +young. And you can say to yourself, or out loud without fear of +hurting my feelings, that I am--foolish. I guess it is one of the +hardships of being young--this having to be foolish. Wasn't it to-day +that I was to become immortal, with a knife through my floating ribs, +or a bullet in my heart? + +"As I grow older I will become more serious, with balance. Perish the +thought! But in the end--shucks! Confucius, wasn't it--that dear old +philosopher who could never find a king to try out his theories on--who +said: + + "The great mountain must crumble. + The strong beam must break. + The wise man must wither away like a plant." + + +She nodded. + +"I am afraid you will never become serious, Mr. Moore. And perhaps +that is one of the reasons why I've grown so--so fond of you in this +short while. If I could take life--and death--as stoically, as +happily, as you--oh, God!" + +She shut her eyes. Tears were in their rims when she opened them again. + +"Mr. Moore, I'll make a foolish confession, too, now. It is--I love +you. And in return----" + +"I think you're the bravest girl in the world," said Peter, taking her +hands with a movement of quick penitence. "You--you're a brick." + +"I guess I am," she sighed, looking moodily away. "A brick of clay! +Perhaps it is best to walk into the arms of your enemies the way you +do, with your head back and eyes shining and a smile of contempt on +your lips. If I only could!" + +"Why speak of death on a day like this?" said Peter lightly. "Life is +so beautiful. See those red-and-yellow blossoms on the hill, near the +governor's place, and the poor little brats on that sampan, thinking +they're the happiest kids in the world. What hurts them, hurts them; +what pleases them, pleases them. They're happy because they don't +bother to anticipate. And think of life, beautiful old life, brimming +over with excitement and the mystery of the very next moment!" + +"If I could only see that next moment!" + +"Ugh! What a dreary monotony life would become!" + +"But we could be sure. We could prepare for--for--well----" She threw +up her head defiantly. "For death, I'll say." + +"But please don't let's talk of death. Let's talk of the fine time you +and I are going to have when we see each other again." + +"Will there be another time, Peter?" + +"Why, of course! You name that time; any time, any place. We'll eat +and drink and chatter like a couple of parrots. And you will forget +all this--this that is behind us." + +Her teeth clicked. + +"To-night," she said quickly. "I'll meet you. Let me see. On the +Desvoeux Road side of the Hong Kong Hotel balcony, the restaurant, +upstairs, you know." + +"Right!" agreed Peter with enthusiasm. "Will we let husband go along?" + +Her face suddenly darkened. She shook her head. + +"I will be alone. So will you, at seven o'clock. You'll be there, +without fail?" + +A coolie guarded her luggage near by impatiently. They could hear the +sobbing of the J. C. J. passenger launch as it rounded the starboard +counter. + +"I forget," said Peter, with his flashing smile. "I'll be dead in an +hour. The steel trap of China, you know." + +"Please don't jest." + +"I'll tell you what I will do. I'll put a tag on my lapel, saying, +deliver this corpse to the Desvoeux Road balcony of the Hong Kong Hotel +restaurant at seven sharp to-night! Without fail! C. O. D.!" + +These last words were addressed to the empty wireless cabin doorway. +The white skirt of Romola Borria flashed like a taunting signal as she +hastened out of his sight with the boy who carried her grips. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +Wearing a slight frown, Peter made his way through piles of +indiscriminate luggage to the port ladder, where his sampan and the +maid from Macassar were waiting. + +As he descended this contrivance he scanned the other sampans warily, +and in one of these he saw a head which protruded from a low cabin. +The sampan was a little larger than the others, and it darted in and +out on the edge of the waiting ones. + +The head vanished the instant Peter detected it, but it made a sharp +image in his memory, a face he would have difficulty in forgetting. It +was a long, chalk-white face, topped by a black fedora hat--a face +garnished at the thin gray lips by a mustache, black and spikelike, +resembling nothing more closely than the coal-black mustache affected +by the old-time melodrama villains. + +An hour of life? Did this man have concealed under his black coat the +knife which had been directed by the beast in Len Yang to seek out his +heart, to snuff out his existence, the existence of a trifling enemy? + +As Peter reached the shelving at the foot of the ladder the thought +grew and blossomed, and the picture was not a pleasant one. The man in +the sampan, as Peter could judge by his face, would probably prove to +be a tall and muscular individual. + +And then Peter caught sight of another face, but the owner of it +remained above-board. This man was stout and gray, with a face more +subtly malignant. It was a red face, cut deep at the eyes, and in the +region of the large purple nose, with lines of weather or dissipation. +Blue eyes burned out of the red face, faded blue eyes, that were, +despite their lack of lustre, sharp and cunning. + +The hand of its owner beckoned imperiously for Peter, and he shouted +his name; and Peter was assured that in the other hand was concealed +the knife or the pistol of his doom. + +With these not altogether pleasant ideas commanding his brain he jumped +into the sampan in which the maid from Macassar was smilingly waiting. + +Peter saw that his coolie was big and broad, with muscles which stood +out like ropes on his thick, sun-burned arms and legs. He gave the +coolie his instructions, as the sampan occupied by the red-faced man +was all the while endeavoring to wiggle closer. Again the man called +Peter by name, peremptorily, but Peter paid no heed. + +"To Kowloon. Chop-chop!" shouted Peter. "_Cumshaw_. Savvy?" He +displayed in his palm three silver dollars and the coolie bent his back +to the sweep, the sampan heeling out from the black ironside like a +thing alive. + +Behind them, as this manoeuvre was executed, Peter saw the two duly +accredited agents of the Gray Dragon fall in line. But Peter had +selected with wisdom. The coolie verified with the passage of every +moment the power his ropy muscles implied. Inch by inch, and yard by +yard, they drew, away from the pursuing sampans. + +Then something resembling the scream of an enraged parrot sang over +their heads, and he instinctively ducked, turning to see from which of +the sampans this greeting had come. + +A faint puff of light-blue smoke sailed down the wind between the two. +Which one? It was difficult to say. + +They were beginning to leave the pursuit decidedly in the lurch now. +Peter's coolie, with his long legs braced far apart on the +running-boards, bent his back, swaying like a mighty metronome from +port to starboard, from starboard to port, whipping the water into an +angry, milky foam. + +The pursuers crept up and fell back by fits and starts; slowly the +distance widened. + +The girl crouched down in the cabin, and Peter, with his automatic in +his hand, waited for another tell-tale puff of blue smoke. + +Finally this puff occurred, low on the deck of the larger craft. The +bullet plunked into the water not two feet from the sweep, and the +coolie, inspired by the knowledge that he, too, was inextricably +wrapped up in this race of life and death, sweated, and shouted in the +savage "Hi! Ho! Hay! Ho!" of the coolie who dearly loves his work. + +Satisfied as to the origin of both bullets, Peter took careful aim at +the yellow sampan and emptied his magazine, slipping another clip of +cartridges into the oblong hole as he watched for the result. + +The yellow sampan veered far from her course, and a sweep floated on +the surface some few yards aft. Then the sampan lay as if dead. But +the other plunged on after. + +This exciting race and the blast of Peter's automatic now attracted the +earnest attention of a gray little river gunboat, just down from +up-stream, and inured to such incidents as this. + +A one-pound shell snarled overhead, struck the water a hundred yards +further on, near the Kowloon shore, and sent up a foaming white pillar. + +The pier at Kowloon loomed close and more close. It was unlikely that +the gunboat would follow up the shot with another, and in this guess, +Peter, as the French say, "had reason." + +The fires under the gunboat's boilers were drawn, and there was no time +for the launching of a cutter. + +A great contentment settled down upon Peter's heart when he saw that +the oncoming sampan could not reach the pier until he and his charge +were out of sight, or out of reach, at least. + +He examined his watch. The gods were with him. It lacked three +minutes of train-time. + +It was only a hope that he and the girl would be safe on board the +Canton train before the red-faced man could catch up. + +The sampan rubbed the green timbers of the Kowloon landing stage. +Peter tossed up the girl's luggage in one large armful, lifted her by +the armpits to the floor of the pier, and relieved himself hastily of +four dollars (Mexican), by which the grunting coolie was gratefully, +and for some few hours, richer. + +They dashed to the first-class compartment, and Peter dragged the girl +in beside him. + +"To Canton, too?" she inquired in surprise. + +Peter nodded. He slammed the door. A whistle screamed, and the +station of Kowloon, together with the glittering waters of the blue +bay, and the white city of Hong Kong, across the bay, all began moving, +first slowly, then with acceleration, as the morning express for Canton +slid out on the best-laid pair of rails in southern China. + +Had his red-faced pursuer caught up in time? Peter prayed not. He was +tingling with the thrill of the chase; and he turned his attention to +the small maiden who sat cuddled close to his side, with hands folded +demurely before her, imprisoning between them the overlap of his +flaunting blue sarong. + +"We are safe, brave one?" she was desirous of knowing. + +He patted her hand reassuringly, and she caught at it, lowering her +green-blue eyes to the dusty floor, and sighing. + +Peter might have paused in his rapid meditations long enough to be +aware that, here he was, dropped--plump--into the center of another +ring of romance; nothing having separated him from his last love but +two misdirected revolver shots, the warning boom of a gunboat's bow +cannon, and a mad chase across Victoria Bay. + +Holding hands breaks no known law; yet Peter was not entirely aware +that he was committing this act, as his eyes, set and hard, stared out +of the window at the passing pagodas with their funny turned-up roofs. + +His mind was working on other matters. Perhaps for the first time +since the _Persian Gulf_ had dropped anchor to the white sand of +Victoria Harbor's bottom, he began to realize the grim seriousness of +Romola Borria's warning. He was hemmed in. He was helpless. + +An hour to live! An hour alive! But he was willing to make the very +best of that hour. + +Absently, then by degrees not so absently, he alternately squeezed and +loosened the small, cool hands of the maid from Macassar. And she +returned the pressure with a timid confidence that made him stop and +consider for a moment something that had entirely slipped his mind +during the past few days. + +Was he playing quite squarely with Eileen Lorimer? Had he been +observing perhaps the word but not the letter of his self-assumed oath? +On the other hand, mightn't it be possible that Eileen Lorimer had +ceased to care for him? With time and the miles stretching between +them, wasn't it quite possible that she had shaken herself, recognized +her interest in him as one only of passing infatuation, and, perhaps +already, had given her love to some other? + +A silly little rhyme of years ago occurred to him: + + Love me close! Love me tight! _But_ + Love me when I'm out of sight! + + +And perhaps because Peter had fallen into one of his reasoning moods, +he asked himself whether it was fair to carry the flirtation any +further with the girl snuggled beside him. He knew that the hearts of +Oriental girls open somewhat more widely to the touch of affection than +their Western sisters. And it was not in the nature of women of the +East to indulge extensively in the Western form of idle flirtation. +The lowering of the eyelids, the flickering of a smile, had meaning and +depth in this land. + +Was this girl flirting with him, or was hers a deeper interest? That +was the question! He took the latter view. + +And because he knew, from his own experience, that the hearts of lovers +sometimes break at parting, he finally relinquished the cool, small +hands and thrust his own deep into his pockets. + +There was no good reason, apart from his own selfishness, why he should +give a pang of any form to the trustful young heart which fluttered so +close at his side. + +"Where does your aged grandmother live, small one?" he asked her +briskly, in the most unsentimental tones imaginable. + +"I have the address here, _birahi_," she replied, diving into her satin +blouse and producing a slip of rice paper upon which was scrawled a +number of dead-black symbols of the Chinese written language. + +"A rickshaw man can find the place, of course," he said. "Now, look +into my eyes, small one, and listen to what I say." + +"I listen closely, _birahi_," said the small one. + +"I want you to stop calling me _birahi_. I am not your love, can never +be your love, nor can you ever be mine." + +"But why, _bi_--my brave one?" + +"Because--because, I am a wicked one, an _orang gila_, a destroyer of +good, a man of no heart, or worse, a black one." + +"Oh, Allah, what lies!" giggled the maid. + +"Yes, and a liar, too," declared Peter venomously, permitting his fair +features to darken with the blackest of looks. Was she flirting with +him? "A man who never told the truth in his life. A bad, bad man," he +finished lamely. + +"But why are you telling such things to me, my brave one?" came the +provocative answer. + +She _was_ flirting with him. + +Nevertheless, he merely grunted and relapsed again into the form of +meditative lethargy which of late had grown habitual if not popular +with him. + +A little after noon the train thundered into the narrow, dirty streets +of China's most flourishing city, geographically, the New Orleans of +the Celestial Empire; namely, Canton, on the Pearl River. + +As Peter and his somewhat amused young charge emerged into the street +he cast a furtive glance back toward the station, and was dumfounded to +glimpse, not two yards away, the man with the red, deeply marked face. +His blue eyes were ablaze, and he advanced upon Peter threateningly. + +It was a situation demanding decisive, direct action. Peter, hastily +instructing the girl to hold two rickshaws, leaped at his pursuer with +doubled fists, even as the man delved significantly into his hip-pocket. + +Peter let him have it squarely on the blunt nub of his red jaw, aiming +as he sprang. + +His antagonist went down in a cursing heap, sprawling back with the +look in his washed-out eyes of a steer which has been hit squarely in +the center of the brow. + +He fell back on his hands and lay still, dazed, muttering, and +struggling to regain the use of his members. + +Before he could recover Peter was up and away, springing lightly into +the rickshaw. They turned and darted up one narrow, dirty alley into a +narrower and dirtier one, the two coolies shouting in blasphemous +chorus to clear the way as they advanced. + +After a quarter of an hour of twisting and splashing and turning, the +coolies stopped in front of a shop of clay-blue stone. + +Paying off the coolies, Peter entered, holding the door for the girl, +and sliding the bolt as he closed it after her. + +He found himself in the presence of a very old, very yellow, and very +wrinkled Chinese woman, who smiled upon the two of them perplexedly, +nodding and smirking, as her frizzled white pigtail flopped and +fluttered about in the clutter on the shelves behind her. + +It was a shop for an antique collector to discover, gorged with objects +of bronze, of carved sandalwood, of teak, grotesque and very old, of +shining red and blue and yellow beads, of old gold and old silver. + +On the low, narrow counter she had placed a shallow red tray filled +with pearls; imitations, no doubt, but exquisite, perfect, of all +shapes; bulbular, pear, button, and of most enticing colors. + +But the small girl was babbling, and a look of the most profound +surprise came slowly into the old woman's face. A little pearl-like +tear sparkled in either of her old eyes, and she gathered this +cherished grand-daughter from far away Macassar into her thin arms. + +At that sight Peter felt himself out of place, an intruder, an +interloper. The scene was not meant for his eyes. He was an alien in +a strange land. + +As he hesitated, conjuring up words of parting with his little friend, +he gasped. Peering through the thick window-pane in the door was the +red-faced man, and his look sent a curdle of fear into Peter's brave +heart. Would he shoot through the pane? + +The girl, too, saw. She chattered a long moment to her wrinkled +grandmother, and this latter leaped to the door and shot a second +strong bolt. She pointed excitedly to a rear door, low and green, set +deep in the blue stone. + +Peter leaped toward it. Half opening this, he saw a tiny garden +surrounded by low, gray walls. He paused. The maid from Macassar was +behind him. She followed him out and closed the door. + +"_Birahi_," she said in her tinkling voice, and with gravity far in +advance of her summers, "we must part now--forever?" + +He nodded, as he searched the wall for a likely place to jump. "It is +the penalty of friendship, _birahi_. You do not mind if I call you +_birahi_ in our last moment together?" + +"No. No." + +"I am curious, so curious, my brave one, about the red-faced man, and +the one with the black coat. But we women are meant for silence. +_Birahi_, I have played no part--I have been like a dead lily--a +burden. Perhaps, if you are in great danger----" + +"I am in great danger, small one. The red toad wants my life, and you +must detain him." + +"I will talk to him! But the others, the black-coated one--what of +them? They would like the feel of your blood on their hands, too!" + +Peter nodded anxiously. He was thinking of Romola Borria. + +"I will do anything," declared the maid from Macassar patiently. + +"Has your grandmother a sampan, a trustworthy coolie?" + +"Aie, _birahi_! She is rich!" + +"Then have that coolie be at the Hong Kong landing stage with his +sampan at midnight. Have him wait until morning. If I do not come by +dawn he will return immediately to Canton. By dawn, if I am not there, +it will mean----" + +"Death?" The small voice was tremulous. + +Peter nodded. + +"If the _fokie_ returns with that message, you will write a short +note----" + +"To one you love?" + +"To one I love. In America. The name is Eileen Lorimer; the address, +Pasadena, California. You will say simply, 'Peter Moore is dead.'" + +"Ah! I must not say that. It will break her heart! But you must go +now, my brave one. I will talk to the red toad!" + +The green door closed softly; and Peter was left to work out the +problem of his escape, which he did in an exceedingly short space of +time. Even as he took the fence in a single bound he fancied he could +hear the panting of the red-faced man at his heels. + +He found himself in a crooked alleyway, which forked out of sight at a +near-by bend. Speeding to this point, he came out upon a somewhat +broader thoroughfare. He looked hastily for a rickshaw but none was in +sight. + +So he ran blindly on, resorting at intervals to his old trick of +doubling back, to confuse his pursuers. He did this so well that +before long he had lost his sense of direction, and the sun having gone +from the sight of man behind a mass of dark and portentous clouds. + +At length he came to the City of the Dead, and sped on past the +ivy-covered wall, circling, doubling back, and giving what pursuit +there might have been a most tortuous trail to follow. + +He was hooted at and jeered at by coolies and shrieking children, but +he ran on, putting the miles behind him, and finally dropped into a +slow trot, breathing like a spent race-horse. + +At the pottery field he found a rickshaw, estimated that he still had +time to spare to make the Hong Kong train, and was driven to the +station. Dead or alive, he had promised to deliver himself to Romola +Borria at the Hong Kong Hotel at seven. + +Visions of the malignant face of his red-featured enemy were constantly +in his mind. + +But he breathed more easily as the train chugged out of the grim, gray +station. He sank back in the seat, letting his thoughts wander where +they would, and beginning to feel, as the miles were unspun, that he +was at least one jump ahead of the red death which had threatened him +since his departure from the friendly shelter of the _Persian Gulf_. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +The shadows were lengthening, the sky was of a deeper and vaster blue, +when the train came to a creaking stop in the Kowloon Station. + +Peter emerged, scanning the passengers warily, but catching not a +glimpse of his red-faced enemy. What did that one have in store for +him now? This chase was becoming a game of hide-and-seek. But in Hong +Kong he would feel safer. Hong Kong was a haunt of civilized men and +of able Sikh policemen, who detested the yellow men of China. + +He took the ferry-boat across the bay to the city, which rose tier upon +tier of white from the purple water; and he made his way afoot to the +American consulate. + +With auspicious celerity the sad-eyed clerk bowed him into the presence +of an elderly gentleman with white side whiskers and an inveterate +habit of stroking a long and angular nose. + +This personage permitted his shrewd, grave eyes to take in Peter from +his blond hair to his tan walking shoes, and with a respectful mien +Peter prepared his wits for a sharp and digging cross-examination. + +"I have been advised," began the American consul, giving to Peter's +blue eyes a look of curiosity in which was mingled not a little +unconcealed admiration, as he might have looked upon the person of +Pancho Villa, had that other miscreant stepped into his gloomy +office--"I have been advised," he repeated importantly, "by the +commander of the auxiliary cruiser _Buffalo_ that you contemplated a +visit to Hong Kong." + +He sank back and stared, and it took Peter several moments to become +aware that the content of the remark was not nearly so important as its +pronunciation. The remark was somewhat obvious. The American consul +desired Peter to make the opening. + +Peter inclined his head as he slowly digested the statement. + +"I was told by Commander Eckles to report to you," he replied +respectfully, "for orders." + +The American consul laid his hands firmly upon the edge of the mahogany +desk. + +"My orders, Mr. Moore, are that you leave China immediately. I +trust----" + +"Why?" said Peter in a dry voice. + +"That is a matter which, unfortunately, I cannot discuss with you. The +order comes, I am permitted to inform you, from the highest of +diplomatic quarters. To be exact, from Peking, and from the American +ambassador, to be more specific." + +It was crystal clear to Peter that the American consul was not +cognizant of what might be behind those orders from the American +ambassador; yet his face, for all of its diplomatic masking, told Peter +plainly that the American consul was not entirely averse to learning. + +"Have I been interfering with the lawful pursuits of the Chinese +Empire?" he inquired ironically. + +The American consul stroked his long nose pensively. + +"Well--perhaps," he said. "On the whole, that is something you can +best explain yourself, Mr. Moore. If you should care to give me your +side of the question, ah----" + +"I haven't a thing to say," rejoined Peter. "If the United States +Government chooses to believe that my presence is inimical to its +interests in China----" + +"Pressure might have been brought to bear from another quarter." + +"Quite so," admitted Peter. + +"Now, if you should desire to make me acquainted with your pursuits +during the past--ah--few months, let us say, it is within the bounds of +possibility that I might somehow rescind this drastic--ah--order. +Suffice it to say, that I shall be glad to put my every power at your +aid. As you are an American, it is my duty and my pleasure, sir, if +you will permit me, to do all within my power, my somewhat restricted +power, if I may qualify that statement, to reinstate you in the good +graces of those--ah--good gentlemen in Peking." + +It was all too evident that, back and beyond the friendly intentions of +this official, was a hungry desire for information regarding this young +man whose dark activities had been recognized by the high powers to an +extent sufficient to set in motion the complicated and bulky wheels of +diplomacy. + +Peter shook his head respectfully, and the consul permitted his +reluctantly admiring and inquisitive gaze to travel up and down the +romantic and now international figure. + +"I am able to say nothing," he expressed himself quietly. "If the +American ambassador has decreed that I ought to go home--home I go! +I'll confess right now that I did not intend to go home when I stepped +into this office, but I do respect, and I will respect, the authority +of that order." + +"If the President, for example, should request you to +continue--ah--what you have been doing, for the good, let us say, of +humanity, you would continue without hesitation, Mr. Moore?" + +Peter gave the long, pale face a sharp scrutiny. Did this +innocent-faced man know more than he intimated, or was he merely +applying the soft, velvet screws of diplomacy, endeavoring to squeeze +out a little information? + +"I certainly would." + +The consul rose, with a bland smile, and extended his hand. + +"It has been gratifying to know one who has become such a singular, +and, permit me to add, such a trying figure, in diplomatic circles, +during the past week. Good-day, sir!" + +Peter walked down Desvoeux road in a state of mental detachment. A +week! Only a week had passed since he had sailed from Batavia, a week +since he had thrown overboard the emissary of the Gray Dragon. He +concluded that in more than one way could his presence be dismissed +from the land of darkness and distrust. + +How had the Gray Dragon brought pressure upon the American ambassador, +a man of the highest repute, of sterling and patriotic qualities? The +answer seemed to be, that the coils of the Gray Dragon extended +everywhere, like an inky fluid which had leaked into every crevice and +crack of all Asia. + +He was still under orders to pay a visit to J. B. Whalen, the Marconi +supervisor. That cross-examination he was glad to postpone. + +He called at the office of the Pacific Mail, and found that the _King +of Asia_ was due to leave for the United States the following morning +at dawn. He made a deposit on a reservation. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +The hour lacked a few minutes of seven when Peter ascended in the lift +to the second floor of the Hong-Kong Hotel and made his way between the +closely packed tables to the Desvoeux Road balcony. + +Romola Borria was not yet in evidence. + +He selected a table which commanded a view of the entrance, toyed with +the menu card, absent-mindedly ordered a Scotch highball, and slowly +scrutinized the occupants of the tables in his neighborhood. He felt +vaguely annoyed, slightly uneasy, without being able to sift out the +cause. + +For a moment he regretted his audacity in encountering the curious eyes +of Hong Kong society, a society in which there would inevitably be +present a number of his enemies. It cannot be denied that a number of +eyes studied him leisurely and at some pains, over teacups, +wine-glasses, and fans. + +But these were for the larger part women, and Peter was more or less +immune to the curious, bright-eyed glances of this sex. + +His attire was somewhat rakish for the occasion; and it appeared that +sarongs were not being sported by the more refined class of male +diners, who affected as a mass the sombre black of dinner jackets. At +all Hong Kong hotels the custom is evening dress for dinner, and Peter +felt shabby and shoddy in his silk suit, his low shoes, his soft collar. + +An orchestra of noble proportions struggled effectively in the moist, +warm atmosphere somewhere in its concealment behind a distant palm +arbor with "Un Peu d'Amour," and also out of Peter's sight, an +impassioned and metallic tenor was sobbing: + + "Jaw-s-s-st a lee-e-e-edle lof-f-ff-- + A le-e-e-edle ke-e-e-e-e-e-s--" + + +And Peter in his perturbation wished that both blatant orchestra and +impassioned tenor were concealed behind a sound-proof stone wall. + +He was tossing off the dregs of the highball when there occurred a +low-voiced murmur at his side, and he arose to confront the pale, worn +face of Romola. She gave him her hand limply, and settled down across +from him, her eyes darting from table to table, and occasionally +nodding rather stiffly and impersonally as she recognized some one. + +"You see"--he smiled at her, as she settled back and fostered upon him +a look of brooding tenderness--"you see, my dear, I am here, untagged. +Nearly twelve hours have passed since you sounded that note of ominous +warning. I have yet to feel the thrill, just before I die, of that +dagger sliding between my ribs." + +She accepted this with a nod almost indifferent. + +"Simply because I have persuaded them to extend your parole to one +o'clock. If you linger in China, you have--and need I say that the +same applies to me--six more hours in which to jest, to laugh, to +love--to live!" + +"For which I am, as always in the face of favors, duly grateful," said +Peter in high humor. "None the less I have this day, since we parted +this morning, indulged in one pistol duel between sampans, with one of +your admirable confrères----" + +"Yes, I heard of that. But it stopped there. You winged his sampan +coolie." + +"And at the Canton station, if I may be pardoned for contradicting, I +encountered the red-faced one. To tell you what you may already know, +I punched him in the jaw, dog-gone him!" + +She seemed to be distressed. + +"You must be mistaken." + +Peter shook his head forcibly. "A choleric gentleman born with the +habit of reaching for his hip-pocket," he amplified. + +She studied him with wide, speculative eyes. "He must be from the +north. Some of them I do not know. But all of them have been +informed." + +"To permit me to live and love until one to-morrow morning?" + +She nodded. + +The aspiring and perspiring orchestra and the impassioned tenor had +again reached the chorus of "Un Peu d'Amour." + + "I could ge-e-e-eve you al-l-l my life for the-e-e-e-s--" + + +"Badly sung, but appropriate," commented Romola Borria. + +Peter's countenance became a question mark. + +"It may mean that I am giving you all my life for--this," she explained. + +"For these few minutes, when we were to chatter, and make love, and be +happy?" Peter demanded indignantly. "My dear----" He reached out for +her hand, and she let him fondle it, not reluctantly. "I'd give all my +life, too, for these few minutes with you. Do you know--you're +perfectly adorable to-night! There's something--something irresistible +about you--to me!" + +"To you?" + +"Yes," he said in a deep voice, and sincerely. "I'd come all the way +'round the world, and lay my life at your feet--thus." And he placed +his knuckles on the white cloth, as if they were knees. + +"Ah! But you don't mean that!" + +"When I'm in love, I mean everything!" + +"I know. You are fickle. Miss Lorimer--Miss--Vost--Romola--they come, +they love, they are gone, quite as fatefully and systematically as life +follows death, and death follows life." + +"I do wish you wouldn't talk about death in that flippant manner," he +gibed, wondering how under the sun he might get her out of this gloomy +mood. + +"But death is in my mind always--Peter. When you have gone through----" + +"Romola, I refuse to be lectured." + +"Very well; I refuse to talk of anything but love and death." + +"Excellent, my own love! Tell me now how it feels when _you_ are in +the heavenly condition." + +"Most hopeless, Peter; because death, you see, is so close upon the +heels of my love." + +"Meaning--me?" + +"No--my heart. The death of love and the death--of life follow my +love. Now I want to pick up the threads of a moment ago. Peter, don't +hold my hand. That woman is--staring. You said--you said, you would +come away around the world to see me, to help me, possibly, if I were +in trouble. You weren't serious." + +"Cross my heart!" + +"On the _Persian Gulf_ that day--that day I told you something of your +recent adventures and your apparently miraculous escapes, I intended to +ask you----" + +"Seeress, I am all ears----" + +"I intended asking you a favor, a most important one, an +alternative----" + +"The trip to Nara?" + +"Yes; an alternative to that. Tell me truly how much at heart you hate +the man at Len Yang. Wait. Don't answer me yet. At heart, do you +really hate him, as you pretend, or are you simply bowing down to your +vanity, to the pride you seem to take in these quixotic deeds? For one +thing, there is very little money in what you are doing. If you should +approach these adventures a little differently, perhaps, you might put +yourself in a position to be rewarded for the troubles you take, the +dangers you risk. I mean that." + +"I admit I'm not a money hater," frowned Peter, striving without much +success to feel her trend. + +"It would be so easy for you to make all the money you need in only a +few years by--how shall I say it?--by 'being nice.' Wait! I have not +finished. You said I was a special emissary from him. You hit the +mark more squarely than you thought. Oh, I admit it! I was sent to +Batavia to meet you, to intercept you, and, to be quite frank, to ask +you your terms." + +"From _him_?" + +"Yes. He has observed you. He can use you, and oh!--how badly he +wants you and your boldness and that unconquerable fire of yours! He +needs you! He wants you, more than any man he has known! And he will +pay you! Name your price! A half million gold a year? Bah! It is a +drop to him!" + +"Don't," begged Peter in a whisper. "Please--don't--go on." + +His face had become almost as white as the tablecloth, and his lips +were trembling, ashen. + +"God! I put my confidence in you, time after time, and each time you +show me treachery, deeper, more hideous, than before. Please don't +continue. I'm trying, as hard as I know how, to appreciate your +position in this wretched mess--and trying to find some excuse for it. +For you! And it's hard. Damned, brutally hard. Let's part! Let's +forget! Let's be just memories to each other--Romola!" + +Her face, too, had lost its color, like life fading from a rose when +the stem is snapped. Her hand sought her throat and groped there, as +it always did in her moments of nervousness, and she drummed on the +cloth with a silver knife. She stared curiously at him, with the other +light dying hard. + +"Then I can only hope--a slender hope--to bring you back to the favor I +asked you originally, and I place that before you now, my request for +that favor--my final hope. You cannot refuse that. You cannot! You +profess to be chivalrous. Now, let me--test you!" + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +"Romola, I said no to Nara long ago." + +She threw up her head. + +"A woman should need to be informed but once that her love is not +wanted. This is not what I meant." + +"Ah! Another scheme! Your little brain is nothing short of an idea +machine. Remarkable! Go on." + +"No," she said, rather sullenly, at this flow of bitterness, "a +variation of my plan. If you will not accompany me to Nara, then I +must go alone. I must have money. Do you understand? I am penniless. +The _King of Asia_ leaves for Japan to-morrow, at dawn. I will never +return to China. Will you--help me?" + +"What do you mean by that? Will I break into the house and help you +rob?" + +"There is no other way. The money is in a desk, locked. I am not +strong enough to break the lock. You can. Then, too, there are some +papers of mine----" + +"Romola, will this give you the contentment you desire?" he said +sternly. + +"I--I think so. I hope so." + +"Then I will help you." + +"Oh, Peter, how can I----" + +He lifted his hand. "You see, my dear, you can't frighten me--easily. +You can't bribe me, Romola. But you can appeal to my weakness----" + +"A woman in distress--your weakness!" But there was no mockery in +either her voice or her eyes. It was more like a whisper of regret. + +"Romola, will you answer a question?" + +"I'll try!" + +"Why are beautiful women--girls--from all parts of the world stolen--to +work in that mine?" + +Romola looked at him queerly. "I do not know, Peter." + +They attacked the dinner, and by deft stages Peter led the conversation +to a lighter vein. It was nearly ten when they left, the dining-room +was all but deserted and they departed in high spirits, her arm within +his, her smile happy and apparently genuine. + +"We must wait until midnight," she informed him. "He will be asleep; +the servants will have retired." + +Peter suggested a rickshaw ride through the Chinese city to while away +the hours in between, but the girl demurred, and amended the suggestion +to a street-car ride to Causeway Bay. He consented, and they caught a +car in front of the hotel, and climbed to seats on the roof. + +He felt gay, excited by the thrill of their impending danger. She was +moody. In the bright moonlight on the crystal beach at Causeway Bay he +tried to make her dance with him. But she pushed his arms away, and +Peter, suddenly feeling the weight of some dark influence, he knew not +what, fell silent, and they rode back to the base of the peak road +having very little to say. + +At a few minutes past midnight they alighted from sedan chairs in the +hairpin trail beside the incline railway station at the peak, and as +they faced each other, the moon, white and gaunt, slipped from sight +behind a billowing black cloud, and the heavens were black and the +night was dark around them. + +She took his arm, leading him past the murky walls of the old fort, and +on up and up the sloping, rocky road, dimly revealed at intervals by +points of mysterious light. + +They came at length to a high, black hedge, and, groping cautiously +along this for a number of yards, found a ragged cleft. He held the +branches aside while she climbed through with a faint rustle of silken +underskirts. He followed after. + +By the dim, ghostly glow of the clouds behind which the moon was +floating he made out ominous shapes, scrawny trees and low, stunted +bushes. + +Hand in hand, with his heart beating very loudly and his breath burning +dry in his throat, they approached the desolate, gloomy house--her home! + +A low veranda, perhaps a sun-parlor, extended along the wing, and +toward this slight elevation the girl stealthily led him, without so +much as the cracking of a dry twig underfoot, peering from left to +right for indications that their visit was betrayed. + +But the house was still, and large and gloomy, and as silent as the +halls of death. + +They climbed upon the low veranda. The girl ran her fingers along the +French window which gave upon the hedged enclosure, and drew back upon +greased hinges the window, slowly, inch by inch, until it yawned, wide +open. + +He followed her into a room, dark as black velvet, weighted with the +indescribable, musty odors of an Oriental abode, and possessed of an +almost sensuous gloom, a mystic dreariness, a largeness which knew no +dimensions. + +As Peter cautiously advanced he was impressed, almost startled, by the +sense of vastness, and he was aware of great, looming proportions. + +Close at hand a clock ticked, slowly, drearily, as if the release of +each metallic click of the ancient cogs were to be the last, beating +like the rattling heart of a man in the arms of death. This noise, +like a great clatter, seemed to fill all space. + +And he was alone. + +Suddenly a yellow light glowed in the dark recesses of the high +ceiling, and Peter sprang back with his hand on the instant inside his +coat, where depended in its leather shoulder-sling the automatic. + +Across the great room the girl raised a steady hand, indicating a desk +of gigantic size, of ironwood or lignum-vitae. + +He found himself occupying the center of an enormous mandarin rug, with +letterings and grotesque designs in rich blood-reds, and blues and +yellows and browns. He gave the room a moment's survey before falling +to the task. + +The walls of this cavern were of satin, priceless rugs, which hung +without a quiver in the breathless gloom. Massive furniture, chairs, +tables, settees, of teak, of ebony and dark mahogany, with deep +carvings, glaring gargoyles and hideous masks, were arranged with an +apparent lack of plan. + +And against the far wall, with a face like the gibbous moon, stood a +massive clock of carved rosewood, clacking ponderously, almost +painfully, as if each tick were to be its last. + +Peter crouched before the desk, examining the heavy lock on the drawer, +and accepted from the girl's hand a tool, a thick, short, blunt chisel. +He inserted the blunt edge of this instrument in the narrow crack, +and---- + +A muffled sob, a moan, a stifled cry! + +He sprang to his feet, with his hand diving into his coat, and the +fingers he wrapped about the butt of the automatic were as cold as ice. + +Romola Borria was cringing, shrinking as if to efface herself from a +terrible scene, against the French window, and staring at him with a +look of wild imploration, of horror, of--death! + +From three unwavering spots along the wall to his left glittered the +blue muzzles of revolvers! + +Peter dropped to his knees, leaped backward, pointed by instinct, and +fired at the lone yellow light in the ceiling. + +Darkness. An unseen body moved. Metal rattled distantly upon wood. +And metal clanked upon metal. Darkness, black as the grave, and as +ominous. + +A white, round spot remained fixed upon his retina, slowly fading. The +face of the clock. The hands, like black daggers, had pointed to ten +minutes of one. Ten minutes of life! Ten minutes to live! Or--less? + +Silence, broken only by the reluctant _click-clack, click-clack_ of the +rosewood clock. + +If he could reach the window! Then a low, convulsed sobbing occurred +close to his ear. The girl groped for his arm. She was shaking, +shaking so that his arm trembled under it. + +"Your final card!" he whispered. "The final trick! God! Now, damn +you, get me out of this!" + +"I can't. I--I---- Oh, God! Kill me! I gave you every chance. They +forced me--forced me to bring you here. They would have strangled me, +just as they strangled the other!" She seemed to steady herself while +he listened in growing horror. + +"Safe!" he groaned. "Safety for you. Death--for me! You--you led me +into their hands, and I--I trusted you. I trusted you!" + +She laid a cold, moist hand over his lips, this devil-woman. + +"Hush! If they, if he, so much as guessed that I cared for you, that I +loved you, it would mean my death. I was forced--forced to bring you +here. Don't you understand? And if he even guessed. But you had your +chance. You had your chance!" + +Almost hysterically she was endeavoring to extenuate her crime, her +treason. + +"Stand up and face them. Meet your death! Escape is--impossible! +Impossible! They are watching you like a rat. In a moment they know +you can stand this strain no longer! Face them, I say! Show them +that----" + +Peter pushed her away from him in loathing, and she lay still, only +whimpering. + +Yet the devils of darkness--where were they? And slowly, yet more +slowly, the rosewood clock ticked off its seconds. It should be nearly +one. At one---- + +A fighting chance? + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +On his hands and knees he crouched, and began crawling, an inch at a +time, toward the French window, dragging the automatic over the thick +satin carpet. He reached the window. It was still ajar. Far, far +below twinkled the lights of Hong Kong, of ships anchored in the bay, +and the glitter of Kowloon across the bay. Out there was life! + +A board creaked near him, toward the heart of that darkened vault. He +spun about, aimed blindly, fired! + +The floor shook as an unseen shape collapsed and writhed within reach +of his hand. In his grasp, was the oily, thick queue of a coolie. + +And suddenly, as he groped, the wall spat out angry tongues of +corrosive red flame. + +A white-hot iron seemed to shoot through the flesh of his left arm. +The pain reached his shoulder. His left arm was useless--the bone +cracked! + +Groaning, he pushed himself back. His knees struck the sill, slid +over, and he felt the coarse, peeled paint of the veranda. He reached +the ledge--dropped to the ground, and in dropping, the revolver spilled +from his hand as it caught on a projecting ledge of the floor, bounded +off into the darkness. + +He groveled to retrieve it, muttering as his hands probed through the +tufted grass. + +Light glimmered in the room above. There occurred sounds of a +struggle, of feet scraping, a muffled oath, a short scream. + +Peter leaped back, looking up, prepared to dash for the road. + +A yellow light within the room silhouetted the slender figure of Romola +Borria against the French window. Her arms went out in frantic appeal +to the darkness, to him. + +"Wait!" she cried in an awful voice. "I love you! Wait!" + +At that confession, a hand seemingly suspended in space was elevated +slowly behind her. The hand paused high above her head. A face +appeared in the luminous space above her head, an evil face, carved +with a hideous brutality, wearing an ominous snarl; and above the +writhing lips of this one was a black growth, a mustache, pointed, like +twin black daggers. + +Emiguel Borria, ardent tool of the Gray Dragon? Emiguel Borria, +husband of the girl Romola? + +Emiguel Borria, in whose lifting hand Peter now caught the glint of a +revolver, attempted to crowd the girl to one side. But she held her +ground, and then this woman who had on a half-dozen successive +occasions tricked and deceived Peter, who had deliberately and on her +own confession lured him into this trap, upset, womanlike, the +elaborate plan of her master. + +In a frenzy she spun upon Emiguel Borria, seized the white barrel of +the revolver in her two hands and forced it against his side. Tiny red +flames spurted out on either side of the cylinder and smeared in a +smoky circle where the muzzle was momentarily buried in the tangled +black coat. And Emiguel Borria seemed to sink into the great room and +entirely out of Peter's sight. + +Romola leaned far into the darkness. + +"Run! Run! For your life!" + +And as Peter started to run, out of the compound for the dubious safety +of the cloistered road, other men of the Gray Dragon, posted for such a +contingency, let loose a shower of bullets from adjoining windows. + +But the gods were for the time being on the side of Peter. These shots +all went wild. + +Shuddering, with teeth chattering and eyes popping, Peter dove through +the matted hedge, dashed into the street, and down the street, lighted +at intervals with its pin-points of mysterious light. + +He came to the incline station, and his footsteps seemed weighted, +dragging. And the clock in the station, as he dashed past, showed one +o'clock. + +He plunged down the first sharp twist of the hair-pin trail, fell, +picked himself up dusty and dizzy, with his left arm swinging +grotesquely as he ran. + +And behind him, riding like the dawn wind, he seemed to feel the +presence of a companion, of a silent rickshaw which rattled with a +grisly occupant; and a voice, the voice of Romola Borria, shrill and +terrible in his ear, cried: "Wait! Oh, wait!" + +But the spectre was more real than Peter could imagine. + +It was quite awful, quite absurd, the way Peter stumbled and plunged +and fell and stumbled on down the hill; past the reservoirs which +glittered greenly under their guardian lights. + +How he managed to reach Queen's Road in that dreadful state I cannot +describe. He dashed down the center of the deserted road, with rudely +awakened Sikhs calling excitedly upon Allah, to stop, to stop! + +But on he sped, straight down the center of the mud roadway, past the +Hong Kong Hotel, now darkened for the night, and past the bund. + +Would the sampan be waiting? Otherwise he was now bolting headlong +upon the waiting knives of the Gray Dragon's men. No sampan in the +whole of Victoria Harbor was safe to-night, but one. Would the one be +waiting? Upon that single hope he was staking his safety, his dash for +life. + +He sped out upon the jetty. + +Where could he seek refuge? The _Persian Gulf_? The _King of Asia_? +The transpacific liner lay far out in a pool of great black, glittering +under sharp, white arc-lights forward and aft as cargo was lifted from +obscure lighters and stowed into her capacious hold. + +Yet he must go quickly, for in all China there was no safety for him +this night. + +A shadow leaped out upon the jetty close upon his heels. But Peter did +not see this ghost. + +The sampan coolie, asleep upon the small foredeck of his home, shivered +and muttered in his strange dreams. By his garb and by the richness of +the large sampan's upholsterings Peter guessed this to be the craft +sent to him by the small Chinese girl. + +Peter leaped aboard, awakening the _fokie_ with a cry. + +Dark knobs arose from the low cabin hatchway, and by the yellow lamps +of the jetty Peter made these out to be the heads of the maid from +Macassar and her old grandmother. + +A _dong_ was burning in the cabin, and Peter followed the girl into the +small cabin of scrubbed and polished teak, while the old woman gibbered +in sharp command to the _fokie_. + +Crouching like a beast at last cornered, Peter, by the shooting rays of +the _dong_, glared dazedly into an angry red face, a face that was +limned and pounded by the elements, from which stared two blue, +bloodshot eyes. + +The girl said nothing as she nestled at his side, and Peter permitted +his head to sink between his hands. + +Yet, strange to say, the red-faced man did not fire, made no motion of +stabbing him. + +Peter looked up, snarling defiance. + +"You've got me cornered," he whispered harshly. "It's after one +o'clock. The parole is up. Why prolong the agony? Damn you, I'm +unarmed!" He shut his eyes again. + +Again there was no premonitory click, no seep of steel upon scabbard. + +The red-faced man seized his shoulder, shook him. + +"Say, you young prize-fighter," he sputtered, "you drunk? Crazy? Or +just temporarily off your nut? Who in thunder said anything about +prolonging the agony? What agony are you talking about? Why the devil +'ve you been dodging me all over South China to-day? You dog-gone +young wildcat, you! I've got an assignment for you. The _King of +Asia's_ wireless man is laid up in the Peak Hospital with typhoid. I +want you to take her back to Frisco! Blast your young hide, anyhow!" + +The wizen face of the girl's grandmother appeared in the hatchway. She +seemed annoyed, angry. She said something in the Cantonese dialect, +which Peter did not understand. + +"A sampan is following," translated the girl in her tiny voice, "but we +are nearly there. In a moment you will be safe." + +"Where?" demanded Peter, staring over the red-faced man's shoulder for +a glimpse of the other sampan. + +"The _King of Asia_," she told him. "In a moment, _birahi_, in a +moment." + +Her tones were those of a little mother. + +But Peter was staring anxiously into the red face, trying to decipher +an explanation. + +"I told the red-faced one to be here, too, at midnight," the girl was +whispering in his ear. "He came. He is a friend. Your fears were +wrong, _birahi_." + +The sampan lurched, scraping and tapping along a surface rough and +metallic. + +The yellow face of the old woman again appeared in the hatchway. A bar +of keen, white light thrust its way into the cabin. It came from +somewhere above. No longer could Peter hear the groan and swish of the +sweep, and the cabin no longer keeled from side to side. He guessed +that the sampan was alongside. + +The old woman motioned for him to come out. + +"I am not coming aboard; I am going back to my hotel," said the +red-faced man. "You will not leave this ship? You will promise me +that?" + +"I will promise," said Peter gravely. "You, I presume, are Mr. J. B. +Whalen, the Marconi supervisor?" + +The red-faced man nodded. As if by some prearranged plan, Whalen, +after slight hesitation, climbed out of the cabin, leaving Peter alone +with this very small, very gentle benefactor of his. He wanted to +thank her, and he tried. But she put her fingers over his lips. + +"You are going to the one you love, _birahi_," she said in her tinkling +little voice. "Before we part, I want you--I want you to----" and she +hesitated. "Come now, my brave one," she added with an attempt at +briskness. "You must go. Hurry!" + +Peter found the side ladder of the _King of Asia_ dangling from the +upper glow of the liner's high deck. He put his foot on the lower rung +and paused. A vast number of apologies, of thanks and good-byes +demanded utterance, but he felt confused. The slight relaxation of the +past few minutes had left him exhausted, and his brain was encased in +fog. + +He remembered that the little maid from Macassar had wanted him to do +something, possibly some favor. The glow high above him seemed to +swim. His injured arm was beginning to throb with a low and persistent +pain. And the climb to the deck seemed a tremendous undertaking. + +"You were saying," he began huskily, as she reached out to steady the +ladder. "You wanted me----" + +"Just this, my brave one." And she reached up on tiptoes and kissed +him ever so lightly upon his lips. "When you think of me, _birahi_, +close your eyes and dream. For I--I might have loved you!" + +Half-way up the black precipice, Peter stopped and looked down. For a +moment his befuddled senses refused to register what now occupied the +space at the ladder's end. + +The sampan was no longer there; another had taken its place, a sampan +long and as black as the night which encompassed it. + +Wide, dark eyes stared up across the space into his, and these were set +in a chalky-white face, grim, fearful--startling! + +It was Romola Borria. Her white arms were upheld in a gesture of +entreaty. Her lips were moving. + +Peter descended a step, and stopped, swaying slightly. + +"What--what----" he began. + +"He is dead!" came the whisper from the small deck. "I killed him! I +killed him! Do you hear me? I am free! Free! Why do you stare at me +so? I am ready to go. But you must ask me! I will not follow you. I +will not!" + +And Peter, clutching with a sick and sinking feeling at the hard rope, +found that his lips and tongue were working, but that no sound other +than a dull muttering issued from his mouth. Momentarily he was +dumb--paralyzed. + +"I am not a tool of the Gray Dragon," went on the vehement whisper. "I +am not!" + +And to Peter came full realization that Romola Borria was lying, or +endeavoring to trick him, for the last time. + +"Go back--there," he managed to stammer at last. "Go back! I won't +have you! I'm through with this damned place." + +Painfully he climbed up a few rungs. + +Then the voice of Romola, no longer a whisper, but loud, broken, +despairing, came to him for the last time: + +"You are leaving me--leaving me--for her--for Eileen!" + +Peter made no reply. He continued his laborious climb; first one foot, +then a groping few inches upward along the hard rope with his right +hand, and then the other foot. Nor did he once again look down. + +He finally gained the deck. It was blazing with incandescent and +arc-lights. Under-officers and deckhands were pacing about, giving +attention to the loading. Donkey engines hissed, coughed, and rattled, +as the yellow booms creaked out, up and in with their snares of bales +and crates which vanished like swooping birds of prey into the noisy +hatchways. + +Peter took in the bustling scene with a long sigh of relief. He still +heard that lonely, anguished voice; the black sampan still rested on +his eyes, heaving on the flood tide upon which the great ship strained, +as if eager to be gone. And out there--out there--beyond the black +heart of mystery and the night, was the clean dawn--the rain-washed +spaces of the shimmering sea. + +But he could not look down again. He would not. For a while--or +forever--he had had his fill of China. Before him now lay the freedom +of the open sea, the sunshine of life--and his homeland! + +Peter the Brazen had drunk all too indulgently at the bitter fountain. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +In the months which had passed since their romantic parting on the bund +at Shanghai, Peter the Brazen had founded all of his roseate notions of +Eileen Lorimer upon the one-sided data furnished by those spirited few +hours. + +He had thought of her as a lonely little creature, sole inhabitant of a +world apart, to which he would some time go and claim her. + +He had not taken into his calculations at any time such prosaic objects +as parents, brothers, sisters, and, more vital than all, other young +men who might have found the same qualities in Eileen to adore as had +attracted and bound him. + +When, from a long-distance telephone-booth in the Hotel St. Francis, he +finally was connected with the Lorimer residence in Pasadena, it was to +hear the gruff, masculine accents of a person who claimed to be her +father, and who was brusque and impulsive in his inquiries regarding +Peter's identity. + +Peter did not know, or realize, that Mr. Lorimer would have willingly +cut off his right hand for the young man who had restored his daughter +to him nearly a year before. He was simply struck more or less dumb, +with a schoolboy sort of feeling, when he was aware that, five hundred +miles overland, a gruff father wanted righteously to know his business. + +By adroit parrying, without giving out his identity, Peter at length +secured the information he wanted. Romola Borria had been truthful; +Eileen was attending the university at San Friole. + +With her San Friole address jotted down in the back of his red +note-book, Peter endeavored to be connected with Miss Lorimer by +telephone. After a trying pause the long-distance operator advised him +that the residence in question did not possess a telephone. + +Quartering what remained of his capital by the costly Pasadena call, +Peter resorted to the telegraph stand, and waited in the lobby for an +answer. + +The first of the several bits of unpalatable news he was to be given +during the day was delivered to him as he waited, when, unnoticed at +first, a Chinese gentleman, a Mr. San Toy Fong, a passenger from +Shanghai on the _King of Asia_, came out of the dining-room and +occupied a chair at his side, cordially and candidly revealing an +identity which Peter had suspected during the entire voyage. + +"Mr. Moore," the emissary began in a low, confident voice, "I am +returning to China to-night on the _Chenyo Maru_. Before I sail, if +there is some message----" + +Peter shook a slow decision. "I'm through with China, through with Len +Yang, through with wireless. I intend settling down on my little ranch +near Santa Cruz. That may save your trailers annoyance." + +The polished Chinese gentleman smiled. "Evidently you are not aware +that your little ranch is no longer in your possession. You see, Mr. +Moore, when we are interested in a person, we take pains to exhaust the +tiniest details. Your ranch was sold about three months ago; in a +moment of absent-mindedness, perhaps, you neglected to pay the taxes. +However, if you but say the word----" + +"Thank you," Peter headed him off in a tired and indifferent voice. +"You've saved me a trip for nothing. After all, the property is +probably better off in other hands. Now I have nothing in the world to +worry about but myself. _Bon voyage_, Mr. Fong! And my respects +to----" + +But San Toy Fong had departed. + +After an exasperating wait, a bell-boy brought to Peter a telegraphic +reply to his San Friole message, which read: + +"Take the twelve-thirty train. Will meet you at station." + +And it was signed by Eileen Lorimer. + +Peter was again conscious of his diminishing funds when he peeled off a +bill at the railroad ticket-window and paid the round-trip fare. But +any thoughts upon his possible financial embarrassment were set aside +as the train rolled out into the open country, and his mind pictured +his reception at the hands of the young woman who meant quite as much +to him as life. + +He pictured a dozen greetings, each different and each the same, with +Eileen in every case weeping with joy at beholding him, and wrapping +her slim, warm arms about his neck. + +He became more nervous and excited as the villages passed by, and +presently the trim concrete structure lettered in gold and black as San +Friole came into sight around a curve. + +Alighting, he gave his grips to a boy with instructions to have them +checked; and he looked eagerly among the crowd of students for the +lovely face of Eileen. + +At length he discovered her, and simultaneously she must have +discovered him; for she elbowed her way through the mob, flushed and +breathless, and seized his hands, looking at him with eyes that seemed +to glow. + +And to Peter the Brazen she was quite the same Eileen as the girl of a +year ago; no older, and quite as lovely, with the same pretty flush in +her cheeks, the same rosebud mouth, the same sweet and lovable +expression. + +The little speech he had prepared on the train would not leave his +lips; and he could only look, with the color heating his cheeks, as +Eileen smiled tenderly and a little meekly, as she had smiled when they +parted at the consulate in Shanghai over a year before. + +He began to realize, even as he considered and reconsidered his motive, +that she was mutely begging him not to kiss her at this time. Perhaps +the pressure of her fingers, a subtle pressure away from her instead of +toward her, gave him this understanding. + +He became aware gradually of another presence, as he was jostled from +this side to that by other new arrivals, conscious of the sidelong look +that Eileen was giving another man. + +With a slight feeling of resentment, Peter examined this interloper, +finding himself gazing into the unfriendly, tanned face of a man of +about his own age, with keen, sharp, brown eyes, a dimple in his chin, +and a thick, blue book under his arm. Through a maze Peter heard his +name spoken, then the words "Professor Hodgson;" and he found himself +shaking hands briskly with the invader. + +Then Peter excused himself, returning with the baggage-checks, and he +discovered both Eileen and Professor Hodgson examining him with the +frank curiosity that one might bestow upon some wandering minstrel, a +foreigner, an alien. He felt, as the odd member of any triangle is +sure to feel, that he was a lone bird; that Eileen and her glowering +professor were drawn together by some bond unknown to him, but whose +nature he warmly resented. + +And thus began the crumbling of the rosy crystalline little world that +Peter had created for the sole occupation of Eileen Lorimer. + +As the three walked slowly down the station platform, he felt the +tension, the exaggerated repugnance, which any outdone suitor is bound +to feel toward his successful rival. He felt sick and useless, and +somehow he wished he was back aboard the train again. He had blown his +dream-bubble, rapturously contemplating the shining, dancing, +multicolored surface as it expanded and became of size. And this +bubble had been rudely pricked. + +He felt Eileen's light hand upon his arm, and he heard her voice +suddenly become weighted with feminine importance. She was saying: + +"Mr. Moore and I have a great deal to talk over. You will excuse me, +won't you, until to-night?" + +Professor Hodgson, frowning, nodded courteously. "Perhaps Mr. Moore +would like to go, if he cares to stag it. I'm afraid every girl in +town has been invited by now." + +"Stag what?" queried Peter in a dry voice. + +"There's to be a St. Valentine's ball to-night," enthused the girl. +"St. Valentine's Day is the fourteenth, you know. I'm sure you'd enjoy +it! You'll go, won't you?" + +"But--but----" stammered Peter. "I had hoped that you and I could +spend the evening by ourselves." + +"Oh, but I couldn't do that!" cried Eileen, with reproach in her big, +gray eyes. "Professor Hodgson invited me ages ago! Can't we talk this +afternoon and to-morrow. I'll cut classes all day. Please go! I'll +give you every other dance! The professor won't mind. He's an old +dear!" + +The old dear frowned a shade more darkly, and Peter derived some +encouragement from the sign. + +"I'll go on that condition," said Peter gaily. "Every other dance with +Miss Lorimer!" + +"That's fine!" Professor Hodgson rejoined. "Have you a costume?" + +"Your wireless uniform!" cried Eileen. "You look wonderful in that!" + +Professor Hodgson was preparing to remove his dour look from their +vicinity. "I'll be around at eight," he said. "See you later, Mr. +Moore." + +"So-long!" Peter retorted affably, and Eileen squeezed his arm ever so +lightly. + +"I want to talk to you all afternoon!" she declared with her adorable +smile, when the professor was out of earshot. "Shall we take a +car-ride?" + +They climbed into the front seat of an open car, and Peter was glad +when the girl linked her arm through his and snuggled close to his side. + +"I want you to tell me everything from the very beginning," she said +with a bright smile. "I want to know why you left me so suddenly in +Shanghai. I had a hundred questions to ask. You were mean!" + +"You can begin wherever you please," said Peter amiably. + +"Then, why," demanded Eileen, giving him a hungry little look, "didn't +you let me stay in Shanghai?" + +"Because I was in love with you," Peter replied abruptly. "You were in +danger. So was I. I wanted to get you out of China as quickly as +possible, because, you see, my dear, the man who had his agents kidnap +you, and who was having you transported to China on the _Vandalia_, +would have recaptured you without difficulty. Do you mind if I tell +you, Eileen, that it broke my heart when I realized that we wouldn't +see one another for goodness knows how long a time?" + +Eileen glanced pensively at the green lawns and the flower-gardens +which flowed past the car, and her eyes returned to his face with a +question in them. Her hand snuggled into his. + +"Tell me the truth, Peter. You thought I was just an innocent, +helpless little thing, now didn't you? You said to yourself, 'I'll get +myself into all sorts of trouble with her on my hands.' Didn't you say +that to yourself, Peter?" + +"I did. You're right. You were not made for that place. If you'll +let me, I'll tell you what you were made for." + +"You needn't," said Eileen with a sigh. "Because I know. You are +going to tell me that I am just the right size for a bungalow for two, +of which you are the second, and that I need some big man like yourself +to have around, to shield and protect me, to smooth and round off the +sharp corners of this harsh old life." + +"How did you guess?" gasped Peter. + +"Maybe your eyes said that when you told me to go home that day, and +maybe other men have told me the same thing! Anyway, that is what you +have come here to tell me--or haven't you?--that you are all ready now +to leave behind the terribly wicked and adventurous life you've been +leading, and settle down, and live respectably forever after! Isn't +that the truth?" + +"You're something of a mind-reader." + +"No, I'm not. But I have sense. Peter, I still think, just as I +thought that terrible night when you slid down the rope from the +_Vandalia_ with me dangling from your neck, that dreadful night on the +Whang-poo in the fog, that you're the finest and bravest man on earth. +That's why I let you make love to me on the bund; because--well, +because I wanted you to come back!" + +"In return," Peter responded with enthusiasm, "I have kept you next to +my heart all of that time, thinking of you every time I felt +discouraged, looking upon you always as a refuge, exactly as you say, +when China got the best of me." + +"Has China got the best of you, Peter?" + +"It has! I was chased out of the Yellow Empire with a broken arm, by +agents of the same man who tried to kidnap you. I removed the splints +only this morning. Since I saw you, I have paid a visit to the +dreadful red city where you were being taken, escaped, and made my way +through India and the Straits Settlements and back to Hong Kong." + +"And they shot you!" + +He nodded, and she shivered again, while the fingers against his palm +stirred. + +"I've put China behind me forever, I hope, and now, a little older, a +little wiser, and very weary, I've come to lay the same worthless old +heart at your dear little feet!" + +"And the worthless old feet will have to kick the dear, big heart +aside," said Eileen sadly. "Oh, Peter," she exclaimed, suddenly +contrite as she saw the look of pain that came into his face, "you know +I wouldn't hurt you for anything in the world! But I am in earnest, +deadly in earnest, Peter! I refuse positively to have you consider me +any longer as a poor, helpless, clinging little thing, made only to be +petted and protected! I'm not like that, Peter! If you'd only +written, I would have told you. You're not afraid of anything in the +world; nor am I! I love adventure quite as much as you do, Peter, and +the moment you told me, back there in Shanghai, that I must hurry home +because it wasn't safe, I made up my mind that I would equip myself to +go into some of those wonderful adventures with you! Professor +Hodgson, the Chinese language professor, is an expert shot with a +revolver, and I've wheedled him into giving me lessons. That's for +self-protection. Then the Japanese woman who is general chambermaid in +my rooming-house is teaching me jiu-jitsu. + +"In addition to that, I'm studying for a doctor's degree. When the +course is finished I am going to join you in China. We'll invade that +dreadful mining city alone, just you and I, and we'll make it the most +wonderful place in China! You see, Peter, I intend to be a medical +missionary; and you won't have to worry your dear old brain about me +the least bit. If you won't take me, I'll go by myself!" + +"Sweetheart," Peter declared with difficulty, "you are talking through +your hat!" + +She shrugged and smiled. "Won't you take me?" + +"You know I'd fetch you the man in the moon if you wanted him badly +enough!" + +"And you'll get that silly old notion of a bungalow for two out of your +head?" + +"I'll try. It will be a hard job. And, Eileen----" + +"Yes, Peter?" + +"You don't care about this Professor Hodgson, do you?" + +"Oh, no, Peter! Once or twice he's tried to make love, and you could +see, couldn't you, how furious he was when we left him?" + +"I thought my goose was cooked," sighed Peter. + +"Silly old goose!" said Eileen, squeezing his thumb. + +With shaken but immeasurably higher notions of this girl, whose +appealing gray eyes suffocated him with longing, Peter helped his +charge to alight when the end of the car line was reached, and at her +suggestion they tramped through the blossoming California fields, back +to the village, talking seriously most of the way upon that ardent +subject which lay warmly upon both of their young hearts. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +There was a noticeable ripple when Eileen Lorimer walked into the +ballroom that evening in the winsome attire of a Quaker maid, with +Professor Hodgson, as Pierrot, on one side, and the tall, commanding +figure of Peter the Brazen, in a spick-and-span white-and-gold uniform +of the Pacific Mail Line, on the other. + +For Peter the Brazen, in any garb, was that type of man at whom any +normal woman would have looked twice--or, if only once, just twice as +long. + +Knotted about his lean waist was a flaunting blue sarong. The sarong +gave to his straight, white figure the deft touch of romance. It +verified the adventurous blue of his deep-set eyes, and the stubborn +outward thrust of his tanned, smooth-shaven jaw. + +When the young women of Eileen's acquaintance, to whom had been +whispered some of the details of this man's thrilling past, crowded +about for introductions, Peter had little difficulty in filling the +remaining half of his program. + +And when the music started for the second event Peter recovered his +flushed and glowing Quaker maiden from the reluctant arms of Professor +Hodgson, upon whom had fallen, like a dark shroud, a gloom heavy and +profound, and the man who had that morning said good-by forever to +China and the wireless game and to ships and the sea, found himself +floating in and out upon a sea of gold, with a sprite from elf-land +dazzling him with her rosebud smile. + +He would have liked to shock their beholders then and there by kissing +her squarely upon that smile! And all the while, from the side line, +Professor Hodgson, the professor of Chinese, watched their every +movement with a face as long and as gray as an alley in the fog. + +A little later in the evening, when Peter looked for his partner, a +Miss Somebody or Other, whose penciled name had been smudged on his +program so that it had become an unintelligible blue, he looked in vain. + +He looked then among the dancers for the face of his Quaker maiden, +and, unable to see her in the syncopating throng, elected to hunt for +her, despite the known fact that she was in the company of his defeated +rival, the professor. + +Peter searched the refreshment room futilely, and decided that the pair +had probably retired to the palm garden, where Eileen was possibly +engaged to the best of her ability in soothing the ruffled feelings of +her revolver and Chinese instructor. + +As Peter parted the golden velvet hangings which shrouded the entrance +to the dimly lighted conservatory, he espied a half-dozen couples +disposed on as many small benches under the drooping fronds in varied +attitudes of tête-à-tête. + +The curtains fell in alignment behind him; he caught the angry glare of +two brown eyes from a bench, and realized that Eileen's versatile +professor was not yet pacified. At Professor Hodgson's side, with her +back toward Peter, was a young woman attired in Quaker costume. Her +head was not intimately close to that of the young professor; but it +was close. + +As Peter started to cross the waxed floor to her side, he saw Hodgson's +head dip low; saw the girl apparently yield herself into his arms; and +as Peter stopped, stock-still, he saw the long arms of the professor +wrap themselves about the slim shoulders, drawing the hidden face +toward him until the lips met his. + +In that dreadful instant the heart of Peter the Brazen deliberately +skipped a beat. Black swam into his eyes, and he trembled, then became +stiff, as his gaze was glued to that ghastly pantomime. He hesitated, +then leaped across the intervening distance. + +Both Eileen and her professor leaped up. + +Her face was white, and her fingers clutched in convulsion at her +throat; but Peter's face was equally as white and strained as hers. + +He stared in pain and utter disbelief, while a smile slowly crept over +the features of Eileen's professor. She seemed about to faint, and +sank back, with eyes tightly closed, against Hodgson's breast. + +Peter tried to speak, but a moment passed before he could find words. + +"Eileen--Eileen," he muttered, "you said--you told me--oh, God!" + +He wheeled and dashed out of the hall, as he proposed to dash out of +her life, with terrible, sinking thoughts in his brain, and his heart +pounding dismally against his ribs. He recovered his coat and hat in +the cloak-room. + +Hardly had he vanished than Eileen, recovering slowly from her daze, +sprang after. But Hodgson detained her, gripping her arm. + +She seemed to realize for the first time what had been done, and to the +profound astonishment of the several round-eyed couples, she wiped her +hand fiercely across her mouth, the recent repository of the +professor's sudden and unexpected kiss. + +"You--beast!" she stammered. "You--you saw him come in! How dared +you! How dared you! I thought you were a--gentleman--you--you beast!" + +Her professor merely grinned, as though the tragedy were a comedy of +the most amusing order. + +"One stolen kiss----" he chuckled. + +And Eileen slapped him smartly across the mouth. She started to bolt +for the door, but he dragged her back, clinging to her struggling hand. +"You--one of that band!" she cried. + +"Oh, let me apologize," he laughed, rubbing the red mark about his +mouth with his free hand. "If your hero resents my robbing him of one +stingy, little kiss---- Band? What band?" But there was no question +in his eyes. + +"Stop him!" cried Eileen shrilly. "Oh, please, somebody call him back!" + +A sophomore, always willing to aid a lady in distress, sprang to the +chase, and Eileen, breaking loose, stumbled after him out upon the +dance floor. A waltz was under way, and the floor was jammed. + +They tried to break through, but were thrust aside by laughing dancers, +who seemed to take this to be a new and diverting game. + +They tried again, and now Professor Hodgson, smiling blandly, came upon +the scene and interposed further interference. Dodging past him and +narrowly avoiding collision with a whirling couple close to the wall, +Eileen scurried down the side in the direction of the cloakroom, with +big, hot tears burning down her flushed cheeks. + +When she reached the cloak-room she searched it in anxious haste for +the Marconi cap, the light-blue overcoat. Both were missing. + +With the sophomore atow, and conscious of the romantic nature of his +errand, she ran into the moonlit street, looking up and down the +black-shadowed sidewalk for signs of the straight, tall figure. + +Down the street, perhaps a quarter of a mile distant, she made out the +motionless streamer of lights of a train, the San Francisco train. + +With her gray Quaker dress flapping, and the clutter of white +petticoats hindering the rhythm of her knees and ankles, Eileen sped +down the middle of the road with the excited sophomore bringing up a +mad rear. + +The fate of her life lay in the train's waiting. She knew what Peter +Moore would do. And if she could not stop him, she would be nothing +less than his murderer. Had the evidences of her apparent infidelity +been less damning she knew that Peter Moore would have waited, would +have listened to her explanation, and believed her. + +If she could only reach the train, she could tell him, could compel him +to wait, and thereupon have it out with that cad Hodgson. It would be +folly to pursue by later train, because Peter, as was customary with +that young philanderer, had neglected to leave his forwarding address. + +But Eileen never reached the train. The engine screamed scornfully +when she was less than a block distant. The red and green tail-lights +were dwindling away along the throbbing rails when she arrived at the +station. + +The night had swallowed up her love and her high hopes. Before long, +miles, and thousands of miles, would soon stretch between her and her +lover. + +With a broken sob she wilted upon the station steps, while the +sophomore stood awkwardly above her, bursting with questions, +misty-eyed with youthful sympathy and fidgeting in acute discomfort. + +And thus was Peter the Brazen swept out of her life and into his next +adventure. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +At about five o'clock the next afternoon Peter, in his hotel bedroom, +called for a pitcher of ice-water, the major portion of which he +disposed of before considering the next move. + +Afternoon sunlight, entering by the single large window, mapped out a +radiant oblong of red on the heavy carpet. The long, insolent shriek +of a taxicab arose from the square. The bedroom was redolent of the +sour odor of last night's cigarette smoke. He had forgotten, for +perhaps the first time in his memory, to throw open the window upon +retiring. As he arose stiffly from the bed an empty brown bottle +bounded to the floor with a thump, and the latter riotous portion of +last evening came slowly back to him. He had decided to do something. +What had he made up his mind to do? He sat down on the edge of the bed +with his head in his hands and frowned. He remembered now. + +He was going back to China! + +With a throbbing head and a recurrence of the sticky feeling in his +mouth, he stripped off his pajamas, went into the bath-room, and +shivered and grunted under an icy shower for five minutes, by which +time some of the despondency which last night's affair had brought over +him was shaken, his headache was loosened a bit, his wits were more +clearly in hand, and the warm blood was shooting through him. + +After a brisk rub-down he dressed quickly--he had barely had time +enough to recover his suit-cases from the San Friole baggage-room when +he had fled--and put in a call for the Marconi office. + +Shortly he had the chief operator on the wire, and he explained briefly +that out-of-town business had interfered with his calling the day +before, but that he would drop around for a conference bright and early +the next morning. He added that he intended to take the _King of Asia_ +back to China. + +When he entered the chief operator's cubicle, the chief operator looked +into the face of a man who had aged, a white, sad face, the face of a +man who had found the sample of life he had tasted to be a bitter +mouthful. + +"Back again, as I live!" he chirruped, pumping Peter's hand +exuberantly. "Where now, Peter?" + +"China," said Peter; "my old love, the _King of Asia_, sails to-morrow. +Can I have her?" + +"Sure thing! By the way, here's a special delivery letter for you in +the mail that hasn't been assorted--a nice square envelope. Looks to +me like a wedding invitation!" + +Peter examined the square, white envelope. + +A wedding invitation with a San Friole canceling stamp. + +Absently he dropped it into his pocket. + +Making his way to the St. Francis he found that San Toy Fong had +departed for parts unknown. So he sat down at a desk in the +writing-room, and penned a brief note, addressing it in care of Ah Sih +King. He knew that the letter would reach San Toy Fong as rapidly as a +grape-vine telegraph could deliver it to him. He knew that it would be +opened, coded and transmitted to the second coil of the vast, hidden +government, wherever he might be--from Singapore to Singapore. + +The import of that note was simply that he, Peter Moore, was returning +to China, and promised to interfere in no way with the band's +activities. If he should change his mind, he added, he would file +notice of such decision with the duly accredited agents of Len Yang's +monarch at the Jen Kee Road place, in Shanghai. + +The purple shoulders of the Golden Gate were sinking into the +silver-tipped waves when Peter, having despatched his clearance +message, left the tireless cabin for a look at the glorious red sunset +and a breath of the fresh Pacific air. + +A room steward, who had just ascended the iron ladder, approached, +touching his cap with a deferential forefinger. "A letter addressed to +you, sir. Found it in the corridor outside your stateroom. Must have +fallen from your pocket." + +The wedding invitation with a San Friole date-mark! + +With nerveless fingers Peter drew out, not an envelope, but a stiff +card. And he stared at the card in the red twilight, and groaned in +pain and astonishment. + +Have I said that this was St. Valentine's Day? In the color of the +dying sun, and painted carefully by hand, was a tiny heart, bleeding. + +And that was the only message. + + + + +PART III + +THE GREEN DEATH + + +CHAPTER I + + "Oh! Chiang Nan's a hundred li, yet in a moment's space + I've flown away to Chiang Nan and touched a dreaming face." + --TS'EN-TS'AN. + + +A young man can get himself into trouble in China. +He may refuse to eat the food that is pushed into his +mouth at a Chinese banquet by the perfectly +well-intentioned man sitting beside him. In that case he will +hardly do more than arouse the contempt of his +beneficiary and his host. He simply shows that he lacks +good Chinese table manners, for at a Chinese banquet +it is proper to stuff food into your companion's mouth, +no matter how full his stomach may be. + +Another way to offend the Chinese is to refuse a gift. + +But these are minor things. The surest method to +arouse the suspicion, dislike and animosity of China is +deliberately to keep your affairs shrouded in mystery. +Discuss your important business secrets in loud shouts; +no one will pay the slightest attention. But whisper +mysteriously in your friend's ear, and spies will attend +you! Leave a note-book filled with precious data +plainly in view upon your dressing-table, and your +room-boy won't for the life of him peek into it. Lock +that same note-book away in a dressing-table drawer, +and your room-boy will move heaven and earth to find +out what it's all about! + +The time of the day was mid-forenoon; the time of +the year was spring. The low, mournful voice of a +temple gong floated across the race of brown water. +River _fokies_, on sampans and junks, were singing their +old work song, the Yo-ho--hi-ho! of the ancient river, as +their naked, broad backs bent to the sweeps. A +pleasant breath of perspiring new earth was drifting down +the great stretch of yellow water on a light, warm wind. + +Peter had taken his favorite stand on the upper-boat +deck, where the wireless shack was situated, with +one hand wrapped loosely about a davit guy, the other +thoughtfully rattling a cluster of keys in his pocket. + +Spring is for youth, and Peter was young; yet he +did not reflect in any way the mood of the new season. +He felt gloomy and depressed. Life seemed an empty, +a dreary thing to Peter, because he could see himself +getting nowhere. + +In spite of the sweet candor of the young spring +day, one of the first sounds that came to his ears as he +stood there, in the shadow of the life-boat, was the +brazen clamor of a death cymbal. One of China's four +hundred millions had died in the night; now his spirit +was being escorted to the seventh heaven of his blessed +forefathers, by the death cymbal, clashing with a sober +din to drive the devils away from his late abode. + +The shadow of the life-boat was rather unaccountably +attenuated; Peter turned around and looked into the +bland, unsmiling face of Jen, a Chinese deck-boy. +Pig-tails were coming back in style again. About six inches +of wispy, purple-black braid extended downward from +Jen's white cap. His face was quite yellow, and his +eyes were green. An understandable light came and +flickered across their satiny surface as Peter looked +inquiringly into them. + +"Wanchee my?" he asked. + +The deck-boy took a cautious and all inclusive look +of the broad, gray deck, bending head to look past the +giant funnels, the first of which stood about twenty +feet forward of them. + +"Stay allatime on _King Asia_?" inquired the +Chinese, moiling his hands together and bowing slightly. + +Peter gave him a blue-eyed, indolent stare. + +"Maybe. Maybe not," he said. "What's on your mind, Jen?" + +"You tell me what going do," replied the yellow +one meaningly. "Can do?" + +"Mebbe can do," replied Peter, folding his hands. +"You run up to the place on Jen Kee Road as soon as +you catchee sampan. Tell man-man if I decide to do +anything I will drop in and tell him. You don't know, +Jen, but he knows that my word is good. If I decide to +go up-river I'll tell man-man. If I decide to do +nothing, I'll say nothing to man-man." + +"Allee light, allee light," said Jen, backing away a +few steps. "You tell man-man, eh?" + +As Peter watched the retreating skinny shoulders +bob up and down as they went away from him toward +the after ladder, he felt just a little more undecided than +he had five minutes earlier. He went into the wireless-room, +to straighten up the apparatus before locking the +door for the visit in Shanghai. + +As he was locking the tool-box--the Chinese river +thieves would steal anything they could lay hands +on--he heard his name called in a silvery voice accompanied +by a man's pleasant laugh, and he went out on deck to +find that Mr. Andover, with the twins in tow, was all +dressed up for a trip ashore. + +The twins and Anthony Andover were passengers, +bound on a sight-seeing trip through the East, and as +Peter Moore was a very impressionable young man, it +is only natural that the twins be discussed first, in +virtue of their loveliness. + +Peter had first contemplated Peggy and Helen +Whipple in the _King of Asia's_ dining-room. It would +have been a rather impossible thing not to see Peggy and +Helen Whipple, if you were young, and with fair eyesight. + +At the first dinner after leaving the Golden Gate +Peter had gone into the dining-room rather early, as +he skipped tiffin (by reason of an empty pocket) and +was ravenously hungry. + +He had looked up over his first spoonful of +mulligatawny à la Capron to meet the clear, undistilled, +brown-eyed gaze of Peggy Whipple, who had seated +herself at the captain's table. In that liquid, +brown-eyed gaze had lurked a sparkle of mischief, a slightly +arrogant look of inquisitive scrutiny, and perhaps a +playful invitation. + +As Peggy Whipple gave him that mischievous, liquid-brown +glance when he was in the act of lifting a level +soupspoonful to his lips, he did not, as a man might +do under the circumstances, spill the soup upon the +tablecloth, or back into the dish; nor did he pause in +the work of lifting the liquid to his mouth. + +He did not have to look at the spoon to guide its +passage to his mouth. Without spilling a drop, he +captained the spoon to its destination, maintaining his +clear, deep-blue eyes upon the beautiful brown ones of +the young passenger. And, without lowering his eyes +once, he lifted the loaded spoon up twice in succession. + +This skillful management brought a smile to the +pretty face of the girl. Perhaps she had expected him +to spill the soup under her glance; it was to be +expected; more than probably the thing had happened in +past episodes of Peggy, for she was distractingly fair +to look upon, and her turned-up nose should have +disarmed any man. + +Her hair was golden and sleek and drawn back +straight from her low, white forehead and knotted +together in the back, calling attention to a neck that was +slim and beautifully proportioned. Pink and white and +gold described her. She seemed to bristle with a sort +of fidgety energy, as if she had so much youth and +loveliness stored up in her that she had a tremendous time +keeping it all within bounds. + +After Peter had slowly, but not at all insolently or +impudently, taken all of this in, in the time required to +stow away three heaping spoonfuls of mulligatawny à +la Capron, by dead reckoning, she looked away from +him with a little pout. + +Peter followed her glance. He had not noticed the +other girl before. It was evident that they were of the +same blood, but the other girl seemed older. She, too, +had sprung from a brown-eyed ancestry, and she, too, +was blond and pink and lovely, with the prettiest +fingers and finger-nails Peter had seen for some time. + +Her glance, arising to meet his, was brown and very +calm; unlike her sister, she appeared to be grave, more +of the deliberate, thoughtful type. + +It was in the shop of a Japanese silk merchant on +Motomatchi Chome that he had met them for the first +time. Several times on the trip across he had passed +them on the deck, always escorted by proud young men. + +They were the most popular girls on shipboard. +Beauty rarely travels in pairs; these were unusual +twins. + +Once, as Peter was swinging down the ladder from +topside, he came upon Peggy alone, looking rather blue. +It may have been that she was simply in repose; and +the contrast gave him that impression. Her eyes +dreamingly encountered his, and the mischievous light +flickered in them and instantly went out. + +She ran her eyes down the white uniform with the +gold emblems of his profession at the lapels, dropped +her eyelids demurely, and seemed to wait. He hesitated, +and she stood still; but he passed on, leaving her +staring after him with a little pout. Obviously the +twins had traveled much! + + + + +CHAPTER II + +It was on the night that the _King of Asia_ cleared Nagasaki for the +short run across the Yellow Sea into the flow of the Yangtze-Kiang that +Peter was sought out by that pleasant young man, Anthony Andover. + +Ordinarily passengers were not allowed in the sacred quarters of the +wireless house. However, those who possessed daring spirits came up +anyway. Peggy Whipple came up there soon after that meeting on deck, +with permission from nobody, and Peter gave her about fifteen minutes +of his extremely important time on the average of nine times a day, +permitting her to adorn the extra chair in the wireless shack, where +she unconsciously revealed in her sudden and unexpected shiftings of +posture, several inches of adorable silken ankle. I think Peggy was +sadly in need of an elderly chaperone, and I am somehow under the +impression that Peggy very badly wanted Peter to make love to her. How +he resisted her speaks volumes for his quaint, mid-Victorian views +regarding woman. + +And at the end of the fifteen minutes, after regaling her with tales of +the lands she was about to visit, he dismissed her, kindly but with +great firmness, and she was as obedient as a lamb. + +Anthony Andover, who knew more about plows perhaps than the Egyptians, +gave him something else to think about. He looked up from his +instruments that evening to see a young man of medium height, slim of +build, and rather pale and sharp of mien. + +"My name is Anthony Andover," he said in a brisk and business-like +voice. "I wonder if I could have a talk with you." + +Peter told him to sit down, and he removed the heavy nickeled +head-pieces from his ears. He expected an important radio from the +Shanghai Station; but that could wait. He wondered what Anthony +Andover might have on his mind. + +"Mr. Moore, I'm in something of a devil of a fix, and I think you're +the man who can get me out of it." + +"Shoot," said Peter, lighting a yellow cigarette and passing the box. +"Chinks?" Trouble to Peter always meant Chinks; they were his symbol +of danger. + +"No, no! You see, all of my life I've been--well, a city man. The +biggest adventure I ever had was a fist fight with my foreman. Now----" + +"Did you lick him?" asked Peter with concern. + +Anthony nodded reminiscently. "Blacked his eyes and busted his nose!" + +"Good for you! Go ahead with your story." + +"I've met a girl on the steamer, and according to her way of looking at +things, I lack about five thousand different parts of being a hero. +You know the girl. That's why I'm bothering you like this." + +"Not bothering me a bit. Who's the girl?" + +"Peggy." Anthony caressed the word as if it were honey. "Peggy +Whipple. Of course, the first thing I want to make sure of is, am I +stepping on anybody's toes? If I am, I'll just go ahead, and play my +own game my own way. If it's to be a case of a fight----" + +"Hold on a moment," interrupted Peter. "I don't quite follow you. +Whose toes do you think you're stepping on?" + +"Well, Peggy comes up here to the wireless shack so much, that I--I----" + +"Oh, not a bit of it, old man. Peggy's a nice girl. I like her. +That's all." + +"I--I'm mighty glad," said Anthony earnestly. "You know, she's pretty +mad about you, but as long as you're not interested the way I am, +well----" He bit his lip nervously, and went on: "I think you'd agree +with me that it would be rather foolish of her, and very disappointing +and disillusioning later on for her to marry the kind of a man she +thinks she wants to marry. She has a notion that the man she marries +must be a cross between Adonis, and--and Diamond Dick! She wants a man +who carries six-shooters in all his pockets, and who fears neither God, +man, nor the devil!" + +"A regular hell buster!" + +"That's it! Down in her heart I think she cares for me a little bit. +But I'm nothing but a plain, ordinary business man. I never did +anything devilish in my life. There's nothing romantic about me. Look +at this necktie! Did you ever see a hero wearing a plain black +four-in-hand? Never! Did you ever see a hero wearing nice tan oxfords +without a spot of mud on them? If I can somehow manage to make her +think for a few minutes that I've got heroic stuff in me, she may +listen to a little sense. She tells me--rather she threw it in my +face--that you are going to take Helen and her on a sight-seeing trip +into some of the darkest holes in Shanghai. You know the ropes, and +there's no danger, of course." + +"None at all," said Peter. + +"Well, I want to know if you'll let me go along. I'll stand every +expense; I've got money to burn! Let me in on it, and----" + +"But there isn't going to be a chance for anybody to be a hero. I'm +going to take those girls to the safest place in Shanghai. A New +England church would be a cavern of iniquity alongside of it!" + +Anthony laid his fingers along his knees. + +"Well, couldn't you stir up something? That's my idea. I'll leave it +to you to crack up some danger, not real danger, of course--we can't +let those girls get near any real danger. But we can start a fake +fight--or something--and give me a chance to play the hero, to rescue +Peggy in my arms; that sort of stuff, you know." He looked at Peter +foolishly. + +Peter stroked his nose. "It might be done," he said. "I'll see what I +can do." + +Anthony arose, extended his hand, and said: "Of course, I'll need a +revolver." + +"Load it with blanks," advised Peter. "You know, some people think +it's bad luck to kill a Chink." + +Anthony was eyeing him curiously. "Do you?" he asked. + +Peter nodded his head slowly. "Sometimes," he said. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +Anthony and the twins called for Peter as soon as they could tear +themselves away from the many fascinating incidents attendant upon +coming to an anchorage in the Whang-poo-Kiang. + +It was late in the afternoon when the first company tug came down-river +from Shanghai for passengers. And it was nearly dusk, the golden-brown +evening of China, when they were decanted upon the public landing stage +at the International Concession. + +Anthony was for going directly to the Hotel Astor for dinner, but at +Peter's suggestion he and the twins boarded a street-car for the ride +to Bubbling Wells. + +Peter stood for a number of moments in indecision as the Bubbling Wells +tram went up the bund with the slow flood of victorias, rickshaws, and +wheelbarrows. It was now about seven o'clock, with the sun hidden +under a horizon of dull bronze. Street lights were coming on, +twinkling in a long silver serpent along the broad thoroughfare, rising +in a grotesque hump over the Soochow bridge, and becoming lost in the +American quarter. + +He would meet Anthony and the twins in the dining-room. Whoever got +there first would wait. He expected to be there long before his three +friends came back from Bubbling Wells. + +A rickshaw coolie was wheedling him at his elbow but he paid no +attention. His eyes were searching the street. It took him several +seconds to reconcile himself to the fleeting apparition. What was this +girl doing in Shanghai? + +The rickshaw had passed, proceeding at unabated speed in the direction +of Native City. + +The rickshaw boy was still making guttural sounds, softly plucking at +his sleeve. The shafts of the rickshaw were close to his feet. But +Peter was still undecided. + +"Allee right," said Peter, briskly. "French concession." + +That was the direction in which the other rickshaw was headed. + +He climbed aboard, and they veered out into the north-bound traffic. +The girl in the rickshaw was about one block in the lead, and had no +intention evidently of accelerating her coolie's pace or of turning +back. She had left all decision to him, and his decision was to ask +her a few questions. + +His coolie trotted heavily, looking neither to the right nor left, with +his pigtail snapping from side to side, as his head bent low. + +"Follow _lan-sî_ veil--savvy?" + +"My savvy," returned the coolie, heading toward the narrow alley of +filth and sputtering oil _dongs_, breathing the odor of refuse, of +cooking food. + +Peter's heart was beginning to respond to the excitement. Did she have +some message to convey to him that she could not trust to the openness +of the bund at the jetty? + +Suddenly the rickshaw ahead swerved sharply to the right into an alley +that was perfectly dark. Its single illumination was a pale-blue light +which burned before a low building set apart from the others at the far +end. + +Here the first rickshaw stopped. A ghostly figure seemed to float to +the ground. There was a clink of coins. A door opened, letting out a +wide shaft of orange light which spattered across the paving, +flattening itself against the grim wall of the building across the way. + +Peter caught the bronze glint of wires on the roof under a pale moon. + +He knocked sharply on the door, and stood to one side. It was a habit +he had learned from long experience--that trick of stepping to one side +when he knocked at a suspicious door. The door moved outward a few +inches. A long, yellow face, with a thick, projecting under lip, +peered out. Peter pushed the man aside and entered. + +He found himself in a low corridor of smoked wood, with fat candles +disposed along the walls at intervals of several yards, on a narrow, +lacquered rail. One of three doors was open. + +A match was struck, the head glowing in a semi-circle of sputtering +iridescence before the wood itself kindled. The hand holding the match +was trembling; the weak flame fluttered to such an extent that he was +denied momentarily a glimpse of the owner of the hand. + +A whisper was conveying an order to him. "Please shut the door, Mr. +Moore." + +He reached for the door and closed it firmly in the face of the man who +had let him into this place. + +When he turned, the trembling hand was applying the match flame to the +wick of an open lamp, a rather ornate _dong_. As the flame rose +higher, casting its steady, mild luminance, he caught a glitter of +metal, of polished rubber; one end of the room was almost filled with +machinery. + +"Romola Borria!" + +She seemed to have undergone a great change. The beautiful face that +had lured him once into the jaws of death was dominated now by a +wistful and tender sadness, as though this girl had gone through an +epoch of self-torture since they had last been together. + +Yet she was still beautiful; it was as if her beauty had been refined +in an intense fire. Her mouth was sad, her great brown eyes glowed +with an inexpressible sadness, and her face, once oval and proud, +seemed narrower, whiter, and, by many degrees, of a finer mold. + +She was examining him broodingly; there was a reluctant timidity in her +eyes; it was such a look as you may see years afterward in the woman +you once have cast aside for some other, perhaps not quite so worthy. + +"Well, you have found me, Peter," she said in a faint and tired voice, +coming slowly toward him. + +"Yes," he admitted, lamely: "I saw you passing the jetty. I +followed--naturally. I have just come from America." + +"Oh." Her voice expressed no surprise. "You came for me, Peter?" + +"I thought you were dead," he confessed. + +"Well, I am a hard one to kill!" A tiny smile flickered across her +fine lips. "You are not married--to Eileen?" + +"No--and never!" he said dully. + +"But you must be in love! You are always in love--with some one." + +"I am in love with no one." + +"Not even----" + +"I am in love with no one." + +"Nor am I," said Romola Borria quietly. It seemed to come from her as +a vast and reluctant confession. "I loved only one man, and my love +for him is quite dead. If I should rake over the embers--oh, but I +have raked them over, Peter, many, many times--and I have found not one +single small ember glowing! When love dies, you know, it requires a +great fire to rekindle it. Oh, I have suffered!" + +"He--is dead?" + +She smiled again, rather ironically. "Can a man live with a bullet in +his heart?" + +"I--I saw. I thought--but what does it matter what I thought?" He was +trying to inject some of his old spirit into his voice. It was rather +difficult, this business of laughing at the funeral of love. "Romola, +you are more beautiful!" + +"I have suffered," she said, in the same restrained voice. + +He turned away with a shrug. He, too, had suffered, but in a somewhat +different light. He was examining with a professional eye the heap of +apparatus which was arranged in splendid order along the back of the +small room. + +"I am studying. You see, Peter," she explained, in the same rather +recriminatory tones, "I was rather fond of you at one time----" + +"Romola, please----" + +"And because it was your profession I became interested in it. I heard +the message you sent last night--to--to the place on Jen Kee Road. I +was quite worried for a while." + +"That was why you happened along the bund about the time the boat came +up-river?" + +"Perhaps." She smiled vaguely. + +"You wanted to find out if I still cared enough for you to----" + +"Follow me? Yes, Peter; I think that was why." + +"Then you didn't know I was on my way to China?" + +"No, Peter, I knew nothing." + +"Aren't you connected with my good friend, the man with the sea-lion +mustaches, in Len Yang?" + +Romola gave a short gasp. "I never was connected with him." + +"But you told me you were--back there on the _Persian Gulf_!" + +She shook her head slowly, with a gentle firmness. + +"No. I did not tell you that. I have seen him; yes. But I was never +in his employ. It was Emiguel Borria, my late and--may I say?--my +unlamented husband, who made me do those things. Peter----" + +Her attitude seemed to undergo some sort of subtle change, as if she +were bitterly amused. "You say you are not in love. Then what of the +little golden-haired girl--the two little golden-haired girls--you left +this afternoon on the bund?" + +"They and the young man are passengers on the _King of Asia_. I +brought them ashore to give them an insight into China-as-it-really-is." + +"They are in very capable hands, then, Peter. Aren't you running some +risk, though? Isn't there some chance that the men in the Jen Kee Road +place may take it into their heads----" + +"I am on my word of honor, Romola. I have come back to China, not to +start trouble, but simply because--well, why are you in China?" + +"Because I haven't the will to leave, perhaps. I stay here in the same +spirit that a man or a woman lingers before a dreadful oil painting, +like the shark picture of Sorolla; it is terrible, but it is +fascinating. I cannot leave. If I did, I would come back, as you come +back, time after time. Is that why you've come back?" + +"Exactly." + +"And you imagine you're running no risk with the two golden-haired +maids in tow?" + +Peter shook his head thoughtfully. "Perhaps I shouldn't have exposed +them to danger. But they were determined, and it's partly to help the +young man. Anthony is a plain American business man. He's in love +with the youngest. And she, a hero worshipper. He wants to +demonstrate himself." + +She interrupted in a whisper. "Peter, tell me, why is it? What have +you ever done? What do you say? Why--why is it?" + +Peter the Brazen was looking at her blankly. + +She made a gesture of resignation with her beautiful white hands. + +"Well, never mind. Tell me more about Anthony." + +"Anthony believes that if he can demonstrate his valor to Peggy, she +will come to his arms. He really is a fine, upstanding fellow. I had +intended bringing them to Ching Tong's place out Bubbling Wells way, +harmless enough and watched by the police of nine nations. Ching Tong, +being a friend who will put himself out for me, will play the part of a +very bad villain. Anthony's revolver is loaded with blanks. Mine +isn't, but that's just my cowardly nature. You can never tell what +might turn up, you know." + +"Naturally. Go on." + +"I intend to have Ching Tong stage a very realistic fight down in his +cellar, in which Anthony can overpower eight or ten Chink giants, +escape out of the window with the fainting Peggy in his arms, +and--and----" + +"Simple enough," admitted Romola, with a mild frown. She drew him to a +broad, low bench. "Somehow," she went on, "your idea rather appeals to +me, too. I liked Anthony's looks--what I saw of him. And I rather +liked the two little girls--twins, aren't they?" + +Peter nodded. "The heavenly twins!" + +"I think I'd quite agree with that plan, Peter, if you didn't happen to +be in such disrepute in this neighborhood. You must realize that the +Gray Dragon's men are watching you. Of course, you didn't recognize +your rickshaw coolie. He is one of the Gray Dragon's men--naturally. +Don't you think you are exposing those two nice girls unnecessarily to +danger?" + +Peter lighted two cigarettes, and passed one of them to Romola. She +accepted it with an air of abstraction and puffed slowly, blowing out a +thin stream of pale smoke. + +"But circumstances are changed now. You see, I am on the +fence--perfectly safe." + +"They are still anxious for you to come with them?" + +"That's it. They sent a representative last trip all the way to San +Francisco." + +"Of course you refused? Peter----" Her soft, white hand was resting +on his; her red lips were very close to his face. "Why don't you join +them? You and I!" + +"You and I?" + +She nodded earnestly. + +Peter drew back a few inches. "I said 'no' when you asked me that +before. No, I'll have nothing to do with that band--never! Going out +into the wilderness, up into the mountains on some of their risky +errands--with you--might have appealed to me. Not now!" + +"Peter, I am afraid I still love you!" + +"And yet, Romola, I'm not afraid of falling in love with you--again! +But let's not speak of joining that man in Len Yang. What you're +offering is--too tempting. I might give in! You are altogether too +fascinating!" + +"Am I?" + +"I've told you that before." + +"Then you will go up-river with me?" + +"No--never! Why, you almost make me suspect that you're still in that +beast's employ." + +"I never was. I told you that." + +"You've said many things that didn't stand the acid, Romola." + +He stood up, looking down at her with whimsical tenderness. She was +very beautiful, and when she took on that forlorn air she had the +appearance of a helpless, small girl. He wondered if he would ever +regret his refusal. + +"Ching Tong must have time to make arrangements, and I have a dinner +engagement at the Astor House with Anthony and the heavenly twins. +Can't you and I have tea to-morrow afternoon?" + +Romola came to him and put her two hands on his shoulders. "No," she +said. "We must not be seen together. It may mean danger for you. +I've been thinking over your plan to convert Anthony into an +adventurer. Why not bring them all here. I have seven servants, all +Chinese, and they would give their lives for me. Let me see----" She +bit her upper lip thoughtfully. + +"You can tell them that this place is--well, the heart of the Chinese +smuggling trade. It's ridiculous, but it will appeal to them. I will +dress up as a Chinese woman--oh, I've done it dozens of times in the +past--and I shall be very mysterious. That will seem much more +romantic to Peggy than a mere opium den. And it will be safer. I know +Ching Tong's shop. It might do, if you were an ordinary person, Peter, +but such an adventure should be provided with at least five times as +many exits! I have them here." + +Peter looked at her doubtingly, although the idea appealed to him. +Outriding his admiration of the idea, however, was a recurrence of his +old impression of Romola Borria. He knew that he never had been a +match for her cunning, her esoteric knowledge of China. + +"I have plenty of make-up pots. I'll paint up these _fokies_ to look +like bandits! I'll have knives in their belts. And I'll plan the +rehearsal before you come. Everything will be arranged." She seemed +to hesitate. "You--you won't bring that dreadful automatic revolver of +yours loaded--will you?" + +Peter smiled faintly. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +A light spring rain was drizzling down when Peter ordered four +rickshaws of the proud Sikh who stood guard over the porte cochère of +the Astor House. Long bright knives of light slithered across the wet +pavement from the sharp arc lights on the Soochow bridge. The ghostly +superstructure of a large and silent junk was thrown in silhouette +against the yellow glow of a watchman's shanty across the dark canal, +as it moved slowly in the current toward the Yellow Sea. + +It was a desolate night. The streets were deserted except for an +occasional rickshaw with some mysterious bundled passenger, the +footfalls of the coolies sounding with a faint squashing as of drenched +sandals, slimy with the heavy sludge of the back-village streets. The +world was lonely and awash. + +Peter busied himself with Peggy's comfort when the first rickshaw, +dripping and wet, rattled up. He drew the waterproof robe up under her +chin and fastened the loops, then tucked it in under her feet. Her +cheeks were glowing with the pink of her excitement. + +Anthony meanwhile gave similar attention to the other twin. + +Peter glanced at his watch as they climbed in. He wondered how Anthony +might be taking his first and relatively unimportant lap of their +adventure, and he instructed his coolie, in "pidgin," to drop behind. + +Clear gray eyes shone with a confident reassurance. + +"You mustn't hit too hard, and be careful if you shoot your revolver to +discharge it in the air. At close range even the wads from the blank +cartridges are rather deadly." + +Anthony's clear voice came across to him: "Of course." + +They stopped at length before the rambling structure which was the +abode of Romola Borria. The lamp was extinguished, probably beaten out +long before by the pelting rain. Only a pale glow emanated from the +place, this from a tiny upstairs window, covered over with oiled paper, +and the only sounds were the ceaseless drip of the rain and the low +gibberings of the coolies as they examined the coins given them in the +greasy light of the rickshaw lanterns. + +Peggy, slipping her arm through Peter's and hugging him close to her, +trembled with the excitement of anticipation. + +"We must not be separated," he warned them in a whisper. "Whatever +happens--Peggy and Helen--stand close to us. In case of trouble, each +of you stand behind whichever of us is nearest. Don't scream. Don't +show any money. Peggy, put your pocketbook in your shirt-waist. +Now--ready?" + +"Yes!" came the threefold whispering chorus. + +He raised his knuckles, and brought them down sharply--three times +rapidly, twice slowly. Silence followed, the bristling silence of an +aroused house. + +Slowly the door gave way, and a villainous-looking old Chinese in black +beckoned with a long snake-like finger for them to enter. + +Only two candles now were burning on the lacquered rail in the smoky +corridor. Curtains at the rear parted; there was a sweep of heavy +silken garments, and a white-faced and beautiful woman made her way +toward them. + +Deft employment of the make-up pot and painstaking searchings through a +great number of trunks had blended a picture that was all but +melodramatic. + +Romola Borria's wonderful dark hair was arranged in a great heap which +sloped backward from her head. Her face was chalk white, from a bath +in rice powder; her fine lips were curled in the most sinister of +smiles; and her eyes glowed with a splendid abandon. She looked +wicked; she radiated cruelty. + +And the twins gasped in sweet horror. It is probable that twin +trickles of icy excitement chased up and down their twin spines. +Anthony gaped, and his gray eyes expressed an unbounded infatuation. + +With a gracious stealth she moved beyond them, not once lowering her +magnificent eyes, and shot a huge brass bolt in the door. + +They formed an expectant, a worshipful semicircle. In a low voice +Peter made the introductions, dwelling at fastidious length upon the +tremendous villainy of this slender sorceress, who swept him all the +time with a proud and disdainful fire. She nodded stiffly at intervals. + +"The Princess Meng Da Tlang has a word to say to you." He bowed +profoundly. + +"It is only this," said Romola Borria in tones as rich as the Kyoto +temple gong, "what you have thus far seen, and what you are about to +gaze upon, must always--forever--remain a secret within your hearts. +Follow me." Romola, or the Princess Meng Da Tlang, floated down the +dim corridor with a further silken rustle of skirts, and drew back the +curtain at the far end. + +The quartette filed into a large and lofty room, flickering under the +pallid flames of candles. The wax dripping from some of these hung +like icicles or stalactites from the shallow bronze cups, and they +illuminated a scene that was bizarre. + +The walls were burdened with heavy rugs which responded with a waxen +sheen to the mystic light of the candles, and they were of the sombre +hues of the China that passed its zenith many centuries ago. They +served to give this place a solemn air of vast dignity and richness. + +Along the inner wall, placed so that it squarely commanded the doorway, +grinned a huge green image of Buddha, surrounded by a clutter of brass +candlesticks and mounted on a splendid throne of brass filigree +underneath which red flames were burning. + +The odor of costly incense was heavy and sweet, the smoke from a +brazier arising in a thin, motionless blue spar which, when it had +climbed up through the air for a distance of about four feet, broke +into a sort of turquoise fan and this drifted on up to the ceiling in +heavy wisps. The incense pot was very old, of black lacquer and brass, +greened with blotches of erosion. + +And above the green image of Buddha, before which the Princess Meng Da +Tlang was now kneeling and moaning in a faint voice, reposed a very +realistic skull and cross-bones. Across the forehead of this hideous +reminder of the hereafter was a deep green notch, attesting in all +probability to the cause of the luckless owner's death. + +"Please be seated--there," Romola requested. + +Her graceful, ivory-white arm indicated with a queenly gesture a +heavily carved ebony bench, and her guests filed expectantly to this +seat. + +Peggy, with a long sigh, dragged Peter into the corner. "I'm almost +scared. Oh, oh, isn't this simply romantic!" she whispered. + +Helen and Anthony gravely occupied the space on the other side of them. +The Princess Meng Da Tlang was moving gracefully toward the doorway +through which they had entered. + +"I--I'm really a little afraid!" whispered Peggy, with her lips so +close to Peter's ear that he could feel her warm breath against his +neck. "Put your arms around me--please!" Peter slipped his arm behind +her and around her. He squeezed her. "Oh," sighed Peggy, "this is +grand!" + +Helen gave her a sidelong look of surprise. "Peggy, I think you're +hardly discreet." + +"Let me die while I'm happy!" grinned Peggy. She turned a wistful face +to Peter. "Did you ever put your arm around another woman before?" she +whispered. + +"Heaven forbid!" groaned Peter. "Don't I act like an amateur?" + +"No; you don't!" + +Romola was holding back the curtains while a troop of four men, muddy +and wet, as if from long travel, moved silently into the large room. + +"Mongolian smugglers," Peter whispered. + +The four large men crossed the room with dignified tread, depositing +four small bundles wrapped in blue silk at the altar of Buddha. Then +they removed straw-matting rainproofs which dangled from their broad +shoulders to their muddy sandals. They were garbed in black silk and +fastened at the belt of each was a kris, curved and flashing where the +golden candle light skimmed along the whetted steel. + +After depositing their slight burdens they bowed low before the altar, +muttered deep in their throats, arose and salaamed gravely, until the +four pigtails flapped on the heavy blue rug at Romola's bare feet. She +wore no sandals, which was probably the custom among pirate princesses. +When the men were gone, Romola drew back a rug which hung close to the +altar, revealing a small cupboard flush with the wall. Even Anthony +looked at the black door and the brass hasp with his gray eyes round in +wonder and interest. + +After disposing of the four silken parcels, Romola addressed them in a +mysterious voice: "Those packages contain gems; diamonds, rubies, +pearls from the Punjab, from Bengali, from Burma." + +"Can we see them?" pleaded Helen in rapt tones. + +"Aw, please!" inserted Peggy in an angelic whisper. + +Romola raised both of her hands as if in horror. "They would tempt +even a saint," she muttered. + +"Be careful," warned Peter, laying his lips to Peggy's pink ear, "the +princess has a terrible temper. She has been known to strangle a man +for less than that!" + +"I don't believe it!" retorted Peggy. "I think the princess is just +too sweet for anything." + +Romola gave Peter a look of indolent inquiry. She arose abruptly. + +"You must have some of my spiced wine. It is really delicious. +_P'êng-yu_ Moore, we won't bother the servants; won't you help me?" + +Peggy folded her hands demurely in her lap. "I hope it isn't +intoxicating," she murmured. + +Romola had moved graciously across the room, where in a bronze +jardinière protruded the dusty, slender necks of tall bottles. She +knelt before this. "Nearer," she whispered, as he followed suit. +"Peter, tell me----" + +"Yes, Romola?" + +"What does this little girl mean to you?" + +Peggy's clear voice sounded: "Peter, my throat is dusty!" + +"In a minute, Peggy," he called back. Lowering his voice again: "She's +merely a child. But why----" + +"Peter, I've gone to more trouble to-night than you realize, +perhaps----" + +"What do you want me to do?" + +"I want you to stop making love to that innocent child." + +The innocent child's sweet voice was clamoring again. "Peter, the +Sahara Desert is a flowing river compared with my throat!" + +"All right, Peggy; in a minute." + +"You said once that you--loved me." + +"I still stand by my guns. But I don't love any one now. You're a +temptress, Romola. Why, you are a princess! I never saw you more +beautiful than to-night!" + +"Peter, can't you realize what a dreary life I've led since that night +you ran away from me in Hong Kong? Won't you--for me--because I want +it--because I want _you_--reconsider, won't you stop, and think, +and----" + +"We're getting back to forbidden grounds, Romola." + +"Oh, God! I know, I know! But what is there left in my life? Why, +what is there left in yours? Perhaps you are the best operator on the +whole Pacific Ocean; you've had that reputation now--how long--five +years? But it is aimless! Where are you drifting? What will become +of you as the years pass? You must be nearly thirty now, Peter. I? I +am younger, but I have suffered more. The only happiness I have known +has been with you." + +Peggy's voice became petulant. "Peter, is that cork _awfully_ +obstinate?" + +"In a minute," he said absently. + +"Do you remember those wonderful days and evenings we spent together on +the Java Sea, on the old _Persian Gulf_? Do you remember those +evenings, Peter, under the moon and the Southern Cross?" + +"I remember a great deal of treachery!" + +"But there is to be no more treachery," she said passionately. "Think, +Peter, think! You are penniless--I have only a little money; it will +not last long. What follows? Do you know what happens to white women +when they are stranded, penniless, friendless, in this country?" She +shivered. "And it would be such a simple thing to do---to go with +me--to him. We would be together forever then--you and I! Tibet! The +Punjab! The merchant's trail into Bengal! You and I with our +caravan--in the blue foot-hills!" + +"I'm sorry," confessed Peter sadly. + +Romola hung her head with a bitter sigh. + +Peggy pitched her voice: "Smash the neck, Peter; I don't mind a little +broken glass!" + +Romola was pushing two silver cups along the floor to him. + +He spilled an amount of the sparkling golden liquid on the carpet, +where it formed a dark, round stain. With slightly unsteady hands he +conveyed the cups across the room, and Peggy, without another word, +following a rather vexed: "Thank you, m'lord," emptied the cup in a +single swallow. She licked her lips daintily, and her eyes were +sparkling. + +As Peter moved into the seat beside her, he saw the curtain over the +doorway slowly drawn back by an unseen hand. He looked smilingly +toward Romola, and her eyes were fixed on the moving curtain, her face +rigid in surprise and concern. The thing seemed to puzzle her. + +White metal flashed coldly. A lean hand and arm appeared, and a short, +fat knife, the haft sparkling with drops that resembled blood, was +projected into the room, point down, quivering, in the wood, not five +feet from Romola's lacquered bench! + + + + +CHAPTER V + +"Is this a part----" began Peter. + +"No, it is not." + +Romola's face seemed thin with her growing anxiety. Obviously the +tossed knife was not a part of the evening's performance. + +"A part of what?" Peggy was inquiring. + +"Oh, another joke of the Mongolian smugglers," he explained. + +There was a sudden and astounding explosion in the midst of them. The +flame of a revolver bathed the whole room in reddish-yellow for an +instant. Smoke was rising, the pungent, pale-blue, nitrous smoke of +so-called smokeless powder. Anthony Andover had arisen, had delivered +his shot at the waving curtain. + +Peter gave a grunt of disapproval. "Why did you do that----" + +"Look!" + +The candle directly above the curtains had flickered out; in fact, on +closer examination Peter discovered that the candle had been split in +crude halves, one of the white fragments lying on the rug not far from +the incense burner. This proved one point conclusively. Anthony +Andover had put real bullets, not blank cartridges, into the six +chambers of his revolver. He had reseated himself calmly beside Helen, +who was staring at him with eyes like pools. + +Peggy found her voice first. "Gracious! Why did you do that? It was +only in fun--that dagger, I mean. Why, you might have killed somebody!" + +Anthony shrugged his shoulders. "I'm not so sure about that." + +"This is really a most dangerous spot," added the Princess Meng Da +Tlang in a mysterious voice. But she was looking at Peter with +deliberate meaning. + +He accepted what he supposed was intended to be a cue, crossed to the +far side of the room, and approached the curtains prudently. He drew +the nearest one back inch by inch until the wall of the corridor was +given back to them blankly. So far it was quite empty. + +Dropping his hand leisurely into his coat-pocket, he sauntered into the +hall. As he dropped the curtains behind him, glancing swiftly up and +down the apparently deserted hallway, he heard the familiar sound again +of a gently closed door. + +The sound seemed to originate from the direction of the street. He +looked about for the old watchman, and he nearly stumbled over him in +the half-darkness as he approached. + +Peter struck a match, and a gasp of horror came from his lips. The man +was dead--stabbed! + +Was this killing a part of an elaborate plan? He would not have +permitted himself to walk with such apparent innocence into a snare if +he had not relied upon the word of that band. His experience had been +that their code was a peculiar one whose foundation was the word of +honor. For the first time that evening he began to regret a little his +arrogance in defying the request of their messenger to report his +intentions immediately upon landing to the men in the place on Jen Kee +Road. + +He dragged the body into the darkest corner, where he covered it with a +mat. + +Laboring above his keen anxiety regarding the intention of the band was +an eagerness to keep away from the two girls the sense of death, of +danger, which seemed to pervade this house. + +A way would have to be found to break through the line outside; perhaps +they would be compelled to wait for daylight. Again sliding the bolt +which had been pushed back by the last trespasser, Peter slowly paced +the length of the hall in the meditation of active and acute worry. He +was still undecided when he pulled back the rug which cloaked the +entrance into the large room. + +The room was in total darkness! + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +An eye, red like the play of fire about a distant volcano crater, +glowed a number of paces in front of him. But not a candle, of the +dozens that had been burning when he last went out of this room, was +now lighted. + +The scarlet glow he took to be the illumination under the altar of +Buddha. He heard a long sigh, a vague murmur of voices. + +"Light the candles," he ordered angrily. + +"What is the matter?" This was Anthony's voice; it sounded very drowsy. + +A tiny flame appeared as if suspended by an unseen cord and moved to +the candle rail. One wick glowed; another; then another. + +"Moore--Moore----" This was again the sleepy voice of Anthony. + +A garish, gray figure arose and stumbled into the candle-light. It was +Anthony. His eyes were half shut. He seemed desperately sleepy, and +gibbering as if in a dream. + +Peter turned savagely upon the girl. She seemed to cower away from +him, half lifting her hands as though in fear that he would strike her. + +"Romola! Damn you----" + +"Peter, I--I----" Her faint voice trickled off into a sigh of anguish. + +"Drugs?" he demanded. + +She shook her head anxiously. + +"No, no. I--I----" + +"What have you done to these people? What have you----" + +She lifted up her head imperiously. "You are forgetting----" she began. + +He had the fingers of her left hand between his, crushing them. She +dropped her head. Her fine lips were quivering. "What am I +forgetting?" + +Anthony had grasped his elbow. "It's not right, Moore; not right to +talk to the princess like this. She's really noble. She's fine!" + +"You're drunk, Anthony!" + +"No, no, no," he babbled. "Sleepy; that's all. Oh, that wine! +Perfectly fine! Makes you feel like climbing a moonbeam!" + +"So it appears. Where are the girls?" + +"Over here. Say--say, Moore, when does the fight start? I--I'm just +itching to get at somebody!" + +"You'll have your chance in a moment. And it isn't in fun. +Understand?" + +"Of course I understand! Isn't my gun loaded with bullets? Are we in +a trap?" + +"We are! And according to my calculations there's exactly one way out. +I think you and the girls will have no difficulty in breaking through. +Make a dash for it. Run for all you're worth!" + +"Hold on there," remonstrated Anthony, as his eyes lost a trifle of +their sleepy look. "What's to become of you? Going to make a break +for it, too?" + +Peter shook his head. "It's me they're after. I can look out for +myself, Anthony; this business isn't quite a novelty in my line. You +must get out--and get quick!" + +"And leave you behind? Not Anthony! I stick!" + +Anthony was flashing a length of highly polished gunmetal in his fist. + +Romola with a trembling hand was applying a taper to the other candles. +Peter, observing that the twins were, to all appearances, sound asleep, +approached her. + +She paused in her work, holding the taper above her head, so that its +gaunt rays flickered on his face. "Because you loved me so?" + +Her shoulders drooped, and her head rolled backward slightly, as though +she were very tired. She nipped her lower lip between pearl-white +teeth. + +"Because I love you so?" she repeated dully. + +"In some respects," he said bitterly, "you are like a certain snake in +India. You can't lock those damned snakes up! They can always find a +tiny hole, a slit in the cage, and--out they slip!" + +"Ah, Peter----" Romola dropped the taper to the bronze altar, where it +flickered a moment and went out. She fondled his reluctant hand +between cold fingers. Her face became utterly miserable, and there +were sparkling tears in her eyes. "My heart is your heart. I have +given my love to you. I would give my life for you!" + +He drew away from her slowly, turning his head to avoid the anguish in +her eyes. + +He went on briskly: "If my death is arranged for to-night----" + +He stopped to watch her. She was fumbling at her waist. A little +silver of light appeared. The thing was a slim stiletto. Her teeth +were clicking as she extended the handle toward him. Their eyes met. +In hers was shining a brute command. In his slowly came shock, +amazement. She placed her fingers slowly over her heart; her hand +slipped down and fell again at her side. + +"There!" she murmured. + +"Is--is my end so close?" he whispered. + +She nodded slowly. "You are in great danger. This may be your final +opportunity. See? I am offering no resistance. Why--why do you +hesitate?" + +With the tiny blade lying like a flame of pure silver across the palm +of his hand, Peter experienced a moment troubled and exceedingly +awkward. That threat, perhaps, was hardly more than the spilling out +of bitterness which she had created in him. + +In silence he handed the thing back to her almost furtively; and she +accepted it without removing her shining gaze from his. Somehow she +seemed to have come out victorious in a conflict that had had nothing +to do with knives, with broken promises. And with the restoration of +the dagger the spell seemed to be swept aside. + +Turning abruptly, with a slight straightening of his shoulders, he +walked away from her. + +Anthony was like a guardian angel, a statue gravely symbolic of +protection, standing over the golden heads, with the revolver dangling +from his hand and shooting out metallic gleams. Their eyes were +tightly closed; the twins were sleeping as if drugged. + +They heard a low, hushed scream. + +"Peter--_ni kan_!" + +Peter turned quickly, searching both entrances. At first he was +conscious of no intrusion. Then a yellow face, long, narrow, with a +stub of purple-black hair protruding behind, and which for a moment he +took to be a part of the curtain, slowly withdrew, arising +upward--vanishing! + +The phantom was not unlike the wisps of yellow smoke from a green-wood +fire, despatched by a lazy dawn wind. The face of Jen, the deck +steward! + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +Apparently Anthony had not observed this specter. + +Peter seized his arm, the left one. "We must start. Wake them up." + +Anthony shook a nervous negative. "I've tried. That wine!" + +"_Arracka_. Comes from Java. Tastes like May wine, and is stronger +than cognac." He was tilting Peggy's chin, shaking her head. No +response. He tried the same experiment with Helen, and begot identical +results. + +Romola Borria had vanished. + +Peter stepped out first, supporting his limp freight with his left arm, +and in his right brandishing a revolver. He hoped it wouldn't be +necessary and he was sure that underneath the splendid varnish of +Anthony's fine bravado larked the belief that this entire evening was +nothing more than an exciting romantic game. + +In the pinch, would Anthony react after the fashion of +heroes-to-the-manner-born, or would the sight and smell of blood, if it +Was written that blood be shed, unnerve him, make him out to be what he +was at heart, the secretary of a prosperous and peaceful plow company? + +On his part, Anthony was still babbling incoherently but earnestly, +impressing upon Peter the undeniable virtues of the golden wine. He +was not prepared, although the nickeled revolver still flashed in his +unoccupied hand, for the tumultuous event which was being shaped for +the two of them around the corner. + +They did not attain the outer door. Out of the drab recesses leaped +dusky shadows. There seemed to be a large number of jostling men; +perhaps only three or four were at hand by actual count; the +insufficient lighting and their shocking and determined appearance lent +them plurality. + +A sparkling flame roared from the hand of the foremost of these before +Peter could bring his hand out of his pocket. + +Anthony's nickeled revolver went off twice, from his hip, and the giant +faltered, going back shapelessly among the shadows from which he had +emerged. + +Peter's original scheme to hack a way through the line underwent hasty +revision. Escape would have to be made by different channels, and his +only choice was the device nearest at hand. It was a long chance, an +aimless one, perhaps, fraught with new, dangers and complications. But +he did not hesitate. + +Beating off a hand that pawed for his shoulder, he flung open the door +which faced the dwelling's entrance, and pushed the reluctant Anthony +inside. + +Peter locked the door, throwing a bench across it for temporary +barricade, then lit candles, wondering if any one would have had enough +foresight to disconnect the aerial wires. He dropped his burden to the +divan against the side wall, and examined Anthony, who had gone very +pale. He was shaking, and his gray eyes seemed to have climbed half +way out of his head. He propped Peggy tenderly beside her sister, and +laid an unsteady hand upon Peter's shoulder. He seemed to be fighting +down a very definite fear. + +Peter was backing toward the apparatus. "Watch the door. If any one +tries to break in, shoot straight at the sound! You're not hurt, are +you? Did that fellow get you?" + +Anthony shivered all over. "Christ!" he muttered. His lips were +white. "That man! I shot him! He's dead! Dead!" + +"And we are still alive," said Peter quietly. + +He sat down at the instrument table, fixed silvery disks to his ears, +twanged the detector wire and made a few quick alterations in +connections. Fortunately his inspection of the equipment earlier in +the day had given him a grasp of its arrangement. In an instant he had +the tuner adjusted, was listening, with those keen ears of his focussed +for the ethereal voices which might be abroad at this untimely hour. +Distant splashes of heat lightning occurred faintly, like the quivering +of sensitive metal. + +Casting a glance over his shoulder, to make sure that Anthony was +following instructions, he rearranged levers and lowered the heavy +switch which drew upon the storage batteries underneath the table. + +He tapped the large brass key experimentally. A hissing blue spark +lighted up the walls and his features in a ghostly glow. Tightening +the vibrator at the terminus of the rubber-covered coil, he spelled out +an inquiry in the International Code. Any station within hearing would +answer that call. + +He wondered if the Shanghai station was closed up for the night, or if +by any chance his assistant on the _King of Asia_ would be on the job. + +Peter waited for several anxious moments, with no sound in the +telephones other than the faint spattering of the lightning down the +coast. Then his inquiry was given a response, startlingly harsh and +close. + +The station might have been across the street, the signals were beating +in his ears so loudly. The operator was having some difficulty +adjusting his spark; it was rough, ragged, like the drumming of +hailstones on a metal roof. + +A series of test letters followed, exasperatingly slow. +"V--V--V--V---- What station is that? This is the _Madrusa_." + +Peter hesitated, although interference was unlikely. He felt +tremendously relieved. The _Madrusa's_ rough spark meant more to him +than help close by. He knew the _Madrusa_ well; a gray, swift gunboat, +lying close to the water, whose purpose was to sweep the lower +Whang-poo and Yangtze clear of pirates. She could spit streams of +bullets for hours without let-up. And the knowledge of her closeness +to this death-trap keyed him up, not entirely because she was manned by +British sailors who would rather fight than eat. His hand reached out +for the key. + +"Who is on watch? This is Peter Moore. That you, Johnny Driggs?" + +If the man at the _Madrusa's_ key did happen to be Jonathan Driggs, he +could afford to breathe more easily. Driggs was another man who had +found in China the irresistible attraction, and who for some years had +sat behind the radio machines of many ships that plied these yellow +waters. + +"Yes! Yes! Yes!" roared the _Madrusa's_ spark. "Where are you? What +are you doing up at this time of night playing with a baby coil?" + +For the next three minutes the spitting blue spark flared and jumped as +Peter spelled out his plight. He sketched their predicament by +abbreviated code, and he impressed upon his friend the necessity for +utter secrecy, hoping that the night had no other ears. + +"Damn it!" replied the quick fingers of the gunboat's operator. "Damn +it! But I can't get shore leave! Impossible--you can guess why! Our +gunnery officer, Lieutenant Milton Raynard, is jumping to go! He'll +fetch you five or six sailors. He knows the lay of the land, and I've +sketched him a map of the locality from your description. Cinch! +They'll be off at once, soon as they can get the engine started in the +launch. Don't give up the ship, old boy! Don't----" + +Peter dropped the receiver, walked over to the divan and endeavored to +awaken the girls, slapping their hands, shaking them. They did not +appear to be drugged. Evidently they had underestimated the power of +the smooth, yellow _arracka_. Faint color glowed in their cheeks, and +under the treatment Peggy slowly opened one very sleepy brown eye. + +It drooped again. She muttered something that was not intelligible. +It had something to do with a princess, and even that word was +indistinct. + +Anthony lifted a cautioning hand. "Some one's outside," he whispered. +Slowly, as they watched it, the knob described a single revolution. +Anthony lifted his revolver. "Who is there?" + +"Let me in!" It was Romola Borria. + +"Open the door," said Peter quietly, stepping aside. + +Anthony removed the bench, twisted the key. + +"You must not go with them," Romola whispered. + +"Shut the door--put the bench back," directed Peter. He followed +Romola across the room. + +Evidently she had read the spark. "Let these people go--yes! But you +remain. You will--or won't you?" + +Peter looked skeptical. "Why should I? I've decided that life is +pretty sweet, after all! Why haven't Jen and his gang broken in here? +Why is he waiting? Have you told him help is coming?" + +She shrugged impatiently. "I have not seen Jen. I have talked with no +one." + +"Then you will stay in this room until we leave?" + +"But why did you send for them? It was foolish! How will you explain?" + +"They are friends. Such men ask no questions." + +"But there was no need!" She made a despairing gesture with her hands. +"Your friends could have gone safely. Jen has no interest in--_them_!" + +Peter nodded indifferently. "But my ship sails." + +"Very good. But you must not leave this house until sunrise." + +"When the sailors come from the _Madrusa_ I shall walk out of here----" + +"And into the arms of death, Peter!" + +Peter lighted a cigarette and puffed thoughtfully in silence. Romola's +gaze was upon his lips, as though the next words he would utter meant +to her the difference between life and death. + +And what he might have said was forestalled by a heavy battering at the +outer door. These deep vibrations seemed on the sudden to stir Peggy +out of her sleep. She sat upright, digging fists into tired eyes. + +"Gracious! Where's everybody?" + +The hammering ceased, and a high-pitched crash followed an instant of +hush. + +"The men from the _Madrusa_!" cried Anthony. He dragged the bench +away; flung the door open with a grand gesture. + +And into the room strode a blandly smiling Chinese, magnificent in gold +and blue and red. He was flanked by three large and watchful coolies, +armed with clubs. + +"Mr. Moore; I am the man from the Jen Kee Road place!" He radiated a +splendid calm. + +Peggy cowered against her sister, with a look of sleepy mystification, +while Anthony, glancing to Peter for command, was fingering his +revolver in anxious indecision. Already one of the coolies was sidling +toward him. + +"You were a deck coolie this morning," Peter replied. + +The Chinese took a step toward him. Peter felt Romola cringe at his +side. He wondered at this. + +"Shall we wait until sunrise, or----" + +A sudden babble of men's voices on the other side of the partition +checked the Chinese, while a look of misunderstanding came over his +bland countenance. + +"Moore! Moore! Where are you?" These were the rich tones of a man +accustomed to command. + +And instantly the small room seemed to be overflowing with the white +and blue of uniforms. + +Peggy stood straight up with a wondering gasp. Confronting her was a +tall and handsome youth with the gold-and-black epaulets of his +majesty's service at the shoulder-straps of his splendid white uniform. +A cutlass in a nickeled case hung from a polished leather belt, and +depending from it also was an empty leather holster. Gripped +threateningly in his right hand was a blue revolver. + +The shrill voice of the man from the Jen Kee Road place rose sharply +above the momentary tumult. + +In this quick confusion a pale, obnoxious odor, like opium fresh from +the poppy, yet with the savor of almonds, flooded Peter's throat. He +was vaguely aware of a fumbling in his coat-pocket. Explosions sounded +as from afar and a vast redness settled down and encompassed the world. + +The interval of dark was surprisingly short-lived. Swimming in and out +of his distorted vision was a face. He was conscious for a while of no +other impression. The face reeled, came closer--danced away from him! +Bright eyes sparkled, leaped, and hung motionless. + +He inhaled a new perfume, deliciously like flowers in a summer meadow. +It injected fresh life into him. His hands found power, and he +clutched at a soft wrist. The owner of this face was talking eagerly. + +"We are alone--alone!" + +With great effort he found he could incline his head a little. He was +struggling. Hot vapors clogged his brain. Where were the girls, +Anthony, the young lieutenant from the _Madrusa_? + +"Where are they?" + +"Safe." + +He could recognize the features now distinctly; yet they stirred up in +him no longer a feeling of repugnance, but a vague longing. + +"Romola!" + +"Yes, Peter. You are feeling stronger?" + +"What am I doing here? What is this place?" + +"We are in the cellar." + +It was very dim, with an odor of moldy dampness. The rock foundation, +the walls, and floor were perspiring whitely. + +Peter's brain became clogged again. The voice came to him softly but +quite distinctly, with each word clear and emphatic: + +"He is waiting outside. They will not dare come into my house again!" + +"I am dizzy. Who will not dare? Who is outside?" he demanded feebly. + +"The man from the Jen Kee Road place. He is waiting outside that +window. No, No! He cannot see. It is covered with silk." + +Peter fell back against the arm. "What does he want?" + +"Your answer. I told him to wait. I promised him; I will hold the +candle to the window." + +"But I am dizzy," he groaned. "I do not understand." + +"Once--means 'yes.' Twice--means 'no.'" + +He delivered every ounce of his mental energy against the drug in his +brain; it was like struggling against the tide. "Once--means 'yes?' +Twice--means 'no?'" The meaning suddenly became clear to him. "The +up-river trip?" + +She nodded slowly, anxiously. "And twice--means death, also, Peter!" + +He tried to drag himself erect, tried to twist his head, and he sank +back with a bitter groan. "You drugged me!" + +"There was no other way. I could not let you go into the night--into +death!" + +A bitter smile came to his white lips. "I am quite powerless?" + +"I--I am afraid you are, Peter." + +"If I decide yes--or if I decide no--how can I defend myself?" + +"You are quite helpless," she confessed in a whisper. "No. You cannot +defend yourself." Her expression showed an inward struggle. "You are +in my hands. You are in my arms! Yes! What have you to say?" + +The smile of bitterness came and flickered again over his pale lips. +He tried to throw back his head, but the redness was settling down upon +him again. "What shall I say?" he muttered. "I say--two lights! I +say--no! _No_!" + +The fingers at his neck were icy. Gently he was lowered to the +pavement. + +Romola had taken the candle down from the rafter, and she went swiftly +to the tiny window. She raised her hand, once, then pinched out the +flame between her fingers. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +Foggy consciousness. A roaring like that of the ocean on a rockbound +coast. He seemed to be floating in a medium of ice. Once his dragging +arm scraped a wet, slippery timber. The journey seemed to be taking +him down--down--into the earth, and slowly he began to rise. + +Gradually he became aware of innumerable pinpoints of light in a shield +of purple darkness. These might have been stars, or the lights of a +great city. Next he heard the low gurgle of water, as of a stream +splashing through wilderness. + +He felt very faint, but the vapor clouds in his brain were beginning to +clear away. Next he was badly shaken up, yet he was conscious of no +pain. Remorseful eyes stared into his from the face of a candle-white +spectre, and in the background a tall, half-naked giant swayed from +side to side in a pink glow. + +Where, then, were Jen and his Chinese? + +He vaguely sensed the dawn; it came to him as an old experience, a sort +of groping memory out of a gloriously romantic past. And the swaying +giant he decided in a moment of rare clarity to be a sampan coolie. + +The pink glow increased, became pale yellow, while a deep blueness +figured in it. A swollen sun came and paved a bloody path across a +lake of roiled brown, and the water hissed with a white foam. + +His jaws were aching; a queer emptiness in his chest caused him long +and perplexing speculation. There were shouting voices aloft, and a +gleaming black wall slowly took form above him. He made out the +pointed heads of rivets. + +"Are you awake?" The voice, low and sibilant, emerged from the +candle-white face. + +He had been dreaming, too, during this fantastic journey. Once he had +plainly distinguished a field of waving corn. He seemed to be back in +California. + +"Eileen," he murmured, surprised at the feebleness of his voice. + +"No, no," came the reply. "It is Romola. I--I am leaving you!" + +"Ah! Where is Jen?" + +Bellowing inquiry came down to them: "Who is that? What do you want?" + +The girl called back: "The wireless operator. He is sick. Drop the +ladder. Send down some one to carry him." + +The sampan was swinging about, and the coolie was paddling like mad. + +"River boat--for Ching-Fu?" Peter gasped. + +"No. The _King of Asia_. Peter--can you understand? I am leaving +you! This is good-by! I--I--we will never see each other again. I--I +couldn't turn you over to that man!" + +"But the candle----" Peter was miserably confused. "You raised +it--once! I said no!" + +Romola seemed to become rather hysterical. "I tricked them, Peter! +Oh, won't you understand? I do love you, Peter! I couldn't give you +to them!" + +"No," he muttered; "I don't understand. I--I'm dizzy." + +The voice was bellowing again. + +"Is that Peter Moore? What's happened to him?" + +"He's sick--sick! Send down a watchman. Hurry! This tide is carrying +us away!" + +Something bounded into the sampan. A brown coil was flattened against +the gleaming black wall. + +But Peter could not understand. He was back again in the cellar under +Romola's house, mumbling insanely about a candle-light. Perhaps he +dreamed that hot lips were pressed lingeringly against his own. Over +and over he heard a fading voice; it was saying: "Good-by!--_Ch'ing_!" + +The glaring sun was in his face. He shut his eyes. The lips seemed to +be torn from his in a cry of anguish. Strong arms encircled his waist, +and he was no longer aware of the motion of the sampan. + + +It was late in the day when Peter opened his eyes again, closed them, +and stared at the mattress and springs of a bunk over his head. He was +lying on his back in his stateroom. Smoky afternoon sunlight, +reflected from a shimmering surface, sparkled and bubbled against the +white enameled wall. + +His head was aching a little, and there were numerous jumping pains in +various parts of his body. He had been dreaming. All of these things +that had come and gone with the fading of the night were figments of a +slumbering brain. The last portion of the dream which he could +visualize distinctly was his act of arising from a wireless machine in +a house that had gone mad, to confront a tall Chinese who wore a +ridiculously stubby pigtail, like that of Jen, the deck-steward. + +He sat up, governed by a sudden worry. Where were the Whipple girls +and Anthony? What had become of that dashing British lieutenant, +Milton Raynard? + +Peter arose hastily from bed, and examined a pale and gaunt countenance +in the small mirror above the wash-stand. Dark lines had come under +his eyes, and the deep-blue pupils seemed to kindle with a peculiar +brilliancy. He had seen that look in other eyes, and another fragment +of the dream came back to him. He licked his dry lips, tasting a +flavor not unlike that of opium fresh from the poppy, and of almonds. + +He filled the wash-basin with cold water, took a long breath, and +immersed his face for a half minute. Gasping, he came out of it with +pink starting into his cheeks, and his mental faculties somewhat better +organized. + +When he emerged from his stateroom, attired in a fresh white uniform, +with his gold-and-white cap set at a jaunty angle on his head, he +looked like a different man. His skin was glowing, and a youthful +heart was sending recuperative tingles all over his body. + +Peter took a turn about the promenade deck in search of Anthony, and +was hailed by his room-boy, who had some mail for him. + +He dropped these missives absently into his pocket, made further +inquiries, and learned that Anthony and the Misses Whipple had come to +the steamer shortly before sunrise in the launch belonging to the river +gunboat _Madrusa_. + +Then he knocked at Anthony's door. A tired snore, emanating from the +transom, broke into a sleepy complaint. + +The door opened; Anthony stared at him as if in the presence of a +ghost. "Great Scott! I thought you were dead!" He rubbed his eyes to +accelerate wakefulness. + +Peter chuckled. "What happened? Both girls safe?" + +"How did you get here alive?" + +"I came down by sampan. The princess detained me." + +Anthony shivered. "We thought you were with us. Somebody put out all +the lights!" He shivered again. "Raynard wanted to go back--so did I. +We didn't dare! The girls, you know." He dropped his head, as if +ashamed. + +"How is Peggy?" + +Anthony frowned, hesitated. "Peter, she--she thinks you're a quitter! +She thinks you ran away at the big moment!" + +Peter grinned. "That can be cleared up. Did you enjoy--the game? Did +you succeed? That's all I'm worrying about." + +Anthony looked at him suspiciously. "That was not a put-up job. +Why--I shot a man!" He became anxious. "Will there be a row?" + +"Not a bit--if you keep your mouth shut." + +"Oh, I'll do that! But that dead Chink! Ugh!" + +"Forget him," advised Peter cheerfully. "I still don't know what Peggy +had to say." + +"What do you mean?" Anthony gave him a blank stare. + +"Does she think----" + +A light of understanding came into Anthony's clear gray eyes. "Oh, I +made a little mistake," he confessed weakly. "It--it isn't Peggy; it's +Helen! We're engaged! You see, Helen is such a--a quiet and reserved +sort of girl. Just my kind! Peggy--well, you know, I decided she was +a little too--too wild!" + +A long, low gray launch was chugging alongside when Peter made his way +back to the promenade-deck. At the upper extremity of the +companion-ladder which reached down to the river's surface was standing +a slim and youthful figure in blue, with wisps of golden hair flying +about in the soft spring breeze. + +She leaned anxiously and expectantly over the rail as a tall and +commanding young man in the white uniform of his majesty's naval +service climbed up eagerly toward her. The young officer leaped +gracefully over the rail, seized both hands of the girl, and his eyes +were shining. + +Peter's deep-blue eyes unaccountably took on an expression of moist +sadness; yet he was grinning. + +He climbed up to the boat-deck, unlocked the wireless room, and for the +first time recalled the mail in his hip-pocket. Leisurely he scanned +the post-cards first, highly colored ones, which had been forwarded +from the San Francisco Marconi office, emanating from friends scattered +in many parts of the world. One was from Alaska; another from +Calcutta, India, from that splendid fellow, Captain Bobbie MacLaurin. + +He opened the letter, and his eyes fell upon familiar handwriting. He +suddenly felt shocked; the sentences began swimming. The letter was +from Eileen, dated Nanking. Words stood out whimsically, like thoughts +assailing a tired brain, clamoring for recognition. + + +... You are the stubbornest man! ... Do you imagine I ever cared for +that puppy? Why, Peter--why didn't you wait? I'd have scratched his +eyes out! Of course, he kissed me! But the point is, my dear, I +didn't realize until it was all over.... I suppose I should have +jumped into the ocean when you left me so angrily. But I didn't. I +came to China on the _Empress of Japan_. I am now at the Bridge Hotel, +in Nanking, on my way to Ching-Fu, where you may find me. Just to show +you that I can have adventures, too! + + +"Great guns!" said Peter. He wondered if he could catch the Nanking +express; there was a Chinese steamer leaving Nanking for up-river +to-morrow noon. + +There was a humble voice at his elbow. A deck-boy was grinning +dreamily at him; a queer flicker darted across his green eyes, vanished. + +"Jen!" exclaimed Peter, glimpsing an abbreviated pigtail. + +"Aie!" said the deck-boy. + +"The man from the Jen Kee Road place!" + +The deck-steward seemed puzzled. "My no savvy," he said. His look +became dreamy again, reminiscent. + +"But you can speak English as well as 'pidgin,'" declared Peter, +frowning. "You did last night!" + +"My savvy 'pidgin,'" said Jen brightly. "China allatime funny place! +China no can savvy allatime funny people! Funny!" + +"What's that?" snapped Peter. He was baffled and angry. Had Jen +played the leading part in the mysterious and grim comedy of last +night, or was he only a work coolie, a deck-steward, harmless, +innocuous, babbling happily in his limited knowledge of a strange +language? + +The deck-boy was pointing up-river with a long, yellow finger. + +Peter stared. And he saw nothing, nothing but a great red sun with its +lower half enveloped in a glowing pool of green and red smoke into +which arose the black spars of ships from all over the world. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +The sky was clearing. Rain had ceased dripping from the bulging black +clouds, and a slender rod of golden sunlight pierced through and marked +a path upon the red bricks of the inn courtyard. Hazy in the +green-and-purple distance could be glimpsed the yellow withers of the +western range. Cooking smells, the sour odor of fish-and-rice chow, +were wafted from the braziers of village housewives. + +Peter loafed against a spruce post, and moodily contemplated the +stamping animals in the enclosure. His hat was in his hand, and the +mountain breeze assailed his blond hair, which, rumpled and curly, gave +him something of the appearance of a satyr at ease. He was worried. +He had, an hour before, come to Ching-Fu from the boat; and Eileen had +left Ching-Fu for a trip to Kialang-Hien, a village of the third order +some fifty _li_ distant, the morning before. Whether to follow or wait +was the question. + +Somewhere afield a valiant bronze gong called infidels to the feet of +an insufferable clay god. + +Peter's flow of thought was interrupted. Unnoticed a girl--at first +glance the virtuous daughter of a mandarin--was approaching. Her +abruptness and her appearance caught him so completely off guard that +he held his breath and stared at her rather wildly. And she in turn, +as if fascinated, stared back as wildly at him. + +His first guess was inaccurate. She was no mandarin's daughter, this +one. She was young and exquisitely slim, with wisdom and sadness +written upon her colorless face, and he was informed by a single glance +at her exploring bright eyes and the straightness of her fine black +brows, that she was half-breed, Eurasian. + +Those shining eyes, not unlike twin jade beads, were sparkling. Her +lips were thin and as red as betel. Her garb was satin, bright with +gold filigree and flashing gems; and her dainty feet were disfigured +rather than adorned by bright-red sandals. Her feet, however, were not +the "feet of the lily," for the lithe grace of her stride was ample +proof that they had not been bound. + +The dying sun outlined through the folds of her bizarre garment ankles +straight, slender, and probably naked. + +Rosy color moved swiftly into her satiny complexion while, with a +pretty, inquisitive frown, she scrutinized him; and then, with a flick +of her black eyelashes, she ran toward the arched doorway, leaving +Peter to ponder, and scratch his blond head, and demand amazing +explanations of himself. + +It was a dominating trait in Peter never to lose time securing +information that was interesting to him; but the old proprietor, with +his wise and varnished smile, could vouchsafe very little of +consequence. + +The young woman, he admitted, was named Naradia. She was accompanied +by her husband, a young Chinese of high birth, who manifested no more +signs of activity to an outward world than a baffling secretness. + +The two of them had arrived from down-river on a sailing junk the week +before. The husband's name was Meng, he believed, and since he had +come, the old man declared, many strange and warlike faces had +mysteriously appeared in Ching-Fu. + +Such visitors were not uncommon in the villages which bordered the +merchants' trail, from the Yangtze to the Irriwaddi, but Peter's +interest was kindled. As he made off in the direction of the most +reliable village mule-seller, he decided that the secretive young +bridegroom, Meng, might be worth cultivating. + +From a soft-tongued and hardened swindler Peter procured a mule, and +arranged to have the animal in the caravansary at daybreak. It was his +intention to start for Kialang in search of Eileen with the first +tender glow of dawn. + +After dining he waited in the compound for a glimpse of the mysterious +Meng, or his ravishing bride, Naradia. Unsuccessful, he returned to +his room. His Chinese valet was brewing jasmin-tea when Peter opened +and shut the bedroom door. His pajamas were neatly laid out upon his +couch, and the rugs were neatly furled back. He detected the acrid and +pleasing odor of incense as he crossed the room. + +The boy glanced up meekly from the charcoal brazier. "Wanchee tea now?" + +"Yes." Peter slipped out of his tunic. + +The boy dropped on his knees to unlace Peter's boots. + +Peter lighted a cigarette, stretched himself out upon the rugs, and the +boy brought him a steaming cup. + +"Wake me--daylight--sure," cautioned Peter, lifting the cup. + +"_Tsao_," murmured the boy. + +When the boy was gone Peter removed the automatic from his raincoat +pocket. The metal glittered pleasantly in the yellow light from the +suspended lamp. The cup of tea had served to waken him. He released +the cartridge clip from the automatic's handle and stared thoughtfully +at the glowing lead balls. + +He became conscious of a sound, alien and untimely. The door was +rattling softly. He studied it with interest; the wooden handle was +turning slowly, first to the right, then to the left. + +The phenomenon puzzled him. His eyes were sparkling a little as he +quietly restored the clip of cartridges. + +Creeping to the hinged side of the door, he waited, breathing silently. + +With a squeak the door swung in quickly. A lean, yellow hand, gripping +a nickel-plated pistol, was thrust inside. + +Peter shot three times directly through the wood panel. + +The white pistol thudded to the planks, while the yellow hand seemed to +be jerked backward by an electric force. Soft footsteps retreated. +Peter jerked open the door and stepped out. + +The corridor was empty. Some few feet toward the stairway an oiled +wick, jutting from a tiny bronze cup which was bracketed to a +scantling, burned and sputtered. + +Under the door across the way a thin streak of yellow light indicated +that the mysterious young Chinese and his bride had not yet retired. + +As Peter was examining the floor for blood stains the door budged +inward sufficiently to panel the terrified face of the Eurasian girl he +had seen earlier in the evening. At sight of him she shut the door +hastily. + +Perplexed, he went to the stairway and peered into the stark blankness +which swam up to the third step below him. He was at a loss to account +for the air of serenity which still dwelt in the inn. Surely the three +revolver shots had been overheard; yet the place was as silent as the +grave, and quite as ominous. Where were the servants, the caravan +boys, the muleteers, the traders and merchants? He dismissed as absurd +the theory that the walls of his room were stout enough to muffle the +short-barreled blasts. + +An isolated sound, a swish of discreet garments, a prudent grating +sound, as of a window lifted or a chair moved, then came to him, and +unquestionably it came from his own room. + +Peter left the staircase to its gloomy shadows. + +The room was unoccupied. Basing his next action upon sound and tried +experience, Peter put out the lamp and hazarded a glimpse out of the +window. + +A sharp, round moon was perched high in a star-studded heaven, fairly +illuminating a muddy street and the low-thatched roofs of nearby +dwellings. A horse whinnied and stamped in the enclosure, and from a +distance rose the moody growl of the rapids. + +Irritated and nervous, Peter felt for the couch and sank down in the +blackness, with the revolver dangling idly across one knee. + +At that instant he was thrilled to the roots of his hair by a scream, +strangely muffled. + +Peter indulged in a shiver as he stole to the door on tiptoe, opened it +quietly, and looked out. There was terror in that scream; it was the +outcry of a human in the clutch of real horror. + +The door across the way was slightly ajar, letting out an orange +effulgence which lighted the boards, the opposite wall, and the grimy +ceiling. Indistinctly he discerned a motionless clump, and, catching +the white flicker of steel he sprang across, wrapping his fingers about +a struggling wrist. + +Immediately the orange light was broadened, then darkened by a tall +figure, but Peter's back was turned. + +An eager sigh, as if heartfelt relief, was given out by the second +shadow. + +The knife, under Peter's pressure, dropped to his feet, and, quite sure +that the time was now past to ask polite questions, Peter brought down +the butt of the revolver with a smart slap where the long black pigtail +joined a fat little head. With a throaty gurgle his victim joined the +shadows of the floor. + +A soft, white hand was laid upon Peter's right arm, and he found +himself glaring into the blanched face of the girl Naradia. Her small +fingers hardened upon the flesh of his hand, and he was aware that she +was staring imploringly across his shoulder. + +Peter spun about and for the first time was aware of the presence of +the indolent figure in the doorway. The glow of a cigarette was at the +man's lips, but the darkness prevented scrutiny. + +The rapid procession of mysterious events had unnerved Peter. The +silent and indolent presence of the stranger in the doorway put the +spark to his long-withheld indignation. He lifted the revolver's nose +menacingly. + +The cigarette glowed a bright red, as if in amazement. + +"You," he snapped, "whoever you are--pick this man up. Carry him into +my room. And you," he added sharply to the girl, "follow him!" + +The cigarette fell to the planks, and the tall man put his heel upon +it. The careless movement gave Peter his first glimpse of the man's +profile. The man smiled faintly. He took the unconscious assailant of +Naradia by the heels and dragged him into Peter's room. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +A match hissed; the flame of the lamp rose up slowly. + +With a flutter of skirts the girl followed, her head inclined, as +though she was humiliated or greatly embarrassed. She went to the +couch and faced him, while an attempt at calmness and a determined fear +struggled to control her expression. Her attire was negligee, of pink +Japanese silk, open at the throat, and revealing a neck and shoulders +as white and smooth as bleached ivory. + +Peter closed the door and shot the bolt. + +The man who smiled so confidently had rolled the knife carrier with his +face to the wall. Then he crossed to the couch and took a stand beside +the girl, seemingly at ease under Peter's sharp and thorough inspection. + +As Peter examined the slender, colorless face he imagined for an +instant that the man, also, was Eurasian. But that impression he +quickly realized was incorrect. The man simply was of a high order of +Chinese intelligence, with smooth, dusky skin, thin, stubborn lips, a +straight forehead, and eyes which were dark, watchful and sad. + +Yet these eyes seemed to twinkle now, shifting without a trace of fear +from the unwavering gun-barrel in Peter's hand to the unwavering glint +in Peter's blue eyes. + +And there was something undeniably imperial in the young Oriental's +bearing. Perhaps this was caused by his attitude, or the Oriental +richness of his garb. He might have been an Asiatic prince, or a sheik +fresh from the desert, or a maharaja, from a jungle throne. A +glittering cluster of gems--diamonds and rubies--hung from a fine gold +chain which encircled his bronzed neck. His tunic was of satin, the +color of the tropical sea; his breeches were spotlessly white, and his +slippers were Arabian, with up-curled toes. + +"Well?" asked the young Asiatic, when Peter's gaze finally descended to +the scarlet slippers. + +"I am waiting," said Peter, impatiently. + +Black eyebrows went up inquiringly. "I am a merchant--from Shanghai." + +"What you are or who you are is of no importance," returned Peter in a +voice of cordial doubt. "Perhaps you've aroused my idle curiosity; at +all events, I want you to tell me why you were late in coming to your +wife's assistance." + +"His life is more precious," she interceded, hastily. + +The Oriental waved his hand, as if the answer were absurd. "You +anticipated me by three seconds," he replied. "I was drowsing. I +thought I had dreamed the scream. May I say--I am very grateful?" + +Peter's expression was dubious, but he nodded at length as though +partly satisfied. "Perhaps you can tell me what became of the man who +opened my door?" + +The man's face was frankly bewildered. "I am at a loss to account for +any man entering your room--unless by mistake," he said with genuine +concern. "I think you are crediting me with an interest in an affair +that I know nothing of. Unless--unless----" He hesitated and paused, +searching Peter's eyes with a glance suddenly startled. "Can it be +possible----?" he muttered. "I judge by your accent that you are an +American. I have spent the past four years myself in America--at +Harvard. Somehow----" He paused again, and smiled faintly. + +Suddenly the smile departed, was displaced by the most murderous of +grimaces. He was looking beyond Peter. His right hand flashed into +his blue tunic. And before Peter could turn or dodge, he sprang past +him, colliding with an object which grunted and instantly cried out in +agony. + +Peter turned in time to see a thin knife plunge into the throat of a +swarthy Chinese, whose face was round as the Mongolian moon, and as +yellow. + +The Chinese wiped his knife coolly on the fallen man's black jacket. +"Why, my good friend, should he attack you, unless----" He paused +again, and searched Peter's face with those keen brown eyes, no longer +sad. + +"Unless what?" he asked, bluntly. "This man is from Len Yang." + +He heard the girl utter a sharp gasp, and a queer light was dawning in +the other's face. + +"Unless you are"--he hesitated--"unless you are the one man in the +world I wish you might be." He laughed. "Are you--Peter Moore, known +in some parts of China as--Peter the Brazen?" + +Peter nodded slowly. + +With a delighted cry the young Oriental sprang to him and seized his +hand. "Do you hear, Naradia?" he exclaimed. "This is _Peter Moore_!" + +And Peter permitted his suspicions to drift, as he thought of the dead +man on the floor, and of the reason why he died. He was compelled to +admit that the stranger had saved his life. + +"We must talk this over," the young Chinese was muttering. "Why, I +could not have arranged it more suitably!" He seemed to collect +himself then. "Before we talk, let us get rid of this man." + +He picked up the dead coolie by the waist, lifted him easily to the +window, and dropped him, as if he were a sack of rice, into the mud. +He whistled twice. Immediately three shadows were given up by the +caravansary. These gathered up the dead man and vanished. + +"They will dispose of him," said the stranger, helping himself to a +cigarette. He paused with the flaring match in his fingers and looked +at Peter quizzically. "My name is Kahn Meng. And I am _not_ from +Shanghai." + +Peter nodded agreeably, although the explanation explained nothing. + +"I have returned to China to attack and capture the city of Len Yang. +I came from there originally. Exactly five years ago I galloped over +the great drawbridge to study the classics in Peking. Fortunately I +met a man. He was an American missionary. He said to me: 'Kahn Meng, +the classics are dead. Betake yourself to America, where you will find +the fountain of modern knowledge.' Of course, the missionary was a +Harvard man." + +Peter frowned slightly. + +"What you don't understand probably, Mr. Moore, is why I can leave Len +Yang and return at will. I can't. I escaped from Len Yang at night. +I am returning with a thousand men at my back. Those men have occupied +this village. My conscience forbids my confessing to you how many of +the spies of Len Yang have been fed to the hungry river since my +arrival. + +"You understand, the monster of Len Yang, as I affectionately call him, +must not know of my return. Otherwise he would make me prisoner. This +fat-faced one slipped through the guard lines. There may be others." +He grunted. "They do not dare kill me. For I----" He threw up his +handsome head proudly. + +"For you----" encouraged Peter. + +"Must hide my identity," finished Kahn Meng with a little laugh. "But +Naradia--they object to her. They have attempted to kill her, so many +times. Naradia, how many?" + +"A score of times," she said darkly. "To-night they nearly succeeded. +I am not wanted. I am a half-caste--a Chinese father, a poor French +mother. They desired him to marry of the----" + +"Hush!" cautioned her husband, for Naradia was almost hysterical and +was willing to prattle on. Kahn Meng smiled tenderly. "Naradia," he +continued, lowering his voice gently, "now that Peter Moore and I are +at last together, will you excuse us? You must be exhausted, my +dear--after this unpleasant affair. Will you retire? Remember, little +Chaya, in another week this terror will be at an end. Mr. Moore and I +will begin planning instantly." + +Naradia laid her hands upon his and smiled sweetly. "Good-night!" she +said, obediently. "Good-night,"--she lifted her brows archly--"Peter +the Brazen! I do hope that you are not a dream!" + +They watched the pink silk of her gown flit into the corridor, +whereupon Kahn Meng took Peter's arm companionably and guided him to +the window. + +A keen, soft wind, tempered with the fragrance of ripening pepper +trees, came in to them in delicate puffs. A mysterious light twinkled +distantly upon the river. The moon was sinking into a void, and the +night was becoming black. + +Kahn Meng was extracting from his satin blouse a gold-and-black +cigarette case. Peter accepted one of the white cylinders and struck a +match. In the flare he found that Kahn Meng was studying him shrewdly, +dispassionately. + +"In the first place," began Kahn Meng, "let us settle the important +matter of price. I will promise you whatever you desire. I want you." +He spat into the darkness. "Why are you in Ching-Fu? I believed you +to be in America, but I could not find you. What brings you here? +Surely you were not planning to enter Len Yang again alone?" + +Peter shook his head. "I came on another errand, which has nothing to +do with Len Yang. But"--he threw away the half consumed +cigarette--"you have made a mistake, Kahn Meng. The first matter to +settle is the more important one of identity." + +"Take me just as I am," pleaded Kahn Meng earnestly. "We have one +desire, I know, in common--to clean up that horrible city! You have +visited Len Yang. You know the wretched condition of the +miners--slaves, poor devils. Perhaps you have seen them at nightfall +coming from the shaft, dripping with the blood-red of the cinnabar, +starving--blind!" + +"I have seen all that," agreed Peter, grimly. + +"Ah! But are you acquainted with that man's methods? Do you know that +his corrupt influence has extended into every nation of Asia? His +organization is more perfect than any eastern government. His system +of espionage puts those of Japan and Germany to shame! You must know! +You have encountered his underlings. Oh, I have heard of the Romola +Borria affair. Your escape was masterly! I believe you astounded him." + +Kahn Meng paused and puffed long at his cigarette. + +"Think, Kahn Meng, what might be accomplished," said Peter fervently, +"if the power he wields, that tremendous human machine--hundreds and +thousands of men--were devoted to the proper ends! Think what could be +done for China!" + +Kahn Meng turned quickly. His eyes seemed to shine above the ruby glow +of his cigarette. + +"I wanted you to say that!" he exclaimed, enthusiastically. "The thing +has been in my mind for years--ever since I was a child! We can do it! +We can!" + +"Yet one thousand men cannot enter Len Yang. It is a fortress." + +"There is another way into Len Yang--by the mines. It cuts off three +days of the journey. I remember it as a child. Tremendous black +ravines lead to the entrance from the merchants' trail, and the opening +is so small that you could pass it a thousand times without suspecting. +Will you accompany us, Peter Moore--Naradia and I and our followers? +We leave at dawn." He waited anxiously. + +Peter shook his head regretfully. The song of adventure was musical to +his ears, but he could not leave with Kahn Meng in the morning. There +was Miss Lorimer--in Kialang. + +"I cannot leave Ching-Fu until to-morrow night." + +"That will be as well, perhaps," assented Kahn Meng after a moment's +thought. "We will rest for the night in the Lenchuen Pass. It is to +the right of the black road. My sentries will be watching for you." + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +Peter shot the bolt and listened to the sad grumble of the river as he +endeavored to adjust this strange incident to the stranger events of +the very full evening. + +Not until the mysterious Kahn Meng had said his good-night did Peter +realize how exhausted he was. + +He looked at his watch, a thin gold affair, which had ticked faithfully +during all of his adventures, and was exceedingly astonished that the +night had already flown to the hour of four-thirty. + +Dawn would come very soon, and with the first peep of the sun he was to +start for Kialang and Eileen. + +The lamp smoked sleepily overhead; far away the great river sang its +bass song. + +He must be up at dawn. What a question-mark was Kahn Meng! A Harvard +graduate--and a native of the red city! And what an adorable creature +was the girl Naradia! Her eyes were like jade, her lips like poppy +petals.... + +A crash of sound, a blaze of golden light, aroused him. He sat up, +dodging a sunbeam which had flicked his eyelids. Shrill voices came +from a distance. The odor of manure exhaled by the caravan sheds +floated into the room, and Peter jumped up front the couch with an +angry grunt. His heart was heavy with the guilt of the man who has +overslept. + +The watch ticked, and the neat, black hands had covered an amazing +amount of ground; it was nearly tiffin-time. + +The shrill, distant voices continued. Curiously, Peter looked out. + +It was a beautiful sunlit morning, as clear as spring water. Miles +away the sun shone on the yellow haunches of the range, altering them +to a range of heavy gold; and gleamed tenderly on the paddy fields, +black and ripely green. + +Peter lowered his eyes to the square formed by the intersection of a +number of alleys some distance beyond the caravansary. A sizable mob +was collected in this enclosure; he estimated that there were at least +a thousand pagan-Chinese assembled, in ring formation--a giant ring, +dozens deep, and centered upon a small focussing spot of white. + +The spot of white occupied the precise center of the square, and Peter +studied it for some moments out of idle curiosity. Crowning the white +object was a smaller spot of chestnut-brown. He dashed out of his room +and down the stairs without even pausing for his hat. + +Peter gained the edge of the crowd, and he bored into it, scattering +protesting old ladies and chattering old men as ruthlessly as if they +had been unfruitful stalks of rice. + +It was a desperate fight to the center of that mob, for others were as +curious as Peter. Then, over the swaying shoulders he caught a second +glimpse of the chestnut-brown. It was a woman's hair, and it was +familiar in arrangement. + +He broke into an arena not more than nine feet in diameter in which +were three objects: a wooden cask, upturned, a leather hand-bag, and a +small and exceedingly pretty young woman. Her cheeks were flushed, her +eyes were gray and sweet, and her mouth was like an opening rosebud. + +"Eileen----" he cried. + +"Why, Peter Moore!" she gasped. + +He rushed to take her, but she held up her palms, retreating. + +He laughed. "What under the seven suns are you doing in Ching-Fu--and +Kialang--and China? What's the meaning?" + +He observed that a snow-white apron extended from her dimpled chin to +her small ankles. + +"This is my office hour," she said severely. + +"But what does this mean--this?" he exploded, gesturing wildly toward +the circle of attentive onlookers. + +"My clinic!" She smiled. + +"You're not practising medicine out here--in this street!" he +ejaculated. + +"Indeed I am," she replied. "Some of these people have been waiting +their turns since daylight. I returned from Kialang an hour ago. And +I'll work until I collapse. I must. I wish I could multiply myself by +a thousand. There's not another doctor within miles. You can watch, +if you'd like," she added, then called shrilly. + +An old woman appeared, and went scurrying, returning immediately with a +clean, wooden bucket filled with hot water. + +Eileen removed from the hand-bag what appeared to be a wallet. +Stripping a rubber band from this she revealed a row of shining +surgical knives. Then she produced from the black bag several bottles +and a roll of absorbent cotton. + +"Eyes," she told him as her hand was swallowed again by the black bag. + +A child, a river boy, was pushed forward by a squinting mother. +Quaking fearfully, he sat down on the cask at the girl's feet. + +She turned to Peter. "This child has been without sight for a month. +Without this operation he would remain blind forever. To-morrow he +will see again." + +"You're wonderful!" Peter exclaimed. + +At the gentle touch the child's loud whining ceased. She lifted one of +the swollen lids. The boy did not flinch. + +"Filth caused this," she explained. "The Chinese are the dirtiest race +on earth, anyway," she added, dipping a clump of cotton into an +antiseptic wash and rinsing the patient's eyes. "Where there is too +much dirt, there is blindness. One-fourth of the population in this +section of China are blind. They go to 'fortune tellers,' and they +remain blind. In nine cases out of ten the simplest of operations +followed by care will cure this type of blindness." + +"Good enough; but will they be careful afterward?" Peter was curious to +know. + +"Once their sight is given back to them, they follow directions to a T. +I'm leaving behind me a trail of the cleanest Chinamen you ever laid +eyes on!" + +She became silent, and so did Peter, who watched, hardly daring to +breathe, the swift, sure dartings of the tiny knife in her white +fingers. It was done in a jiffy; and there seemed to be on pain. + +"Shouldn't you have an operating-room?" inquired Peter, as she bound up +the child's eyes in gauze. + +She gave him a bright, professional smile. "Peter, I've learned to +operate with a thousand hooting infidels crowding closer than this. In +Nanking I was nearly mobbed." + +Peter looked concerned. "Did they harm you?" + +"Oh, no! They wanted their children, their wives, and their virtuous +mothers to see the light of day again." + +"Eileen, you're an angel!" + +"Be careful, Peter, or I'll kiss you in front of all these people." +She blushed and smiled. "I think I was very bold to come up here all +alone. Don't you?" + +Peter grumbled something which escaped her. + +She sat down wearily on the cask and looked up at him forlornly. "I +thought it would be a lark; but it isn't. It's the hardest kind of +work. There seem to be so many blind people--and I get tired--furious!" + +"Can't we break away from this mob and have a little chin-chin by +ourselves?" + +"You're not anxious, Peter?" + +"This is not Shanghai," he rejoined sententiously. "Ching-Fu is not a +healthy spot for me--or for you. I've been watched. Perhaps, this +very minute----" He stopped and looked at the dour faces pressed about +them. + +She shrugged. "Are you going on to Len Yang this time, Peter?" + +He nodded slightly. "Perhaps." + +"With me?" + +"Without you," he stated firmly, dimly conscious of a stir on the +fringe of their audience. + +"It isn't fair," she murmured; "I've come all this way----" She +touched her lips with the tip of a pink tongue. What she might have +added was forestalled by rising confusion on the edge of the crowd. +There were harsh voices, shrill voices; then these sounds were dwarfed +by the thunder of furious hoofs. + +White with the dust of the lower trail a troop of Mongolian horsemen, +riding high in their jeweled saddles, swept into the square, shouting. +Lashing their horses, they drove into the gathering with the fury of +Cossacks. + +Peter was thrown to one side by a tall man whom he had taken for a +peasant. He tugged at his pocket, but the coolie was fighting his way +toward the horsemen. + +Indifferent to her struggles and screams, this giant carried Eileen in +naked, brawny arms. + +Peter leaped after, shouting and cursing at those who stood in his way. +Some one tripped him. He regained his footing, shot his fist into the +jaw of an argumentative youth, and struggled on. + +The onlookers were scattering with loud and frightened squeals, running +into one another, gathering in bewildered groups, darting for doorways, +like sheep attacked by a wolf pack. + +Then a black horse swept so close to Peter that the stirrup stripped +the buttons from his tunic. A heavy whip stung him across the +shoulders. + +When he recovered from this blow the struggling girl was yards away, +still struggling, but no longer screaming. She had been transferred to +the arms of a giant Mongol, who evidently was the leader of this pack. + +Peter whipped out the automatic and let go a burst at the horseman who +now blocked his way; and the Mongolian, in the act of lifting a knife +from its holster-scabbard, dipped across the animal's flank, with his +eyes rolling toward heaven, his foot caught in one stirrup. + +The horse, frightened, leaped up and spun about, twisting the fallen +rider about his heels. And Peter had clear way for another few feet. + +Another horseman swept down upon him. Peter brought the gun up and +brought it down with fury. Twice he shot, and then this interference +was removed. + +The troops were gathering into crude formation, evidently for another +charge. Eileen had disappeared. + +Peter, knowing that she was somewhere in that quadrangle of rearing +horses, struck forward, stumbling over fallen bodies, slipping in mud. +His lungs burned, and he choked in a consuming rage. And suddenly he +heard her scream his name. + +The leader of the desert pack held her across his saddle, with his +mighty arms pinioning her. He saw Peter, shouted, jabbed down with his +spurs, and his mount fairly leaped. The others wheeled gracefully, and +they vanished in thunder toward the plain. + +Peter discovered the horse of one of the fallen warriors and leaped to +capture him. + +And in the next moment he was groping in blindness. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +Lingering in his vision was a leering face. + +Mud had been thrown into his eyes, and the filth was plastered from +eyebrows to nose. In a flash he recognized the face. Months ago he +had thrown that Chinese from the deck of a steamer into the +shark-infested waters of Tandjong Priok, the harbor of Batavia, Java. + +Such amusing spectacles as the struggling unbeliever with rich mud +plastered in his eyes have a tendency to evoke keen appreciation from +the yellow races, who are supposed to be devoid of a sense of humor. + +Shrill and explosive laughter was arising on all sides of him. + +Light came slowly to his tortured eyes through a thick, yellow film. +All of his muscles were tensed; any instant he expected to experience +the long anticipated thrill of cold steel between ribs--or at his +throat. + +Some kindly Samaritan had taken him by the hand. Mucous breath +assailed him. He distinctly heard a thud, a grunt, a screamed order. + +No words were spoken, yet the mysterious hand tugged urgently at his +wrist. Peter knelt down and raised handfuls of water to his eyes from +a tub. He looked about for his benefactor and met only the leering +countenance of a highly amused group of urchins, men and women, +diverted as they had probably never been diverted before. + +And in the meanwhile he realized with a torn heart that the thundering +hoofs were receding farther with each flitting instant. + +Peter knocked down one man as he struck out through the amused circle. +The square was now all but deserted. Two bodies lay in the mud, +unattended. Examination proved these to be the earthly remains of the +two Mongolian horsemen--the two he had shot down. The two horses were +unattended. Peter mounted the nearest. + +The air was growing cold. A keen, ice-edged wind was moving northward +from the range, and the sky was graying with storm clouds. + +His horse was moving like the wind, perspiring not at all, a +thoroughbred, a mount for a prince! At his present rate he should +catch up with the Mongolian rear by nightfall; otherwise the pursuit +was certainly lost. And then Peter fell to wondering what tactics he +would pursue when he reached the band. How could he, alone, armed only +with an automatic revolver, hope to overpower professional riflemen who +numbered at the least forty? It was a nice problem; yet he could +reason out no simpler solution. He was bent on a task that might have +won applause from a _Don Quixote_. + +The sun was settling upon the golden roof of the range, sending out +monstrous blue shadows across the valley. + +Mountain darkness soon enveloped the world. A dazzling star appeared +with the brilliant suddenness of a coast-light. The wind was winy with +the flavor of high snows. + +And suddenly the horse stumbled. Peter jerked on the reins. The horse +whinnied, dancing awkwardly on three legs. + + + + +Peter dismounted. A foreleg was crippled. He groaned. Fate, long his +ally, was laughing at him. The chase was ended. + +Suddenly hoofs thudded on the firm dirt; a shadow darted by, nearly +colliding with him. There was a trampling. A lantern frame clicked, +and a lance of yellow light rippled upon his face, broadened. + +He glared into the anxious brown eyes of Kahn Meng. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +"You are in time!" He gripped Peter by the shoulder. + +"Have you stopped them?" gasped Peter. + +Kahn Meng indulged in a bitter laugh. "Only the wind could overtake +them." He shrugged. "They came--they broke through our lines--and +again they broke through! If they had stopped for battle," he added +grimly, "there would have been a different tale to tell." + +"And they have taken her to Len Yang?" Peter suddenly recalled that +Kahn Meng probably knew nothing of Eileen. + +"The doctor? Yes," assented Kahn Meng sadly. "One of my men was in +Ching-Fu when the troop drove through. He was looking out for you. He +arrived only a few moments ago. By Buddha, how you have traveled!" + +"I intend to go on." + +Kahn Meng sighed. "It means only death." + +"I am willing." + +"But you cannot catch them with any horse. You would be killed. We +can arrive in Len Yang sooner," Kahn Meng pleaded. "Everything is +ready." + +"I'll follow," Peter stated grimly, "on the condition that you answer +two questions. What is your relation to the man at Len Yang----" + +"On my word of honor," Kahn Meng interrupted him with emotion, "I am a +friend. Won't that suffice until the morning? If I were an enemy, if +I were on his side----" + +"I realize that," Peter stopped him. "Very well. I'll wait. My other +question is this: Why does that beast search the world for beautiful +women--and consign them to the mines?" + +Kahn Meng was silent. Reluctantly Peter was allowing himself to be led +through the darkness over broken ground. A pale dot of light emerged +from the night. + +"I do not know," said Kahn Meng finally. "It is hideous. I have seen +them. That will be stopped!" he added tensely. + +Under the lantern they paused, and Peter found his strange companion to +be examining his features intently. + +"I can add nothing to what has been said," Kahn Meng went on. "I have +much to attend to now. We are starting immediately. At present will +you trust me as I trust you?" He extended his right hand, and Peter +clasped it silently. + +The ripe old moon of Tibet was creeping from its bed, tipping the +pointed tents with a soft glow. + +On such another night as this Peter had first dared to enter the City +of Stolen Lives, and the faint, mysterious sounds of a caravan at rest +stirred up old memories. + +The probable treatment of Eileen at the hands of Len Yang's king was +too terrible for him to contemplate. And he was as helpless at this +instant as though he were on the other side of the Pacific Ocean. + +A hot flood of anger welled up in his breast. His palms began to +sweat. Each minute was drawing her closer to the moldy walls. + +He could picture her struggling in the arms of the giant Mongolian. He +could see the great drawbridge swinging down to the white road in the +moonlight or the blistering heat of noonday. And on the hill, like a +greedy, white vulture, he could see that solemn palace with minarets +stretching like claws to the sky, crouching upon the red slime vomited +forth by the mines. + +A cool voice startled him. Kahn Meng came out of the darkness. + +"Two hundred men will accompany us. The others will remain here in +case an attack is made on our rear. There may be trouble. Of course, +I could go, unharmed, into Len Yang by the mountain road; but as soon +as I entered I would be helpless--a prisoner forever. He knows I am +returning. He is expecting me. But he does not know that half his +garrison are loyal to me. The yellow-whiskered one will not be glad to +see me," he added with a malicious grin. + +The night seemed to be filled with silent, wakeful coolies, armed with +rifles. The grim and watchful silence of the procession, the black +mystery of the night with the sinking, cold moon aloft, and the +uncertainty of the whole affair, set Peter's nerves to tingling; and +his heart was beginning to react to the high excitement of it. + +He was elated, yet anxious. To-night's business was no quest of the +golden fleece. The size of his undertaking, now that he stood, with +only a few miles between, at the threshold of achievement, was +overwhelming. He had pledged himself. + +How he would proceed if the present venture succeeded was another +matter. Fate or opportunity would have to shape his next steps. +Perhaps in Kahn Meng, the mysterious, might rest the solution. Peter +was an adventurer by choice, and an engineer by profession. Under +given conditions he knew what to expect of men and machines. Before he +had taken to the seas as a wireless operator he had had some experience +as a railroad builder. He had laid rails in California, and Mexico. A +successful career in that profession had been foregone when the warm +hand of Romance laid hold of him. + +He wondered how he could adjust himself to the routine of his old +profession again, if that was the opportunity awaiting him in Len Yang. +Governmental problems, he knew, would have to be given to more +specialized men, such perhaps as Kahn Meng. + +He looked behind him, at the long line of men stretched down the narrow +ravine like the tail of a colossal serpent. Occasionally a stone, +dislodged, clattered down into the crevices. Above them the rock +stretched and lost itself in the cold purple of the night. The moon +carved out vast shadows, black and threatening. + +They emerged at length into a broader valley, jagged with spires +flashing with gleams of the moon on frequent mirror-like surfaces. Ten +thousand men could have been concealed in this desolate cavern. Yet it +rang with emptiness as, far arear, a steel prod struck powdery fire +from the flinty path. + +Hours seemed to pass as they advanced, descending constantly. At times +the granite walls nearly met above them, and then a shaft of moonlight +would cast freakish shapes across their vision. + +Once they paused for rest near a torrential stream. Some lingered to +drink. The blackness in the sky was yielding itself to the spectral +glow of the new day when Kahn Meng gave the order to halt. + +He took Peter aside and explained his procedure. His plan was to send +fifty men through the tunnel to the main shaft to subdue the guards; +the remainder of the armed coolies, numbering about one hundred and +fifty, would follow, forming a protective chain to the black door, an +underground entrance. + +"There should be no trouble, no confusion--a bloodless revolution," he +added with a nervous, elated laugh. "I will occupy the place--you will +follow. Wait ten minutes." + +Peter nodded. + +"A tunnel, fairly straight, leads from here directly to the black door. +Have your revolver in readiness. My men may not make a clean job. The +mine guards carry clubs. Each of my coolies has a rifle." Kahn Meng's +eyes in the light of a torch were glittering excitedly. He grasped +Peter's nearest hand in his enthusiasm. + +"We are so near! Only a step!" He laughed wildly, lifted his voice +ecstatically to a sing-song and chanted from Ouan-Oui: "Then---- + + "'Let us rejoice together. + and fill our porcelain goblets + with cool wine!'" + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +Now Peter was an emotional young man. And wrathful notions were +kindled in him before he encountered the only guard Kahn Meng's men had +overlooked--may the bones of that one rest gently! + +He saw little children clawing in red muck; he saw young girls with +sunken breasts, their former beauty a wretched caricature, carrying +dying babes upon their backs. He saw tired old men, and women, +crippled, blind, with red fingers and wrists, as if they had been +dipped in blood. He saw plenty to enrage him. + +Kahn Meng's guards bowed gravely as he passed them at tunnel passages. +He had walked perhaps three-quarters of an hour generally in a single +direction, bearing a torch, when he collided with a smooth, flat +obstruction. + +Somewhere in the earth distantly behind him occurred a metallic rumble, +followed by a gust of soft wind, fragrant with the outdoors. + +He was staring at blackness, the varnished blackness of a great wooden +door. He was at the threshold! somewhere on the other side of that +enormous wooden barrier was the man of Len Yang! Chalked boldly upon +the surface was the legend: + +P. M.--straight on--K. M. + +Pulling with his fingers and bracing his feet in the rough floor, the +mass moved monumentally toward him. It swung wide, on great, concealed +hinges. + +Peter's adventurous heart was beating an excited battle call. His +burning eyes strained beyond the ruddy luminance of the torch, and +examined--white marble! He was at his journey's end--somewhere in the +palace of the Gray Dragon! + +Peter dragged the great door softly shut behind him, and found himself +in a chamber of vast proportions, built of what had at one time been +purest white marble, discolored entirely now by the red taint of the +bloody ore. The floor was perspiring redly. + +Going on tiptoe to the center of the space, he searched the blank +walls, listening breathlessly. + +He heard nothing but the faint patter of the dripping slime, and he +went swiftly to the end of the musty antechamber and discovered at the +distant end the fourth wall, hitherto unseen. Reaching from the left +corner of the scarlet tomb was a narrow staircase built also of marble. + +Dropping his hand nervously into his right-hand tunic pocket, he went +up and pushed open another door. He found himself now in a snow-white +corridor, faintly lighted by grilles overhead. The hall reached +gloomily into gray distance, and it was quite vacant. An unseen +fountain was playing near by. At his left was another door, closed. + +The closed door attracted him. Certainly there was no other course now +than a detailed exploration. + +Bracing himself for a surprise in this palace of hideous surprises, he +flung open the door, and entered black darkness. + +Carelessly he closed the door behind him, listening and sniffing. At +first he heard nothing, but he smelled altar-incense faintly. + +A deep-voiced gong suddenly reverberated while Peter tensed himself. +The sonorous melody lifted and crashed, subsiding into countless +unmusical overtones. Lighter metal rang upon wood. + +Then lights--electric lights--by the dozens, +hundreds--thousands--blazed with a violent suddenness, a suddenness +that Peter could compare only with that of a tropical sun leaping out +of the ocean; and Peter blinked upon green. It was a hideous green, a +green of diabolical intensity. He shivered. It seemed to creep, to +writhe, this green. + +At first he could not absorb this insane color idea; and he stood +there, with his heart sinking. + +He discovered that he was occupying an oblong green rug of satin. He +was dazzled by the green glare of a cluster of quartz lights in front +of him, and he stared, first at a monstrous green Buddha, squatting on +a thighless rump between flashing green pillars, and finally at the +most hideous individual he had ever gazed upon, a human, who occupied a +throne carved solidly from green jade. + +The glimpse was like stepping from a dark dream into the center of an +aquamarine nightmare. And in the instant following his partial +digestion of the viridescent scheme he was possessed with the notion +that the occupant of such a chamber of horror must certainly be insane. + +That was the first idea to possess Peter. He was not surprised to find +that he was unafraid. Anticipation is much more fearful than +realization. He had experienced many panicky moments in looking +forward to this meeting; and yet in the presence of him he was cool. + +The Gray Dragon of Len Yang? + +From the tail of his eye he detected a man with folded arms backed +against the door. At either side of the green throne stood Mongolian +guards, armed with rifles. They struck the only dissonant note of the +picture, for they were garbed in desert brown. + +Evidently all ways of escape were closed. For two years he had +contrived to elude the tracers, the killers, sent out by this creature, +and now he had deliberately walked upon his swords. Death? Where was +Kahn Meng? + +Possessed with a feeling akin to cat-like curiosity, Peter walked +slowly to the beryl throne steps, where he paused, with his fists +gripped tightly in his pockets, his chin up, and his shoulders back. + +Close scrutiny did not soften the bestial cruelty of the face of Len +Yang's ruler. It was a startling face, as gray as fresh clay, sharply +wrinkled. The nose was exceedingly long and sharp, with a crooked +joint. Dirty-yellow mandarin mustaches drooped like wet sea-weed from +the sides of a curling, sneering mouth. + +And it was dominated by a pair of very small, very bright green eyes, +set deep and exceedingly close together. + +But the tenor of the face was gray, the gray of living death, and from +this emblem, Peter suddenly decided, the man had been given his +descriptive name. + +Long, gray talons reached out from the folds of a mandarin jacket and +toyed nervously with a strand of gray hair which jutted from the +pigtail winding over the slanting shoulder. + +The green eyes blinked as they completed the survey of Peter Moore. +The curling lips were moving. + +"Peter Moore!" he rasped. "The most daring foreigner who has yet +visited my city! Peter the Brazen, with a reputation of breaking the +hearts of beautiful women! You are late. I have been waiting upon +this visit for two years!" + +He leaned forward, and Peter retreated a step. + +"What have you done with her?" Peter snapped. + +The Gray Dragon sank back with a sigh. "Ah! Would you like to gaze +upon that which can never be yours?" + +"May I see her--once--before I die?" + +"That is a wise statement. You are altogether wise--astonishingly so! +Wisdom is a rare gem in one so young." He chuckled in an irritating +treble. "Look about you again, youth. This is known as the room of +the green death. Few men leave the room of the green death alive. My +hounds bay when they enter. + +"The young woman is here--safe. If you will answer my questions, I may +permit you to gaze upon her just once before you die! Perhaps I may be +so lenient as to allow you to die together. Does not that appeal to +you?" he demanded, as if anxious. "You--who are so thirsty for the +gold of romance?" + +Peter glared at him silently, and his fingers were twitching. + +His host tapped the resonant gong. Some one stepped behind Peter, for +he distinctly heard the seep of silken garments. + +The man on the green throne muttered, adding to Peter: "I am granting +your wish. You may gaze upon her before you die. I, too, will gaze, +for I prize her highly, as you know." + +He sank back meditatively, and in that moment the gray face became +oddly sane. + +"Peter Moore, seldom do I permit men who have troubled me so sorely to +escape alive. Perhaps, in face of what has happened, you are foolishly +taking unto yourself credit. And still, for a reason unknown to me, I +hesitate. + +"Listen to me closely, youth! For these two years I have watched you +with my thousands of hired eyes--you cannot realize how closely! +Because I was deeply interested. You are a riddle to me. You have the +emotions of a woman, and the cunning of a _hu-li_. + +"Times without count word has gone forth from this green room that your +death must take place. Childish curiosity to stare just once upon the +foolish adventurer has caused that word to be revoked! Do not assume +credit for bravery that was not yours, Peter Moore! You are not +heroic; you have been a plaything. The gods are through with you. + +"Harken to me, Peter the foolish. Within these green walls daily are +inscribed the names of men and women who must die. Your name has been +spoken, yet never once has it been written. When it is written----" +He paused with a portentous hush. + +"To-day, when I realized you were at last coming to me, when spy after +spy ran to my feet to say that at last--at last--Peter Moore, the +unconquerable, was coming to pay his long-overdue call--I hastened with +that daily quota of names of those who are doomed, so that I could +attend you with undivided attention. + +"Can it interest you? Nine men are doomed. Within two weeks from this +hour a mandarin will die by the knife, an ambassador at the court of +Peking will expire by poison, an indiscreet Javanese merchant----" He +waved his skinny arms impatiently. + +"Those whose names are written must inevitably die. If the name of +Peter Moore had but once appeared on the green silk--I could have +forgotten you--and rested. But I was restrained by a most curious +impulse." He looked at Peter eagerly. + +"You have perplexed, almost fascinated me. Tell me first, what was +your power over Romola Borria?" + +Peter only grunted, angrily astonished. + +"Wait!" cautioned the curling lips. "I am not ridiculing you. I am +keenly desirous of knowing." He frowned, pondering. "I will tell you +about that woman. Romola Borria was sent to me, and I employed her. +For certain difficult tasks she was all that I desired--more beautiful +than sunset on the Tibetan snow--a glorious woman, yet as cold, as +unfriendly as that same snow. Her spirit was one of ice, yet fire. + +"And her heart was stone--or snow also. I sent her directly to +communicate a certain thing to you--to kill you in the event that you +declined. Shall I tell you how many men she has put out of the way at +my bidding before and after she met you? No matter. + +"Romola Borria was proof against love. No man was created for her to +love. Yet that snowy heart melted, that precious coldness vanished, +when she met--Peter Moore!" + +The Gray Dragon paused, and the cessation of his metallic voice, the +quick relinquishing of the evil glint in his small, green eyes, left +Peter with a deeper feeling of revulsion than previously. It had been +his imaginative belief that the Gray Dragon was utterly without human +traits; yet he possessed that lowest of them all, a bestial curiosity. + +"I can all but read your thoughts," he went on, lidding his green eyes +a number of times. "You are saying what my victims invariably say when +I grant them these rare audiences before they die. Over and over you +are repeating--'Beast! Beast! Beast!' Is that not true?" + +"That is absolutely true!" + +Malice seemed to hover about the glittering green eyes, and was gone at +once. "Peter Moore, to gaze at you is like gazing into a crystal. In +you I witness that supreme quality which was denied me in my youth. I +can have anything in the world but that supreme, that sublime quality. +I can buy anything in the world but that." The voice stopped. + +Peter shifted his glance momentarily to the armed attendants who +guarded this evil life. An inner whisper counseled him: "Not yet! Not +yet! There is time!" + +"Yet there is a chance that I may reconsider; that I may permit you to +continue to live--perhaps in the mines. But certainly, Peter the +foolish, you must not yield to that present impulse. Of course, you +are armed. But do not move! Two feet behind you stands an excellent +shot with a pistol aimed at your backbone. Men with cracked spines do +not live long!" He chuckled. + +"What was I about to say? Ah, yes! If I could purchase from you that +quality--if I could, I say, anything in my kingdom would be +yours--everything! It is the one thing I have been denied. Holy +wheel! It is strange, this way I am talking! I have rarely had such +an interested audience. Most of my captives at this stage are +cringing, are kissing my feet." + +The snarling grin left his lips again, and his mood became strangely +soft, like dead flesh, so Peter thought, as he waited--with that pistol +at his backbone! + +"I intend telling you an amazing story, which you may or may not +credit. I am telling it--this confession--partly because I dislike the +look in your blue eyes. Like everyone else, you loathe me. But I will +erase that look. I intend to show you I am even more human than you! + +"By Buddha, I will tell that story to you--you, Peter Moore, the most +fortunate man in all China this hour. Think, before I begin, of that +mandarin, that bungling Javanese merchant, who, also, are about to die. +Then forget all else--and listen. + +"This took place many years ago, when I was a young man, like yourself. +I, too, loved a woman. Can you understand me? I, too, once loved a +woman, a maiden of the Punjab. I can conceive her in the veil of my +memory still. Eyes like dusty stars, skin the color of the Tibetan +dawn, the dawn that you may never again look upon. + +"Her heart was gold, so I thought. Yet it was dross. On a night in +springtime, in the bazaar at Mangalore, we two first met. I have not +forgotten. That night I fell in love with the white orchid from the +Punjab. She was more beautiful to me than life or death, a feast of +beauty. + +"Len Yang was mine then, and I was a rich prince, but not so rich as +now. Drunkenly I was casting my gold about the bazaar when we met. +She saw me--and she smiled! It was the first time any woman had smiled +upon me, and I was alarmed and troubled. I was no more handsome than +now. I was the man that no one loved. _Chuh-seng_--the beast--was my +name even then, among those who tolerated my friendship because of my +fluent gold. + +"And when the Punjab maiden smiled upon me, I thought to myself: +'_Chuh-seng_, love has come at last to sweeten your bitter heart.' +What should a young lover have done? I--I bought the bazaar and +presented it to her--on bended knees! + +"She confessed that she could love me, despite my ugliness, this white +orchid of the plains. Peter Moore, do not look at me. You can +believe--if you do not look. She kissed me--on my lips! Again she +said she loved me. Had I been a thousand times uglier, she would have +loved me a thousand times more passionately! Heaven had joined us. +And I forgave my enemies, renewed my vows at the wheel, and blessed +every virgin star! + +"Love had come to me at last! Me--the most hideous in all of Asia. +And I believed her. What would you have done, Peter Moore--you who +know so well the heart of woman? Never mind. I believed everything. + +"We lingered in Mangalore. But I did not know then of the Singhalese +merchant--the trader who owned three miserable camels. He possessed +not handsomeness, but the romantic glamour which you possess, Peter the +Brazen! Reveling in my love, I was as blind as these imbeciles in my +mines. Our child was born. + +"She could have taken more, had she not been so lovestruck. She could +have had my all--my gems, my pearls, and rubies, and diamonds, more +colossal than the treasure of any raja--my mines which dripped with the +precious mercury! + +"Yet she stole only my gold which was convenient, and went out into the +starlit night with the Singhalese trader, to share the romance of the +blinding desert--the Singhalese trader, a man of no caste at all! +Love? That was my love!" + +The hideous, gray face retreated behind talons as though to blot out +the thought of that ancient betrayal. When the talons again dropped +down, the dead softness of the face was replaced by the former sneer. + +This change was quite shocking. + +The beast was laughing harshly. "If I could not have love, I could at +least have hate! I have hated more passionately than any man has ever +loved!" + +Peter said nothing to this, although the gray lips closed and the green +eyes looked at him expectantly, almost demanding comment. Surely this +creature was insane, with his room of the green death, his wild tales +of love of a Punjab maiden, of wholesale hate. + +The Gray Dragon seemed irritated. "What have you to say now?" + +"I was only wondering," said Peter, as if suddenly tired, "when that +pistol is to explode at my back." + +"There is yet time," muttered his host. "No man has yet left this room +in contempt of me! Can you believe I have lied?" he snarled. "Why, +you fool!" he croaked. "I will teach you! What do you suppose has +become of that other one whom you met at the _weng_ into the hills? Do +you imagine my men were not in his camp? Every inch of the way you two +were watched. + +"And what has become of your prudence? You who defied me, who escaped +me--undone by a woman! She is why you are here. Because you are such +a fool you shall die. I might have relented. I thought you were proof +against love. Is any one? Is any one proof against it but me? Ah----" + +He looked eagerly beyond Peter, and Peter heard a frightened sob, then +a little cry, as the door closed heavily. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +She flew across the room to him, and pressed her hands to his cheeks. +Her eyes were sparkling with tears, and her face was very pale. Only +her lips, which were everlastingly bright, gave color to that +distressed young face. + +"Peter!" she moaned. "Oh, I was so afraid!" She lowered her voice. +"What is to become of us?" + +He looked down at her and forced a smile to his lips. + +"We who are about to die----" he began grimly. + +She gave him a twisted smile as his arms tightened about her. He loved +her for that courage. + +With his arm at her waist he turned. He had observed that the Gray +Dragon had spoken truly as regarded the armed coolie at his back. + +Their captor bent forward and fixed upon them the most curious of +glances. His merciless, green eyes ran from Eileen's tumbled chestnut +hair to her small, tan boots--then he regarded Peter with the same +intensity, and thereupon he seemed to be weighing the doomed lovers as +a unit, or as an idea. + +A devilish smile cracked his lips. + +"So this is love?" he cackled. "This is the young woman to whom you +have thrown your life away--after most splendid resistance--you, Peter +the Brazen! Do you still love her?" He pointed a crooked forefinger +at Eileen. "Tell me, would you desert him, in this first flush of your +maiden love, for a handsomer man--and steal his gold, after he laid the +earth at your feet? Would you do that?" + +Methodically the talons stroked the sea-weed mustache. + +"You are too anxious for death. You are romantic. Youth does have +such ideas. Even I, _Chuh-seng_, have such notions. Death? Why does +your little mind single out such simple punishment--you--lovers? +Romantically you long for death, because in the next world you would +come together again--in the lover's eternity of heaven. + +"But I have a far more imaginative scheme. Separation! How does that +appeal to you?" He leaned forward and watched them. "I have an +excellent plan. One of you shall work until the end of his life in +this mine, as beautiful captives in the past quarter century have +slaved and died; the other shall labor until the end of life in my +quarries, not more than one hundred miles from Len Yang. + +"Then you will not speak of death. You will struggle and you will grow +old long before your time, as the others have done, hoping that vain +hope of again meeting. And I shall grant your wish! Years from now, +when youth and the divine passion of youth have flown--when only the +bitter dregs of that rapturous love remain--then you shall be +reunited." He cackled humorously in his treble. + +"O Buddha! How long have I waited for such an opportunity? How long? +How long? Is it twenty years--or forty--or a thousand--since that +night in the bazaar at Mangalore?" His green eyes rolled to the green +ceiling. And his mood underwent another vast change, this creature of +monster moods. + +"Are you grateful to me, you two? You should be! It was I who brought +you together--I, the cruelest man in all Asia! It must have been a +divine night, that night on the great river, Peter Moore, when she came +into your arms. Love blazed in your hearts that night; and this +gray-eyed witch said, with downcast eyes: 'I like you, Peter Moore!' +What difference what she said? Any words would have dripped as much +with love!" + +He sprang to his feet, groaning, his evil countenance undergoing +convulsions, as of terrific inner spasms. + +"You shall not have that!" he shouted. "You shall not have love! What +I have done, I shall undo! You shall live apart. Love has been +refused me; love is refused all who come within my reach! That is my +decision. Nor shall you have death. One of you to the quarry--the +other to the mines. I shall be generous. You may make your choice. +And _that_ is my decision!" + +The lovers stared at him. The vicious plan had gripped Peter's +imagination. Gone was all thought of the pistol, which lay even now in +the palm of his hand. One shot would have silenced the beast forever; +but he had forgotten such things as bullets and pistols. + +He could realize only that, even before their first kiss had been +exchanged, they would be torn apart. + +The color had receded from Peter's skin and eyes; he looked very much +nearer forty than thirty. And Eileen was reflecting that despairing +attitude. She could think only of him toiling wretchedly in the mines +or quarries, striving against a fate as unfriendly, as unyielding, as a +wall of cold granite. + +The Gray Dragon sank back, with his chest heaving. His features were +working. The spasm had exhausted him; and the green brilliance gave +his gray skin a ghastly pallor. He lifted a small silver hammer and +brought it down upon the belly of a large bronze gong. + +There was a stir behind them. + +With the same cold hate in his expression as he addressed himself again +to the lovers, who clung together like small children, pitiful objects +indeed in this hall of pitiless green. + +"The others are coming; their fate will be yours--you lovers!" + +He turned to address words in dialect to the Mongolian on his right, +and in the space Eileen's breath came warmly upon Peter's ear. + +"Are you armed?" she whispered. + +His nod was hardly perceptible. He dropped his hand into his pocket, +and at that instant his arms were pinioned. The revolver was snatched +from his fingers. + +The malicious green eyes were staring beyond them. + +Peter heard a low sob, instantly stifled. Naradia, with bloodshot +eyes, was searching his face in distress. Her black hair had been +arranged in a heavy braid, which ran down her back in a glistening rope. + +Kahn Meng's sad eyes lingered on Peter's for a moment, sparkling with +guilt, and his face was crestfallen. Plainer than any words could have +said, his expression cried out: "I have failed! I am sorry." + +Then he advanced to the throne, taking his stand at the Gray Dragon's +side, a maneuver which was thoroughly mystifying to Peter. + +The Gray Dragon seemed to ignore his presence. To Peter he said: "You +recognize your companion of last night? The man with a legion of a +thousand loyal men at his back?" + +Peter nodded, muttering. + +The Gray Dragon waved Kahn Meng to one side. "He is my son. He is my +son by my faithful wife! Do you understand that, Peter Moore?" + +"Your son? And he will carry on your work?" + +"Precisely that! You have expressed it neatly, Peter Moore. The Gray +Dragon will carry on the work of the Gray Dragon!" + +The mystery of Kahn Meng was cleared aside. Fury directed at his +treachery swelled in Peter's breast and burst. It was as though a +torch had been applied. The flame of an ancient ancestral fire, when +men fought for their lives and their loves with clubs, and nails, and +teeth, burst into his brain and into his breast. The muscles under his +tunic-sleeve, which clung to his arm from the moisture of perspiration, +rippled and flexed and hardened. + +His face--the clean, handsome face of well-lived youth--was quite +dreadful to look upon--flushed to a fiery red and distorted. His lips +were skinned back over his white teeth. + +The thunder of his roar fairly shook the green quartz pillars, between +which the smug, green Buddha smiled complacently, impervious to the +rages of foolish mankind. + +Peter sprang upon the heels of that roar like a mass of wonderfully +controlled steel at the crouching figure, a figure whose countenance +was suddenly wet and white. + +He tore the carbine from the fingers of the nearest guard before that +one could collect his wits. + +The Mongolian sprawled over backward, and in the second instant the +heavy butt of the carbine came down with a shuddering crash upon the +skull-cap of the man who would no longer rule Len Yang! + +With such tremendous vigor was that blow delivered that the walnut +stock, as tough as iron, shivered into splinters, which swam in the +bursting brains of the victim. + +Screaming, Peter swung the stock again, and again, as if he would beat +his wretched victim to a pulp. Nothing but the barrel and breech +mechanism remained. + +His murderous intention seemed to be to remove, to obliterate for all +time, the hideous face, to wipe out by means of his brute strength the +gray countenance. + +Suddenly he sprang away from him with the elastic stride of a panther. +Kahn Meng, the traitor, was next. + +And as he leaped Kahn Meng slipped from his own pocket a revolver and +dodged Peter's blow. + +Peter staggered backward, reaching the center of the room, dragging the +bloody and bent carbine barrel in a red trail. There he stopped, +swaying, toppling. + +Darkness was assailing him. He was sinking into a pit. And the heart +was fluttering, laboring treacherously under the poison created in his +blood by fury. + +The green lights spun. + +He threw the carbine barrel at the complacent Buddha, where it clanked +to the marble flags. And he withered like the lotus, sprawling upon +his back with his eyes tightly shut, the color fast disappearing from +his complexion. + +And his head was reclining upon the small, tan boots of Eileen. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +Somewhere in the distance a sweet-voiced temple bell resounded +dreamily. Vague odors of sandalwood and wistaria swam in the soft, +cool air. A ray of warm sunlight fell upon Peter's inert hand, and he +opened his eyes. + +Memory came slowly back to him. He remembered that he had killed. The +last thing he distinctly recalled from that moment of ungovernable fury +which had taken hold of him was that Kahn Meng, the traitor, had drawn +a pistol. As a natural consequence he should be dead. Perhaps he was. + +Slowly his brain became clear, although queer vapors arose in it. + +Soft footsteps crossed the stone flagging with a clicking of dainty +heels. Small fingers, exquisite to the touch, brushed the tousled hair +from his forehead. These were cool and pleasant. + +"Old Sweetheart!" said a happy voice. + +The cool fingers crept underneath his chin and lingered there. Others +crept under his neck. A warm, satiny cheek floated down to rest upon +his forehead. + +Dozens of questions swarmed out of the wreckage of his waking +consciousness. + +"You are safe? Where are we? What happened to that scoundrel, Kahn +Meng? Why did they bring you here? Did they harm you? Who hit----" + +A silvery laugh interrupted him. "Yes, yes--yes!" said the voice that +was sweeter to him than all of the music in Christendom with heathendom +thrown in for good measure. + +"I am safe. I was kidnapped and treated with all respect due a famous +doctor--because a dead monster was suffering from neuritis. We are +alone, in a tiny glass house on the roof of the ivory palace, and dawn +has this very moment come. Such a glorious dawn, Peter! + +"Are you rested? I never saw any one so completely burned out. Such +fury! Gracious, what a man! But why, Peter, did you attack poor Kahn +Meng? He's the best friend you have in the world!" + +"The Gray Dragon!" muttered Peter, clenching his fists. + +"Peter, Kahn Meng would lay down his life for you. Of course, he is +the Gray Dragon; but that is only a name now. He is the Gray Dragon, +and he has you, and you only, to thank for it. + +"The title is hereditary, and he is the last of his line. He knew what +that monstrous father of his was doing, and he has been helpless--until +you freed him. And the dreadful secret, Peter, is that that beast was +not Kahn Meng's father. A Singhalese trader, murdered years ago, was +his father, and his mother, a beautiful woman of the Punjab, was for a +time the wife of the beast! + +"The entire organization has now come under Kahn Meng's control. He is +the Gray Dragon of Len Yang, and it is a title that from now on will be +a power for good, for construction! + +"You can't imagine what wonderful plans he has. He's a genius--that +young man is, Peter! And you--you--are to be his chief executive, the +viceroy of Len Yang! The chief of mines, of transportation, of labor! +He told me that millions of dollars of capital are at your disposal. + +"Last night we planned a great railroad line, running from the mines to +Chosen and Peking and Tientsin! Think of it, Peter! What opportunity! + +"While I," Eileen went on blithely, "am to start a hospital. No more +blindness, no more sickness, in Len Yang. And shorter working hours. +And an age limit. And schools. And good food, and lots of it! + +"From now on our work is to assume a world-wide importance. Word came +over the wireless late last night that Germany has finally started the +long-expected European war. Kahn Meng believes every nation will be +drawn into it. So there is another menace for you to help stamp +out--the Dragon of Europe. Kahn Meng says these mines, and the copper +and iron mines, nearer the coast, can help--wonderfully!" + +Peter felt vastly happy, too enthralled to believe that the state could +endure. He stood up from the cot and looked down into the bright face +of the one woman in the world. It was radiant, very pink, now, and her +round eyes were tender and meek. Perhaps she was a little frightened +by the fierceness which had developed in his expression. + +She opened her arms with a little laugh. He crushed her close. Their +lips met and clung. + +He pushed her away, and his blue eyes were impassioned. + +Eileen smiled. "Look!" + +The white snow on the high peaks across the valley glowed with the +heavy gold of sunrise. Far below them, midway to the green wall, he +saw a great mass of people. There were hundreds packed about the mouth +of the shaft. He wondered why they were waiting; then the shrill voice +of a crier penetrated the cool morning air. The thousands waited in +silence. + +Peter wondered at their dumbness in the face of the news that the man +who had ridden them into blindness, into starvation and death, was no +longer to tyrannize over them. + +The crier continued to shout his singsong. + +How would the spirit of that mob react to the announcement? + +The singsong halted, and for a breathless moment the miners, too, were +silent. + +Then a great volume of sound disturbed the morning hush. It swelled in +volume, rose in key--a great thunder, the thunder of laughing voices, +the hysterical joy of a people made free! It filled the valley and +overflowed into the hills, a prolonged wave of happy tumult. + + + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Peter the Brazen, by George F. 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Worts + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Peter the Brazen + A Mystery Story of Modern China + +Author: George F. Worts + +Illustrator: Gayle Hoskins + +Release Date: May 12, 2009 [EBook #28780] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PETER THE BRAZEN *** + + + + +Produced by Al Haines + + + + + +</pre> + + +<BR><BR> + +<A NAME="img-front"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG CLASS="imgcenter" SRC="images/img-front.jpg" ALT="PETER, HASTILY INSTRUCTING THE GIRL TO HOLD TWO RICKSHAWS, LEAPED AT HIS PURSUER WITH DOUBLED FISTS" BORDER="2" WIDTH="397" HEIGHT="626"> +<H5 CLASS="h5center" STYLE="width: 450px"> +PETER, HASTILY INSTRUCTING THE GIRL TO HOLD TWO RICKSHAWS,<BR> LEAPED AT HIS PURSUER WITH DOUBLED FISTS +</H5> +</CENTER> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +PETER THE BRAZEN +</H1> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +A MYSTERY STORY OF MODERN CHINA +</H2> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +BY +</H3> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +GEORGE F. WORTS +</H2> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"A man whose heart is burning with passion<BR> +follows the undulations of a thought."<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 3em">—Su-Tong-Po.</SPAN><BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<I>WITH A FRONTISPIECE BY</I><BR> +GAYLE HOSKINS<BR> +</H3> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +PHILADELPHIA & LONDON +<BR> +J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY +<BR> +1919 +</H3> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H5 ALIGN="center"> +COPYRIGHT, 1918, BY THE FRANK A. MUNSEY COMPANY +<BR> +COPYRIGHT, 1919, J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY +</H5> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +TO +<BR> +DR. AND MRS. W. B. A. MOORE +<BR> +HONG KONG +</H3> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CONTENTS +</H2> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +PART I +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +<A HREF="#part1">THE CITY OF STOLEN LIVES</A> +</H4> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +PART II +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +<A HREF="#part2">THE BITTER FOUNTAIN</A> +</H4> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +PART III +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +<A HREF="#part3">THE GREEN DEATH</A> +</H4> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="part1"></A> +<A NAME="chap0101"></A> + +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +PETER THE BRAZEN +</H1> + +<BR> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +PART I +</H2> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +THE CITY OF STOLEN LIVES +</H2> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER I +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"How serene the joy,<BR> +when things that are made for each other meet<BR> +and are joined;<BR> +but ah,—<BR> +how rarely they meet and are joined, the things<BR> +that are made for each other!"<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 4em">—SAO-NAN.</SPAN><BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +When Peter Moore entered the static-room, picked his way swiftly and +unnoticingly across the littered floor, and jerked open the frosted +glass door of the chief operator's office, the assembled operators +followed him with glances of admiration and concern. No one ever +entered the Chief's office in that fashion. One waited until called +upon. +</P> + +<P> +But Moore was privileged. Having "pounded brass" for five useful and +adventurous years on the worst and best of the ships which minimize the +length and breadth of the Pacific Ocean, he was favored; he had become +a person of importance. He had performed magical feats with a wireless +machine; he had had experiences. +</P> + +<P> +His first assignment was a fishing schooner, a dirty, unseaworthy +little tub, which ran as far north sometimes as the Aleutians; and he +had immediately gained official recognition by sticking to his +instruments for sixty-eight hours—recorded at fifteen-minute intervals +in his log—when the whaler <I>Goblin</I> encountered a submerged pinnacle +rock in the Island Passage and flashed the old C.Q.D. distress signal. +</P> + +<P> +It was brought out in the investigation that the distance at which +Peter Moore had picked up the signals of the sinking <I>Goblin</I> exceeded +the normal working range of either apparatus. When pressed, the young +man confessed the ownership of a pair of abnormally keen ears. +Afterward, it was demonstrated for the benefit of doubters that Moore +could "read" signals in the receivers when the ordinary operator could +detect only a far away scratching sound. +</P> + +<P> +Beginning his second year in the Marconi uniform, Peter Moore was +recognized as material far too valuable to waste on the fishing boats; +and he was stationed on the <I>Sierra</I>, which was then known in wireless +circles as a supervising ship. Her powerful apparatus could project +out a long electric arm over any part of the eastern Pacific, and the +duty of her operator was to reprimand sluggards who neglected answering +calls from ship or shore stations, and inexperienced men who violated +the strict rules governing radio intercourse. +</P> + +<P> +It was whispered that Peter Moore grew tired of the nagging to which +his position on the supervisor ship gave him privilege, for he shortly +made application for a berth in the China run. Now every operator on +the Pacific cherishes the hope that his fidelity will some day be +rewarded by a China run, and there are applications always on file for +those romantic berths. The Chief granted Peter Moore his whim +unhesitatingly; and Moore selected the <I>Vandalia</I>, perhaps the most +desirable of the transpacific fleet, because she stayed away from San +Francisco the longest. +</P> + +<P> +That the supersensitiveness of his ears was not waning was soon proved +by his receipt of a non-relayed message, afterward verified, from the +shore station in Seattle, when the <I>Vandalia</I> lay at anchor in the +harbor at Hong-Kong. That was a new record. Marconi himself is +believed to have written the young magician a complimentary letter. +But Peter Moore showed that letter to no one. That was his nature. He +was something of a mystery even to the members of his own profession. +Many of the younger operators knew him only as a symbol, a genius +behind a key, or as a hand. Professionally speaking, it was his hand +that made his personality unique and enviable. There was a queer +vitality in the signals sent into the air from a wireless machine when +his strong white fingers played upon the key; his touch was as familiar +to them as the voice of a friend. +</P> + +<P> +There was a general simmering down of coastwise gossip in the +static-room when the frosted glass door of the Chief's office closed +behind him. Voices trailed off into curious whisperings. Then— +</P> + +<P> +"But great guns, man, I need you!" boomed the cranky voice of the Chief. +</P> + +<P> +Followed then the low hum of Peter Moore as he explained himself. +</P> + +<P> +"Makes no difference!" the Chief roared. "Can't get along without you. +Short handed. Gotta stay!" +</P> + +<P> +In irritation the Chief always abbreviated his remarks quite as if they +were radiograms to be transmitted at dollar-a-word rates. +</P> + +<P> +The truth then dawned and burst upon those ardent listeners in the +static-room. Peter Moore was resigning! It was incredible. +</P> + +<P> +A more daring head pressed its audacious ear against the snowy glass. +This was a fat, excitable little man, long in the service, but destined +forever, it seemed, to hammer brass in the Panama intermediate run. A +skillful operator, but his arm broke, as wireless men say, whenever +faced by emergency. He distinctly heard Peter Moore state in a voice +of emotion: "Too much China. God, man, I'll be smuggling opium next!" +</P> + +<P> +"Rubbish!" the Chief snorted. +</P> + +<P> +The Panama Line man waved a pale hand behind him for absolute silence. +</P> + +<P> +"Want a shore station for a while?" +</P> + +<P> +"Intend to rest up and then look around," Moore answered. +</P> + +<P> +"You'll be back. Mark my word. The sea and the wireless house is a +winning combination. The old cities—new faces—freedom——" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm tired." +</P> + +<P> +"Pah! You've only begun. When does the <I>Vandalia</I> clear for China?" +</P> + +<P> +"Thursday night." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll hold your berth open till Thursday noon. Hoping you'd break in a +new operator. Queer chap. Glass eye. 'Member—Thursday noon." +</P> + +<P> +The frosted door went inward abruptly. The intense blue eyes in the +pale face of the man who had resigned closed half way upon encountering +the blushing eavesdropper. The Panama Line operator moved uncertainly +toward a vacant chair. Unaware of the curious stares addressed at him +Moore went to the outer door. A wave of exquisite nervousness rippled +through the silence of the static-room as the door clicked. +</P> + +<P> +When the rumor reached the <I>Vandalia</I>, lying in state at her pier, that +Peter Moore had resigned, Captain Jones, after bluntly airing his +disappointment, advanced the theory to his chief engineer that Sparks +had "taken the East too much to heart. The fangs are in too deep." +</P> + +<P> +"He will be on hand sailing time," added the chief engineer, who had +been trying to retire from active duty in the China run for eleven +years. +</P> + +<P> +But Moore did not come back to the <I>Vandalia</I> for that reason at all. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0102"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER II +</H3> + +<P> +Communication between certain individuals in China and their relatives +and friends in Chinatown must, for political and other reasons, be +conducted in a secret way. In Shanghai, Moore had made the +acquaintance, under somewhat mysterious auspices, of Ching Gow Ong, an +important figure in the silk traffic. +</P> + +<P> +Moore, so it was said by those who were in a position to know, had once +performed a favor for Ching Gow Ong, of which no one seemed to know the +particulars. What was of equal importance, perhaps, was that Ching Gow +Ong would have willingly given Moore any gift within his power had +Moore been so inclined. +</P> + +<P> +But it appears that Moore was not a seeker after wealth, thereby giving +some real basis to the common belief that he possessed that rare +thing—a virginal spirit of adventure. He cemented this queer +friendship by conveying messages, indited in Chinese script, which he +did not read, between Ching Gow Ong and his brother, Lo Ong, officially +dead, who conducted a vile-smelling haunt in the bowels of Chinatown. +</P> + +<P> +Peter Moore made his way through the narrowing alleys, proceeded +through a maze of blank walls, down a damp stone stairway, and rapped +upon a black iron door. It opened instantly, and a long clawlike hand +reached forth, accepted the yellow envelope from the operator's hand, +and slowly, silently withdrew, the door closing as quickly and as +quietly as it had opened. +</P> + +<P> +No words were spoken. His errand done, Peter Moore retraced his steps +to the wider and brighter lanes which comprised the Chinatown known to +tourists. +</P> + +<P> +He walked slowly, with his head inclined a little to one side, which +was a habit he had acquired from the eternal listening into the hard +rubber receivers. He had proceeded in this fashion a number of steps +up one of the narrow, sloping sidewalks when he felt, rather than +perceived, a pair of eyes fastened upon him from a second-story window. +</P> + +<P> +They were the eyes of a young Chinese woman, but he sensed immediately +that she was not of the river type. Her fine black hair was arranged +in a gorgeous coiffure. Gold ornaments drooped from her ears, and her +complexion was liberally sanded with rice powder. Her painted lips +wore an expression of malignity. +</P> + +<P> +In the obliquity of the eyes lurked a solemn warning. Then he became +aware that she seemed to be struggling, as if she were impeding the +movements of some one behind her. +</P> + +<P> +It is safe to say that in his tramps through the winding alleys of +Canton, of Peking, of Shanghai, Peter Moore had encountered many +Chinese women of her type. There was a sharp vividness to her features +which meant the inbreeding of high caste. She was unusual—startling! +She looked into the street furtively, held up a heavily jeweled +hand—an imperial order for him to stop—and withdrew. He lounged into +the doorway of an ivory shop and waited. +</P> + +<P> +It was quiet in Chinatown, for the time was noon and the section was +pursuing its midday habit of calm. The padding figures were becoming a +trifle obscure, owing to a cold, pale fog that was drifting up from the +bay. In a moment the woman reappeared, examined the street again with +hostile eyes, held up a square of rice paper, and slowly folded it. +</P> + +<P> +Peter Moore nodded slightly and smiled. It was a habit with him—that +smile. The sensitiveness of his nervous system found a quick outlet, +when he was nervous or excited, by a disingenuous smile. He proceeded +to the shop directly underneath her window, observing it to be Ah Sih +King's gold shop. The window was rich in glittering splendors from the +Orient. He picked up from the sidewalk a crumpled ball of red paper +and stowed it away in his coat pocket. +</P> + +<P> +To an alert observer the indifference with which Moore turned and +pretended to study the gold ornaments in Ah Sih King's window might +have seemed a trifle too obvious, and the smile on his lips, one might +go on to say, was uncalled for. +</P> + +<P> +As he waited, a soft thud sounded at his feet, coincident with a flash +of black and white across his shoulder. He covered the object with one +foot, as the oily, leering face of Ah Sih King appeared in the doorway. +The blanched face surmounted a costly mandarin robe, righteously worn, +a gorgeous blue raiment with traceries of fine gold and exquisite gems. +At this moment he seemed to exhale an air of faint suspicion. +</P> + +<P> +"Gentleman!" accosted the thin, curled lips in a tone that was +well-nigh personal. +</P> + +<P> +"Buy nothing," Peter Moore said curtly. +</P> + +<P> +"You see my—my see you," observed Ah Sih King, reverting, as he deemed +fitting, to pidgin. +</P> + +<P> +The wireless operator turned his back impolitely; Ah Sih King did +likewise. When he turned again, sharply, the oily smile was gone, a +look of concern having crept into his sly, old face, and the slightly +bent shoulders of the much slier young man were several strides distant. +</P> + +<P> +A faint hiss, as of warning, issued from the carmine lips of the +Chinese woman. Then the window closed noiselessly, and Chinatown, +having paid not the slightest heed to the incident, pattered about its +multifarious businesses, none the wiser. +</P> + +<P> +There was an indefinable something in this incident which caused +creases to appear across Moore's brow. Why had two notes been thrown? +The puzzle sifted down to this possibility: Some one behind the Chinese +woman had thrown a ball of red paper, a note, into the street. +</P> + +<P> +Then she had beckoned him to wait, had written a second note, perhaps +to warn him away. He glanced furtively at the second note, saw that it +was written in Chinese, and thereupon decided in return for many favors +to call upon Lo Ong for a translation. +</P> + +<P> +Chinatown now was slowly vanishing from view, swallowed by the gray +blanket of fog which rolled in from the Pacific through the mouth of +the harbor. Retracing his steps through the mist, Moore descended the +narrow stone stairway and tapped on the oblong of iron with his heavy +seal ring. A shutter clinked, uneasy eyes scrutinized him, and he +heard the bolt slide back. He opened the door and entered, restoring +the bolt to its place. +</P> + +<P> +The room was low, deep and dark under the flickering light of a single +dong, which hung from the ceiling at the end of a roped-up cluster of +fine brass chains. The rich, stupefying odor of opium tainted the +heavy air. The orange flame, motionless as if it were carved from +solid metal, showed the room to be bare except for a few grass mats +scattered about in the irregular round shadow under it. +</P> + +<P> +To one of these mats Lo Ong, gaunt, curious, even hostile, retreated, +squatting with his delicately thin hands folded over his abdomen. A +look of recognition disturbed only for the instant the placidity of the +ochre features. +</P> + +<P> +"No come buy?" he intoned, as if Peter Moore had never passed under +that piercing gaze before. +</P> + +<P> +"My never come buy," said the wireless man curtly. "Wanchee you come +help; savvy?" +</P> + +<P> +"Mebbe can do," asserted Lo Ong, in the voice and manner of one +incessantly pursued by favor-seekers. Lo Ong's draped arm, as if it +were detached from his body and governed by some extraneous mechanism, +indicated a mat. Moore slipped down in the familiar cross-legged +attitude, lighted a cigarette and blew the smoke at the belly on the +dong. +</P> + +<P> +"You Wanchee cumshaw?" demanded the Chinese, uneasily. +</P> + +<P> +Peter Moore disdained to reply, extracted the two lumps of paper, slid +one under his knee and unfolded the other, while Lo Ong looked +unfavorably beyond him at the door. Three rows of Chinese markings +were scrawled down it. Lo Ong's body commenced to sway back and forth +in impatient rhythm. +</P> + +<P> +"Lo Ong," stated Moore, "my wanchee you keep mouth shut—allatime +shut—you savvy?" +</P> + +<P> +"Can do," murmured Lo Ong indifferently. He reached for the rice +paper, lifting it tenderly in long, clawing fingers, and held it to the +flame. He seemed not to believe what he read, for he twisted the paper +over, looked at it upside down, then sat down again, his lean fingers +convulsing. +</P> + +<P> +"No can do," he muttered, replacing the paper on his visitor's knee. +"Mino savvy." +</P> + +<P> +The white forefinger of the wireless operator pointed unwaveringly at +the flattened nose. "Read that," he ordered. +</P> + +<P> +Lo Ong glanced the other way, as if the subject had ceased to interest +him, and tapped the floor with his knuckles. +</P> + +<P> +"Wanchee money—cumshaw?" +</P> + +<P> +"Lo Ong," declared Moore, losing his patience, "you b'long dead. Now +savvy?" +</P> + +<P> +"Mebbe can do," said Lo Ong faintly. +</P> + +<P> +Moore ran his fingers down the first row of fresh markings. +</P> + +<P> +"O-o-ey," commented Lo Ong, shifting uneasily, "'My see you allatime, +long ago on ship.' Savvy?" +</P> + +<P> +"What's next?" +</P> + +<P> +"'You no see my. My see you allatime.'" +</P> + +<P> +The long, sloping shoulders seemed to jerk. "Keep away. Savvy?" +</P> + +<P> +"It says that?" +</P> + +<P> +"Take look see," invited Lo Ong, poking his claw nervously down the +column. "'Keep away. Keep away.' One—two times. Savvy?" +</P> + +<P> +Peter Moore nodded thoughtfully. +</P> + +<P> +The Chinese, officially dead, replaced the sheet gingerly on his knees, +as if it were an instrument of wickedness. His bony fingers twitched a +moment. +</P> + +<P> +"High lady," he added nervously; "velly high lady. You stay away. +Huh?" +</P> + +<P> +"Wait a minute." Peter extracted the other paper ball, unfolding it +near the orange flame. The inner surface was red, the earthly red of +porphyry, and cracked and scarred by the crumpling. Nearly obliterated +by the lacework of wrinkles and scratches was a scrawl, evidently +scarred into the glazed surface by a knife-point. The upper part was +unintelligible. On the lower surface he made out with difficulty the +single word, <I>Vandalia</I>. He carried it to the door, slid back the +shutter and let the dim, gray light filter upon it. The other words +were too mutilated to be read. +</P> + +<P> +"Hi!" +</P> + +<P> +He returned to Lo Ong's jacketed side. The bony finger was circling +excitedly about a smear of black in the lower corner of the rice paper. +</P> + +<P> +"What's this?" +</P> + +<P> +"Len Yang. <I>Len Yang</I>! Savvy?" +</P> + +<P> +"O-ho! And who is Len Yang?" +</P> + +<P> +Lo Ong shook his head in agitation. "Len Yang—city. Savvy? +Shanghai—Len Yang—fort' day." +</P> + +<P> +"Fourteen days from Shanghai to Len Yang?" +</P> + +<P> +"No. No! <I>No</I>! Fort'." +</P> + +<P> +"Forty?" +</P> + +<P> +"O-o-ey." The flattened nose bobbed up and down. "Keep away—ai?" +</P> + +<P> +"Maskee," Peter replied, meaning, broadly speaking, none of your +business. +</P> + +<P> +Lo Ong unbolted the door, to hint that the interview was concluded. +"You keep away—ai?" he repeated anxiously. Moore grinned in his +peculiarly disingenuous way, swung open the black door, and a long, +gray arm of the fog groped its way past Lo Ong's countenance. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0103"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER III +</H3> + +<P> +The junior operator toyed with the heavy transmitting key while Peter +Moore, who knew the behavior of his apparatus as he would know the +caprices of an old friend, adjusted helix-plugs, started the +motor-generator, and satisfied the steel-eyed radio inspector that his +wave decrement was exactly what it ought to be. +</P> + +<P> +Then the inspector grunted suspiciously and wanted to know if the +auxiliary batteries were properly charged. With a faint smile, Moore +hooked up the auxiliary apparatus, tapped the key, and a crinkly blue +spark snapped between the brass points above the fat rubber coil. +</P> + +<P> +"I reckon she'll do," observed the inspector. "Aerial don't leak, does +it?" +</P> + +<P> +"No," said Peter. +</P> + +<P> +The government man took a final look at the glittering instruments, and +departed. Wherewith the junior operator swung half around in the +swivel-chair and exposed to Peter an expression of mild imploration. +Two gray lids over cavernous sockets lifted and lowered upon shining +black eyes, one of which seemed to lack focus. Peter recalled then +that the Chief had said something about a second operator having only +one human eye, the other being glass. +</P> + +<P> +"This is your first trip?" +</P> + +<P> +The sallow face was inclined, and the pallid lips moved dryly. +</P> + +<P> +"I just came from the school. I'm pretty green. You see——" +</P> + +<P> +"I see. We'd better let me take the first trick. I'll sit in till +midnight. After that there's very little doing. You may have to relay +a position report or so. Be sure and don't work on navy time. The +Chief will watch you closely for long-distance. The farther you work, +the better he'll like it. How's the air? Have you listened in?" +</P> + +<P> +"Do you mean—static? I heard a little. Seemed pretty far away, +though." +</P> + +<P> +Peter adjusted the nickeled straps about his head and pressed the +rubber disks tight to his ears. He tilted his head slightly. A +distant but harsh rasping, as of countless needle-points grating on +glass, occurred in the head phones. This was caused by charges of +electricity in the air, known to wireless men as "static." Percolating +through the scratching was a clear, bell-like note. The San Pedro +station was having something to say to a destroyer off the coast. +</P> + +<P> +With delicate fingers Peter raised the tuning-knob a few points. Dale, +the junior operator, hands clutched behind him, stared with the fearful +adoration of an apprentice. He seemed to be making a mental notation +of every move that Peter made, for future reference. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah—do you mind if I ask a few questions? You see, I'm kind of green." +</P> + +<P> +"Go ahead!" Peter said cordially. +</P> + +<P> +"Where do I eat? With the crew? I hear that lots of these ships make +you eat with the crew." +</P> + +<P> +"No. In the main dining-saloon. Mr. Blanchard, the purser, will take +care of you. See him at six thirty." +</P> + +<P> +A deep monstrous shudder, arising to a clamor, half roar, half shriek, +issued from the boilers of the <I>Vandalia</I>. +</P> + +<P> +"It's rather interesting to watch us pull out," said Peter when the +noise had ceased. "But be careful. There's no rail around this deck." +</P> + +<P> +He was on his hands and knees at the motor-generator with a pad of +sandpaper between his fingers when the tremulous voice of the junior +operator sounded in the doorway. "Mr. Moore, there's some excitement +on the dock." +</P> + +<P> +Peter followed the narrow shoulders to the starboard side and looked +down. The <I>Vandalia</I> was warping out from the pierhead with a sobbing +tug at her stern. He noted that the head-lines were still fast. A +straggling line of passengers' friends, wives, husbands, and +sweethearts was moving slowly toward the end of the pier, for a final +parting wave. +</P> + +<P> +Something seemed to be wrong at the shore end of the gangplank, for, +despite the fact that the ship was swinging out, the plank was still +up. In the midst of an excited crowd a taxicab purred and smoked. +There was a general parting in the crowd as the door was flung open. +Two figures emerged, were lost from sight, and reappeared at the foot +of the plank. An incoherent something was roared from the bridge. +</P> + +<P> +One of the figures appeared to be struggling, clutching at the rail. +For an instant she seemed to glance in Peter's direction. But her face +could hardly be seen, for it was shrouded by a heavy gray veil. A gray +hood covered her hair, and a long cloak reached to her shoe-tops. +</P> + +<P> +Patiently urging her was a Chinese woman in silk jacket, trousers, and +jeweled slippers. A customs officer tried to break through the mob, +but somehow was held back. The gray-hooded figure suddenly seemed to +become limp, and the Chinese woman half lifted, half pushed her the +remaining distance to the promenade deck. +</P> + +<P> +Peter was then conscious of a staring, lifeless eye fixed upon his. +</P> + +<P> +"What do you make of it, Mr. Moore?" the junior operator wanted to know. +</P> + +<P> +"Of that?" said Peter. "Nothing—nothing at all. By the way, I forgot +to tell you that the captain has issued strict orders forbidding +subofficers to use the starboard decks. Always, when you're going +forward, or aft, walk on the port side." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0104"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER IV +</H3> + +<P> +Peter turned over the log-book and the wireless-house to Dale, a few +minutes before midnight. +</P> + +<P> +"Everything's cleared up. The static is worse, and KPH may want you to +relay a message or two to Honolulu. If you have trouble, let me know." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, yes," replied Dale, looking over his shoulder nervously. "I +will. Thanks." +</P> + +<P> +Peter left him to the mercies of the static. As he descended the iron +ladder to the promenade-deck, he imagined he saw some one moving +underneath him. The figure, whoever or whatever it was, slid around +the white wall and vanished as his foot felt the deck. He hastened to +follow. +</P> + +<P> +As he stepped into the light a low, sibilant whisper reached him. At +the cross-corridor doorway he was in time to see the flicker of a +vanishing gray garment and a sandaled foot on a naked ankle flash over +the vestibule wave-check. He shook open the door and followed. +</P> + +<P> +A vertical stripe of yellow light cleaved the dark of the corridor as a +door was quietly shut. He heard the faint, distant click of a +door-latch. Counting the entrances to that one, and sure that he had +made no mistake, he rapped. The near-by clank of the engine-room well +was the reply. He tried the handle. It was immovable. He struck a +match. It was stateroom forty-four. +</P> + +<P> +Peter went to the purser's office. Light rippled through the wrinkled +green, round window, as he had hoped. He tapped lightly, and a voice +bade him to enter. +</P> + +<P> +Blanchard, the purser, dwarfed, perpetually stoop-shouldered, looked up +from a clump of cargo reports and blinked through convex, thick, steel +spectacles at his interrupter. His eyes were red and dim with a +gray-blue, uncertain definition which always reminded Peter of oysters. +Blanchard had been purser of the <I>Vandalia</I> for thirteen years, and +Peter knew that the man possessed the garrulous habits of the oyster as +well. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, well!" observed Blanchard in the crisp, brittle accents of +senility; "so you're back again, eh? Well, well, well." There was no +emphasis laid on the words. They were all struck from the same piece +of ancient metal. +</P> + +<P> +"Here I am!" agreed Peter with mild enthusiasm. "The bad penny!" +</P> + +<P> +"Ha, ha! The bad penny returns!" The exclamation died in a futile +cough. "What are you prowlin' around ship this time o' night for, eh? +After three bells, Sparks. Time for respectable people to be fast +asleep. Or, are you leavin' the radio unwatched?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm looking for information." Peter drew himself by stiffened arms +upon the purser's single bunk. +</P> + +<P> +"Lookin' for information?" The thin voice suffered the quavery +attrition of surprise. "Funny place to be lookin' for that commodity. +What's on your mind? Eh?" +</P> + +<P> +"Chinamen!" +</P> + +<P> +Blanchard tilted the rusted spectacles to his forehead, and the +motionless gray orbs seemed to glint with a half-dead light. +"Chinamen? What Chinamen?" The spectacles slid back into place. +</P> + +<P> +"One, a woman, came aboard as we were pulling out this afternoon. Who +is she? Where is she? Where's she from? Where's she going? Who's +with her? That's what I want to clear up." +</P> + +<P> +"Is that all?" squeaked Blanchard. His wrinkled, dried lips were +struggling as if with indecision. A veiled, a thinly veiled conflict +of emotions apparently was taking place behind that ancient gray mask. +"What—what for?" was the final outcome in a hesitant half-whisper. +</P> + +<P> +"My private information," smiled Peter. "Just curious, that's all. +Didn't mean to pry open any dark secrets." He made as if to go. +</P> + +<P> +"Sparks! Don't be in a hurry. I'm not so busy." +</P> + +<P> +"Well?" +</P> + +<P> +"What's botherin' you? Maybe I could straighten you out." +</P> + +<P> +"Who are the occupants of stateroom forty-four?" Peter replied. +</P> + +<P> +Again the expression shifted like water smitten by an evil wind. +</P> + +<P> +"Forty-four!" The words were mild explosions. +</P> + +<P> +A long cardboard sheet with blue and red lines was produced from a +noiselessly opened drawer. +</P> + +<P> +"The passenger list. We shall see." Blanchard's red, shiny forefinger +clawed down the column of names, halting at the numeral forty-four. +The space was blank. "You see?" +</P> + +<P> +"Empty?" +</P> + +<P> +"Empty." A restrained note of triumph was unquestionably evident in +the purser's cracked voice. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll bother you with just one more question. What is Len Yang?" +</P> + +<P> +A look of doubt, of incredulity bordering upon feeble indignation, +settled upon the serrated countenance. But Blanchard only shook his +head as if he did not comprehend. +</P> + +<P> +Peter slipped down from the bunk. "Guess I'll take a turn on deck, if +the fog's lifted, and roll in. G'night, purser." +</P> + +<P> +Blanchard started to say something, evidently thought better of it, and +retrieved his pen. As he dipped the fine point into the red ink by +mistake he flung another frown over his shoulder. The wireless man +lingered on the threshold, swinging the door tentatively. +</P> + +<P> +"G'night, Sparks." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0105"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER V +</H3> + +<P> +The <I>Vandalia</I> was wallowing majestically through long, dead black +swells. Peter poked his way up forward to the solitary lookout in the +peak and glanced overside. Broad, phosphorescent swords broke smoothly +with a rending, rushing gurgle over the steep cut-water. His eyes +darted here and there over the void as his mind struggled to straighten +out this latest kink. +</P> + +<P> +What facts of significance he might have discovered from Blanchard were +overshadowed by the purser's suspicious attitude. Blanchard knew, and +Blanchard, for some reason, did not choose to divulge. This made +matters more interesting, if slightly more complicated. +</P> + +<P> +He was now reasonably sure of several things, without really having +definite grounds for being sure. The malignant-eyed Chinese woman and +whoever she had successfully concealed behind her in the loft above Ah +Sih King's were now aboard the <I>Vandalia</I>. He was quite positive that +he had recognized her in the woman who had come aboard in company with +the gray-cloaked figure at the last minute before sailing-time. +</P> + +<P> +He recalled the scene on the pierhead, and it occurred to him that the +eyes behind the gray veil, before their owner was whisked up to the +deck and from his sight, had fastened upon him for a long breath. +</P> + +<P> +"Four bells, all well!" bawled the lookout as four clanging strokes +rang out from abaft the wheel-house. +</P> + +<P> +And Blanchard had proved that stateroom forty-four was unoccupied. +Peter decided to borrow a master key in the morning, from the chief +engineer, perhaps, and investigate stateroom forty-four. And with the +feeling that he was on the verge of discovering something which did not +exist, he prepared to turn in. +</P> + +<P> +He was not undressed when the lock grated, the door lurched open, and +the pale visage of Dale teetered at his shoulder. An attempt at +grinning ended in a hissing sob of in-taken breath. The limp frame +flung itself in the bunk beside Peter, and Dale's white, perspiring +face was buried in palsied hands. +</P> + +<P> +"Feel the motion?" Peter pulled down one of the hands, gently +uncovering the expressionless eye. +</P> + +<P> +"I wish I was dead!" +</P> + +<P> +"Want me to finish your trick?" +</P> + +<P> +Dale's face disappeared in the pillow. A moment he was stark. His +head partly revolved, profiling a yellow, pointed nose against the +white of the linen. +</P> + +<P> +"Static's much worse, Mr. Moore. Frisco's sent me the same message +three times now. It's for Honolulu. He says he won't repeat it +again." The pale lips trembled in misery. "And there seems to be a +funny sort of static in the receivers. The dynamos in the engine-room +may cause it." +</P> + +<P> +"That's strange," Peter reflected as he slipped on his blue coat. +"There's never been any induction on board as far back as I can +remember. Does it hum—or what?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, it grates, like static. Sounds like static, and yet it doesn't. +Kind of a hoarse rumble, like a broken-down spark-coil." +</P> + +<P> +Two even rows of white teeth drew in the trembling lip and clung to it. +"That awful staticky sound—— And the <I>Rover's</I> been calling us." He +groaned miserably. "I couldn't answer either of them. I was lying on +the carpet!" +</P> + +<P> +"Get some sleep," advised Peter. "When you feel better come up and +relieve me. If I were you I wouldn't smoke cigarettes when you think +it's rough." +</P> + +<P> +"I won't smoke another cigarette as long as I live!" +</P> + +<P> +Peter slipped into his uniform, draped an oil-skin coat about his +slender shoulders, and made his way up to the wireless house. The +receivers were lying on the floor. +</P> + +<P> +The <I>Vandalia</I> was entering a zone of pale, thin mist, which created +circular, misty auras about the deck-lights. The tarpaulined +donkey-engine beneath the after-cargo booms rattled as the <I>Vandalia's</I> +stern sank into a hollow, and the beat of the engines was muffled and +deeper. A speck of white froth glinted on the black surface and +vanished astern. +</P> + +<P> +The wireless-house seemed warm and cozy in the glare of its green and +white lights. An odor of cheap cigarette-smoke puffed out as he opened +the door. +</P> + +<P> +Peter slipped the hard-rubber disks over his ears and tapped the slider +of the tuner. Static was bad to-night, trickling, exploding and +hissing in the receivers. +</P> + +<P> +The electric lights became dim under the strain of the heavy motor, as +he slid up the starting handle. The white-hot spark exploded in a +train of brisk dots and dashes. He snapped up the aerial switch and +listened. +</P> + +<P> +KPH—the San Francisco station—rang clear and loud through the spatter +of the electric storm. Peter flashed back his O.K., tuned for the +Kahuka Head station at Honolulu, and retransmitted the message. +</P> + +<P> +Sensitizing the detector, he slid up the tuning handle for high waves. +Static, far removed, trickled in. Then a faint, musical wailing like a +violin's E-string pierced this. The violin was the government station +at Arlington, Virginia, transmitting a storm warning to ships in the +South Atlantic. For five minutes the wailing persisted. Sliding the +tuning handle downward, Peter listened for commercial wave-lengths. +</P> + +<P> +A harsh grinding, unmusical as emery upon hollow bronze, rasped +stutteringly in the head phones. Laboriously, falteringly, the grating +was cleaved into clumsy dots and dashes of the Continental Code, under +the quaking fingers of some obviously frightened and inexperienced +operator. Were these the sounds which had unnerved Dale? For a time +the raspings spelled nothing intelligible. The unknown sender +evidently was repeating the same word again and again. It held four +letters. Once they formed, H-I-J-X. Another time, S-E-L-J. And +another, L-P-H-E. +</P> + +<P> +The painstaking intent, as the operator's acute ears recognized, was +identical in each instance. Frequently the word was incoherent +altogether, the signals meaning nothing. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly Peter jerked up his head. Out of the jumble stood the word, +as an unseen ship will often stand out nakedly in a fog rift. Over and +over, badly spaced, the infernal rasp was spelling, <I>H-E-L-P</I>. +</P> + +<P> +He waited for the signature of this frantic operator. But none +occurred. Following a final letter "p" the signals ceased. +</P> + +<P> +For a minute or two, while Peter nervously pondered, the air was +silent. Then another station called him. A loud droning purr filled +the receivers. Peter gave the "k" signal. The brisk voice of the +transport <I>Rover</I> droned: +</P> + +<P> +"I can't raise KPH. Will you handle an M-S-G for me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Sure!" roared the <I>Vandalia's</I> spark. "But wait a minute. Have you +heard a broken down auxiliary asking for help? He's been jamming me +for fifteen minutes. Seems to be very close, K." +</P> + +<P> +"Nix," replied the <I>Rover</I> breezily. "Can't be at all close or I would +hear him, too. I can see your lights from my window. You're off our +port quarter. Here's the M-S-G." +</P> + +<P> +Peter accepted the message, retransmitting it to the KPH operator, then +called the wheelhouse on the telephone. Quine, first officer, answered +sleepily. +</P> + +<P> +"Has the lookout reported any ship in the past hour excepting the +<I>Rover</I>?" +</P> + +<P> +"Is that the <I>Rover</I> on our port quarter?" Quine's voice was gruffly +amazed. Like most mariners of the old school, he considered the +wireless machine a nuisance. Yet its intelligence occasionally caught +him off guard. +</P> + +<P> +"Only thing in sight, Sparks." +</P> + +<P> +Peter made an entry in the log-book, folded his hands and shut his +eyes. The Leyden jars rattled in their mahogany sockets as the +<I>Vandalia</I> climbed a wave, faltered, and sped into the hollow. Far +removed from her pivot of gravity, the wireless house behaved after the +manner of an express elevator. But the wireless house chair was bolted +to the floor. +</P> + +<P> +Wrinkles of perplexity creased his forehead. Had this stuttering +static anything in kind with those other formless events? If not, what +terrified creature was invoking his aid in this blundering fashion? +</P> + +<P> +A simple test would prove if the signals were of local origin—from a +miniature apparatus aboard the ship. He hoped anxiously for the +opportunity. And in less than a half hour the opportunity was given +him. +</P> + +<P> +A tarred line scraped the white belly of the life-boat which swelled up +from the deck outside the door, giving forth a dull, crunching sound +with each convulsion of the engines. The square area above it danced +with reeling stars, moiled by a purple-black heaven. +</P> + +<P> +Peter, who had been studying the tarred rope, swung about in the chair +and dropped an agitated finger to the silvered wire which rested +against the glittering detector crystal. A tiny, blue-red flame +snapped from his finger to the crystal chip! The frantic operator was +aboard the <I>Vandalia</I>! +</P> + +<P> +The broken stridulations took on the coherence of intelligible dots and +dashes. The former blundering was absent, as if the tremulous hand of +the sender was steadied by the grip of a dominant necessity; the +signals clarified by the pressure of terror. +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Do not try to find me</I>," it stammered and halted. +</P> + +<P> +Some maddened pulse seemed to leap to life in Peter's throat. His +fingers, working at the base of the tiny instrument, were cold and damp. +</P> + +<P> +"<I>You must wait</I>," rasped the unknown sender, faltering. "<I>You must +help me</I>! <I>You are watched.</I>" +</P> + +<P> +For a breath there was no sound in the receivers other than the beating +of his heart. +</P> + +<P> +<I>Click</I>! <I>Snap</I>! <I>Sputter</I>! Then: "<I>Wait for the lights of China</I>!" +</P> + +<P> +The receivers rattled to the red blotter, and Peter rushed out on deck. +Slamming the door, he stared at the spurting streams of white in the +racing water. Indescribably feminine was the fumbling touch of that +unknown sender! +</P> + +<P> +A grating—hollow, metallic—occurred in the lee of the wireless cabin. +A footfall sounded, coincident with the heavy collision into his side +of an unwieldy figure whose hands, greasy and hot, groped over his. +Both grunted. +</P> + +<P> +"'Sthat you, Sparks?" They were the German gutturals of Luffberg, one +of the oilers on the twelve-to-six watch. "Been fixin' the ventilator. +Chief wondered if you were up. Wants to know why you ain't been down +to say hello." +</P> + +<P> +Peter decided to lay a portion of his difficulties before Minion. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0106"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VI +</H3> + +<P> +The first operator had developed for himself at an early stage of his +occupancy of the <I>Vandalia's</I> wireless house the warm friendship of the +chief engineer. A wireless man is far more dependent for his peace of +mind upon the engine-room crew than upon the forward crew. The latter +has only one interest in him: that he stick to his instruments; while +the engine-room crew strictly is the source from which his blessings +flow, his blessings taking the invisible, vital form of electric +current. +</P> + +<P> +Wireless machines are gourmands of electricity. They are wastrels. +Not one-tenth of the energy sucked from the ship's power wires finds +its way through the maze of coils and jars to the antennae between the +mastheads. +</P> + +<P> +The <I>Vandalia's</I> engine-room equipment was installed long before +wireless telegraphy was a maritime need and a government requirement. +Hence, her dynamos protested vigorously against the strain imposed upon +them by the radio machine. Any electric engine is unlike any steam +engine. Steam engines will do so much work—no more. Dynamos or +motors will do so much work—and then more. They can be overloaded, +unsparingly. But the strain tells. Stout, dependable parts become +hot, wear away, crumble, snap. +</P> + +<P> +In the typical case of the <I>Vandalia</I>, the question of whether or not +the wireless men should be provided with all of the current they +required, was narrowed down to individuals. +</P> + +<P> +If Minion had disliked Peter Moore he could have slowed down the +dynamos at the critical times when the operator needed the high +voltage; but Peter had had encounters with chief engineers before. He +had at first courted Minion's good graces with fair cigars, radio +gossip and unflagging courtesy. And on discovering that the chief was +a sentimentalist at heart and a poet by nature, he had presented him +with an inexpensively bound volume of his favorite author. Daring, but +a master-stroke! He had not since wanted for voltage, and plenty of it. +</P> + +<P> +He pondered the advisability of taking Minion entirely into his +confidence as he followed the sweated, undershirted shoulders to the +engine-room galley, and thence across the oily grill of shining steel +bars which comprised one of the numerous and hazardous superfloors +which surrounded the cylinders. +</P> + +<P> +Minion was nursing a stubbornly warm bearing in the port shaft alley. +</P> + +<P> +The fat cylinder revolved with a pleasant ringing noise, the blurring +knuckles of the frequent joints vanishing down the yellow, vaulted +alley to a point of perspective, where the shaft projected through the +hull. The floundering of the great propellers seemed alternately to +compress and expand the damp atmosphere. +</P> + +<P> +The sad, white face of Minion arose from the dripping flanks of the +journal as he caught sight of Peter in the arched entrance. A pale +smile flickered at his lips. +</P> + +<P> +The chief did not in any wise reflect his monstrously heaving, +oil-dripping surroundings. He was a small, deliberate man, with oceans +of repressed energies. His skin had the waxy whiteness of a pond lily. +An exquisitely trimmed black moustache adorned his mouth. The deep +brown eyes of a visionary rested beneath the gentle, scythe-like curves +of thin and pointed eyebrows. +</P> + +<P> +"You look worried," vouchsafed Minion as their hands met. His quiet +voice had a clarity which projected it nicely through the bedlam of +engine-room noises. "Why you up so early—or so late? Anything wrong?" +</P> + +<P> +Peter took out a cigarette and nervously lighted it at the sputtering +flame Minion held for him. "Mr. Minion, something's in the wind," he +complained, and hesitated. He was at the verge of telling what he had +seen on the promenade deck, of the confusion on the pierhead, of the +unaccountable behavior of the woman in the window above Ah Sih King's, +of the suspicious attitude of Blanchard, of the recent plea for help. +Again something checked him. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Minion, what is Len Yang? And where is it?" +</P> + +<P> +The scythe-like brows contracted. Minion's lucid, brown eyes rested on +his lips, seeming to await an elaboration of the query. His features +suddenly had stiffened. His whole attitude appeared on the moment to +have undergone a change, from one of friendly interest to a keen +defensiveness. +</P> + +<P> +"Len Yang is a city in China. Why?" +</P> + +<P> +The operator suspected that Minion was sparring for time. +</P> + +<P> +"Where is Len Yang?" +</P> + +<P> +"Do you mean, how does one reach Len Yang?" +</P> + +<P> +"Either." +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Moore"—the suspicion fell from the chief's expression, leaving it +calm and grave—"you are not an amateur. You have discretion. The man +who controls Len Yang is the <I>Vandalia's</I> owner." +</P> + +<P> +"Why, I understood the Pacific and Western Atlantic Transport Line +owned her!" +</P> + +<P> +"This man—he is a Chinese. Oh, I've never seen him, Mr. Moore. One +of the richest of China's unknown aristocrats, the central power of the +cinnabar ring. You have never gone up the river with us to load at +Soo-chow?" +</P> + +<P> +Peter shook his head. "Cinnabar from his mine is brought down the +Yangtze on junks and transferred at Soo-chow?" +</P> + +<P> +Minion seemed not to be listening. His eyes were stagnant with an +appalling retrospect. "A terrible place—horrible! Five years ago I +visited Len Yang. Hideous people with staring eyes, dripping the +blood-red slime of the mines! And girls! Young girls! Beautiful—for +a while." He sighed. "They work in that vicious hole!" +</P> + +<P> +"Young girls?" Peter exclaimed. +</P> + +<P> +"Imported. From everywhere. I tried to find why. There is no +explanation. They come—they work—they become hideous—they die! It +is his habit. No one understands. Poor things!" +</P> + +<P> +Peter was staring at him narrowly. "Quite sure he imports them to work +in the mines?" +</P> + +<P> +Minion nodded vehemently. "I made sure of that. I went up the river +as <I>his</I> guest. Trouble with the seepage pumps. Hundreds of them +drowned like rats. Len Yang is near the trade route into India. +Leprosy—filth—vermin! God! You should have seen the rats! +Monsters! They eat them. Poor devils! And live in holes carved out +of the ruby mud." +</P> + +<P> +He tore the clump of waste from his left hand and ground it under his +heel. +</P> + +<P> +"And in the center of this frightfulness—his palace! Snow-white +marble, whiter than the Taj by moonlight. But its base is stained red, +a creeping blood-red from the cinnabar. Damn him!" +</P> + +<P> +"No escape?" Peter muttered. +</P> + +<P> +"Escape!" Minion shouted. "<I>Dang hsin</I>! They call him the Gray +Dragon. He reaches over every part of Asia. That is no exaggeration. +Take my advice, Mr. Moore, if you have stumbled upon one of his +schemes—<I>nà chü bà </I>—don't meddle!" +</P> + +<P> +The white face writhed, and for a new reason Peter smothered the +impulse to tell the agitated Minion what he had seen. Their +conversation drifted to general shipboard matters. When he left he +borrowed the chief engineer's master key on the excuse that he had +locked himself out of the wireless cabin. +</P> + +<P> +Besides a stiffening head wind the ship was now laboring into piling +head seas. Far beyond the refulgence of the scattered lights stars +shone palely. Flecks of streaming white were making their appearance +at the toppling wave crests. +</P> + +<P> +A hail of stinging spray, flung inboard by a long gust, struck Peter's +face sharply as he struggled forward, rattling like small shot against +the vizor of his cap and smarting his eyes. The needle-like drops were +icy cold. The elastic fabric of the <I>Vandalia</I> shivered, her broad +nose sinking into a succession of black mountains. Peak gutters roared +as the cascading water was sucked back to the untiring surface. +</P> + +<P> +Gaining the cross entrance, he braced his strength against the forces +of wind which imprisoned the door, and crept down the passage. +</P> + +<P> +His heart pounded as his groping fingers outlined the cold iron +numerals on the panel. Nervously, he inserted the master key into the +door lock, and paused to listen. +</P> + +<P> +Rhythmic snoring moaned from an opened transom near by. What other +night sounds might have been abroad were engulfed by the imminent +throbbing in the engine-room well. +</P> + +<P> +Stateroom forty-four's transom was closed. The lock yielded. The door +yawned soundlessly. A round, portentous eye glimmered on the opposite +wall. An odor of recently wet paint and of new bed linen met him. The +excited pulsing of his heart outsounded the engines. +</P> + +<P> +He shut the door cautiously, not to awake the occupants of the berths, +and fancied he could again hear the warning sibilance of the whisper, +but in sleep, perhaps drawn through unconscious lips. +</P> + +<P> +Eagerly, his hand slipped over the enameled wall and found the electric +switch. Turning, to cover all corners of the stateroom he snapped on +the light. +</P> + +<P> +Stateroom forty-four, through whose doorway he could have sworn to have +seen a sandaled foot vanish less than three hours previous, was empty! +</P> + +<P> +The blue-flowered side curtains of the white enameled bunks were draped +back in ornamental stiffness. Below the pillows the upper sheets were +neatly furled like incoming billows on a coral beach. He threw open +the closet door. Bare! Not one sign of occupancy could he find, and +he looked everywhere. +</P> + +<P> +As he made to leave the room a small oblong of white paper was thrust +under the door. He hesitated in surprise, stooped to seize it and +flung open the door. A gust of night, wind—the slamming of a +door—and the messenger was gone. +</P> + +<P> +Tremblingly, he unfolded the paper. His eyes dilated. Hastily +scrawled in the lower right-hand corner of the otherwise blank leaf was +a replica of the blurred sign that had caused such consternation on the +part of Lo Ong. +</P> + +<P> +The ideograph had twice been brought to his attention. It was +apparently a solemn warning. Should he heed it? He felt that he was +watched. But the porthole glowed emptily. +</P> + +<P> +Lighting a cigarette, he dropped down to the bunk, cupped his chin in +his palms, and frowned at the green carpet. +</P> + +<P> +He was being frustrated, by persons of adroit cunning. It was +maddening. This had ceased to be an adventurous lark. It was to +become a fight against weapons whose sole object seemed to be to guard +the retreat of some evil spirit. +</P> + +<P> +It occurred to him suddenly that he should be grateful upon one score +at least: He had not lost the trail, for the symbols were unchanged. +</P> + +<P> +But from that point the trail vanished—vanished as abruptly as if its +design had been wiped off the earth! Sharp eyed and eared, alertness +night after night availed him nothing. And not until the twinkling +lights of Nagasaki were put astern, when the <I>Vandalia</I> turned her nose +into the swollen bed of the Yellow Sea, did the traces again show +faintly. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0107"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VII +</H3> + +<P> +That a recrudescence of those involved in the murky affair might be +imminent was the thought induced in Peter's mind as the green coast of +Japan heaved over the horizon. With each thrust of the <I>Vandalia's</I> +screws the cipher was nearing its solution. Each cylinder throb +narrowed the distance to the shore lights of China—the lights of +Tsung-min Island. And then—what? +</P> + +<P> +In a corner of the smoking-room he puffed at his cigarette and watched +the poker players as he drummed absently upon the square of green cork +inlaid in the corner table. The vermilion glow of the skylight dimmed +and died. Lights came on. A clanging cymbal in the energetic hands of +a deck steward boomed at the doorway, withdrew and gave up its life in +a far away, tinny clatter. +</P> + +<P> +The petulant voice of a hardware salesman, who was secretly known to +represent American moneyed interests in Mongolia, drifted through the +haze of tobacco smoke at the poker table. +</P> + +<P> +"——that's what I'd like to know. Damn nonsense—saving steam, +probably—off Wu-Sung before midnight—if—wanted to throw in a little +coal—means I miss the river boat to-morrow—not another—Saturday. +Dammit!" +</P> + +<P> +Peter drew long at the cigarette and glanced thoughtfully at the +oak-paneled ceiling. Chips clicked. The petulant voice continued: +</P> + +<P> +"——rottenest luck ever had." Evidently he was referring to his +losses. "Rotten line—rottener service—miss my man—Mukden——" The +voice ceased as its owner half turned his head, magnetized by the +intentness of the operator's gaze. Peter glanced away. The salesman +devoted himself to the dealer. +</P> + +<P> +The <I>Vandalia</I> was bearing into a thin mist. The night was cool, +quiet. Had he been on deck Peter would have seen the last lights of +Osezaki engulfed as if at the dropping of a curtain. +</P> + +<P> +During the voyage he had haunted the smoking-room, hoping that by dint +of patient listening he might catch an informative word dropped +carelessly by one of the players. No such luck. The players were +out-of-season tourists, bound for South China or India, or salesmen, +patiently immersed in the long and strenuous task of killing time. +</P> + +<P> +"——thirty—thirty-five—forty—forty-five——" The fat man was +counting his losings. +</P> + +<P> +Faint, padded footsteps passed the port doorway. Peter became aware of +an elusive perfume—scented rice powder—— +</P> + +<P> +"——seventy-five—eighty—eighty-five—ninety——" +</P> + +<P> +A pale, malignant face was framed momentarily in one of the starboard +windows. +</P> + +<P> +Peter blinked, then bounded after. The salesman impeded his progress +and grudgingly gave way. +</P> + +<P> +The deck was empty, slippery with the wet of the mist. He was suddenly +aware that one of the ports, in the neighborhood of the stateroom he +had entered, was ajar. Nervously he halted, gasping as a long, +trembling hand, at the extremity of a spectral wrist, plucked at his +sleeve. Blanched as an arm of the adolescent moon, it fumbled weakly +at his clutching fingers—and was swiftly withdrawn! +</P> + +<P> +The staring eyes of a white, gibbous face sank back from the hole. +Below the nose the face seemed not to exist. +</P> + +<P> +Its horror wrapped an icy cord about his heart. He plunged his arm to +the shoulder through the round opening, struck a yielding, warm body; +descending claws steeled about his wrist and deliberately forced him +back. +</P> + +<P> +The brass-bound glass squeezed on his fingers. He wrenched them free, +crushed, throbbing, and warmly wet. The anguish seemed to extend to +his elbow. Then, suddenly, the gruff, seasoned voice of Captain Jones +descended from space behind him. "Sparks, come to my cabin." +</P> + +<P> +Peter followed the brutish shoulders to the forward companionway, +endeavoring to clarify his thoughts. Mild confusion prevailed when +Captain Jones closed and locked the door of his spacious stateroom +behind them and dropped heavily into one of the cumbersome teak chairs. +</P> + +<P> +He was a hardened, brawny chunk of a man, choleric in aspect and +temperament, brutal in method, bluntly decisive in opinion. Iron was +his metal. "Starboard Jones" was one of the few living men who had +successfully run the Jap blockade into Vladivostok during that bloody +tiff between the black bear and the island panther. +</P> + +<P> +Reddened sockets displayed keen, blue eyes in a background of perpetual +fire. His large, swollen nose had a vinous tint, acquiring +purplishness in cold weather. Tiny red veins, as numerous as the +cracks in Satsuma-ware, spread across both cheeks in a carmine filigree. +</P> + +<P> +His cabin was ornamented chiefly by hand-tinted photographs from the +yoshiwaras of Nagasaki, of simpering, coy geishas. Souvenirs of their +trade, glittering fans, nicked teacups, flimsy sandals, adorned the +available shelf room. Cigars as brawny and black as if their maker had +striven to emulate the captain's own bulk were scattered among papers +on his narrow desk. +</P> + +<P> +He reached clumsily for one of these brown cylinders now, neglecting to +remove his glance of gloating austerity from the operator's tense face. +</P> + +<P> +"Haven't seen much of you lately, Sparks," he observed, applying a +steady match flame to the oval butt. He spoke in his usual tones, with +a gruffness that balanced on a razor edge between rough jocularity and +official harshness. "What's new? Have one of my ropes?" +</P> + +<P> +Peter studied the glowing end narrowly. "Had a little trouble first +night out. No, thanks. Not smoking to-night." His bruised +finger-tips were curved up tenderly in his coat pocket. +</P> + +<P> +"What's 'at?" The steel eyes were motionless beneath half-lowered lids. +</P> + +<P> +"Some one used an electric machine. Jammed my signals." +</P> + +<P> +The choleric face dipped knowingly. What Captain Jones did not +comprehend he invariably pretended to comprehend. "Noticed anything +else?" His ruddy face was now weighty with significance. +</P> + +<P> +Peter sat up abruptly. "What!" +</P> + +<P> +A thick, red forefinger threatened, "Lis'n to me, Sparks, you're a +overgrown, blundering bull in a china-shop. You're——" +</P> + +<P> +"Well?" There was a trace of anger in Peter's suave inquiry. His face +became stony white. A spot of color appeared at either cheek. +</P> + +<P> +"I mean: Keep your damn nose out of what don't concern you. Savvy?" +The heated words spilled thickly from the captain's red lips. "I mean: +Butt out of what concerns Chinese women and—and—other words, mind +your own particular damn business! Duty on this ship's to mind the +radio. What goes on outside your shanty's none of your damn concern!" +Captain Jones' mouth remained open, and the butt of the black cigar +slid into it. +</P> + +<P> +Peter raised a restraining hand. His lips trembled. His eyes seemed +to snap in a rapid fire between the eyes and mouth of the big man +slouched down in the chair in front of him. "Wait a minute," he spat +out. "Since you do know that somebody is being kidnapped on this +ship——" +</P> + +<P> +"What in hell do you mean?" +</P> + +<P> +"Exactly what I say. A Chinese woman, no matter who she is—is hiding +some one, a woman, somewhere on this ship. That woman—that woman +who's being held—grabbed my hand not five minutes ago. It's your +duty——" +</P> + +<P> +"Keep your hands where they belong. You're talking like a fool. +Kidnapped? You're crazy. My duty? You're a fool! You're talking +baby talk." Captain Jones sprang from his chair. "You're on this ship +to tend the wireless," he bawled. "You're under oath to keep your +mouth shut. Any one back there?" +</P> + +<P> +"No!" +</P> + +<P> +"Don't you know it breaks a government rule when that room's empty—at +sea?" +</P> + +<P> +The mist-laden wind shrilled through the screen door abruptly thrust +back. Captain Jones slammed the stout inner door. Peter turned up his +coat collar, bound a clean handkerchief about his aching fingers, +climbed agilely over the life-rafts, passed the roaring, black funnels, +and entered the wireless house. +</P> + +<P> +The low, intermingling whine of Jap stations was broken by an insistent +P. and O. liner, yapping for attention. Shanghai stiffly droned a +reply, advising the P. and O. man to sweeten his spark. +</P> + +<P> +Peter tapped his detector and grunted. Shanghai was loud—close! The +<I>Vandalia</I> must be nearing the delta. +</P> + +<P> +"——Nanking Road. Stop. Forty casks of soey——" yelped the P. and O. +</P> + +<P> +Nearing the great river! Out of the mist a faint blur would come—the +first lights of China! +</P> + +<P> +"——Thirteen cases of tin——" The P. and O.'s spark remained +unsweetened. +</P> + +<P> +Would the lights be Hi-Tai-Sha—Tsung-min?—port or starboard? +</P> + +<P> +Far below decks a bell jangled faintly. The throbbing of the engines +was suddenly hushed. The bell sounded distantly, through a portentous +silence. Peter glanced at the clock. Half-past twelve. +</P> + +<P> +The silence was shattered by a turbulent, stern lifting rumble as the +screws reversed. The <I>Vandalia</I> wallowed heavily, and lay with the +yellow tide. +</P> + +<P> +Extinguishing the lights, Peter slipped out on deck, leaned over the +edge, and peered into the murk. His heart pumped nervously. +</P> + +<P> +At first all was blank. Then a misty, gray-white glow seemed to swim +far to port. Murkily, it took form, vanished, reappeared and—was +swallowed up again. +</P> + +<P> +But these were not the lights of Tsung-min. The ship was in the river. +He knew those lights well. Even now the <I>Vandalia</I>, was slipping down +with the current abreast of Woo-Sung! The first lights of China! But +what was happening? He dashed to the starboard side. +</P> + +<P> +Out of the mist there arose a tall, gaunt specter. A junk. Perhaps a +collision was decreed by the evil spirit of the Whang-poo. But the +usual shriekings of doomed river men were absent. The gray bulk +floated idly with the steamer. The silence of death permeated both +craft. +</P> + +<P> +At a loss to account for this queer coincidence, this mute communion, +Peter elbowed over the edge, dangerously high above the water, and slid +down a stanchion to the promenade deck. +</P> + +<P> +Simultaneously every light on that side of the ship was extinguished. +As his feet struck the metal gutter, several unseen bodies rushed past +him, aft. +</P> + +<P> +He was grabbed from behind and hurled to the deck. Springing up, he +heard the thick breathing of his unknown assailant. He lunged for the +sound, met flying fists, smashed his man against the rail. The blow +knocked the wind from his antagonist, or broke his back. +</P> + +<P> +Peter did not pause to make inquiries. As the limp body thudded to the +wood, the operator sprinted after the vanished figures. +</P> + +<P> +A lone light on the after spur illumined a dim confusion in the cargo +well. The stern of the junk was backed against the rail. Oars flashed +faintly as the crew of the junk strove to keep her fast against the +steamer's side. But where was the crew of the <I>Vandalia</I>? Had Captain +Jones consented to and perhaps aided in this mid-river tryst? +</P> + +<P> +Another source of illumination sprang into being. A dong was burning +yellowly on the junk's poop deck, casting a plenitude of light upon the +scene. +</P> + +<P> +As Peter dropped down the precipitous ladder into the well, he made out +two figures struggling against the rail. From the junk, imploringly, a +giant Chinese with pigtail flapping held out his long arms. Silent, +his face was writhing with the supplication to hurry. +</P> + +<P> +Peter drove in between the two figures, one of which suddenly collapsed +and lay inert. The other sprang at his neck, sinking long claws into +his throat. Slit eyes glinted close. Before his wind was shut off he +caught the oppressive fragrance of a heavy perfume. A woman! +</P> + +<P> +He struck the clawing hands loose, and she stemmed a scream between +convulsing lips. The woman above Ah Sih King's! +</P> + +<P> +He hurled her back, and she staggered against the iron flank of the +well. A chatter of Chinese broke from her lips. Shaking, she +extracted an envelope from her satin blouse and pressed it into his +hands. Thoughtlessly he stuffed the envelope into his pocket, not +reckoning what it might contain. +</P> + +<P> +The junk swung out, closed in with a smart smack, and the giant on her +deck crouched to spring. He squealed, a high-pitched ululation of +anger. Another sound was abroad, the jangling of the engine-room bell. +</P> + +<P> +Peter struck down the groping hands of the woman and sprang to the +rail, bracing his feet on the smooth iron deck-plate as the Chinese +leaped. A knife glinted. Peter seized a horny wrist with both hands, +bent, and wrenched it. The knife struck the water with a sibilant +splash. The <I>fokie</I> lost his balance. His legs became entangled. +</P> + +<P> +He gibbered with horror as he slipped—slipped—— +</P> + +<P> +The Chinese woman sprang at Peter with the frenzy of a pantheress. +</P> + +<P> +A weltering splash—Peter dimly saw the bobbing head before it was +driven below the surface as the junk, yawing in, crowded the swimmer +down. +</P> + +<P> +A life? Nothing to the turgid river, draining all effluvia from the +yellow heart of this festering land. +</P> + +<P> +With a hissing sob, the woman drove Peter backward, raining blow after +blow on his chest. The engines pounded briskly. A boom rattled. +Despairingly, Peter's antagonist shifted her tactics, surprised him by +flinging herself to the rail. +</P> + +<P> +The junk was veering away as the <I>Vandalia's</I> blades took hold. +</P> + +<P> +She poised on the top rail, drew herself together, and leaped! +</P> + +<P> +The junk slid into the mist. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0108"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VIII +</H3> + +<P> +Peter was conscious of a hot stickiness at his throat where the claws +had taken hold. Then he concerned himself with the gray shape that lay +quite still on the iron deck at his feet. New enemies from other +quarters, he realized, might strike at any instant. +</P> + +<P> +Gathering up the limp form, he climbed the ladder to the darkened +promenade deck and up another flight through the tarpaulin cover to the +boat-deck. Opening the wireless-house door, he deposited his burden +gently upon the carpet, and switched on the light. Then he turned the +key in the lock, and examined his find. A long, gray bag of some heavy +material swathed the small figure from head to foot. There was no sign +of life. +</P> + +<P> +Yelping arose from the river. It was still dark. The sampan coolies +were out early. Peter listened, becoming thoughtful as a solution +seemed to present itself to his problem. +</P> + +<P> +He went out on deck and beckoned to one of them to stand by. +</P> + +<P> +A swaying coolie in the stern of the nearest craft caught sight of him. +</P> + +<P> +"Hie! Hie!" The wagging paddle became mad. The sampan slipped under +the towering shadow and brought up with a smack against the moving +black hull. +</P> + +<P> +Peter pried up the tarpaulin life-boat cover, dragged out a coil of +dirty rope, made one end fast at the foot of the davit, and tossed the +other end overside. The coolie caught it and clung. +</P> + +<P> +Re-entering the wireless cabin, Peter opened his pocket-knife and slit +the cord at the head. +</P> + +<P> +A mass of curly, brown hair flowed out upon the carpet. There was a +silken lisp of underskirts. A faint sigh. +</P> + +<P> +Peter suddenly turned his head. Black, glassy eyes were riveted upon +his from the after window. They vanished. +</P> + +<P> +He jumped up, bolted to the deck, and stood still, listening. +</P> + +<P> +The scuffle of a foot sounded on the port side. Some one was running +forward. He plunged after. The footsteps stopped sharply coincident +with a dull smash, a frantic grunt. The pursued reeled to the deck, +groaning. +</P> + +<P> +Peter pounced upon him, grabbed his collar, and dragged him across the +deck into the wireless house. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Moore, the captain told me——" whimpered Dale. +</P> + +<P> +Peter knocked him into the chair, opened the toolbox, and extracted a +length of phosphor-bronze aerial wire. Binding the wiggling arms to +the chair, he made the ends fast behind. +</P> + +<P> +Snapping out the lights, he gathered the gray bag into his arms and +deposited it on the deck in the narrow space between the life-boat and +the edge. He looked down. The coolie was staring up, clinging to the +rope, waiting. +</P> + +<P> +The bag slipped down half-way. A warm moist hand clutched at his +wrist. A faint moan issued from the unseen lips. He jerked again. +The bag came away free, and he tossed it overboard. The yellow current +snatched it instantly from sight. +</P> + +<P> +The hand clung desperately at his wrist. "Don't let them——" began a +sweet voice in his ear. +</P> + +<P> +He wrapped his legs around the rope and worked his way over the edge. +"Arms around my neck!" he commanded hoarsely. "Hold tight!" +</P> + +<P> +Soft arms enfolded him. They dangled at the edge. +</P> + +<P> +The coarse rope slipped swiftly through his fingers, scorching the +palms, seeming to rake at the bones in his hand. +</P> + +<P> +A wild shout came from the wireless house. An echo, forward, answered. +</P> + +<P> +They slipped, twisting, scraping, down the rough strand. His hands +seemed hot enough to burst. Maddened blood throbbed at his eyes, his +ears, and dried his throat. Dimmed lights of the promenade deck soared +upward. A glimmering port-hole followed. +</P> + +<P> +For an eternity they dangled, then shot downward. +</P> + +<P> +Something popped in Peter's ears. His feet struck a yielding deck. He +staggered backward, sprawled. The rope was whipped from his hand. The +warm arms still clung about his neck. +</P> + +<P> +As the world wheeled, a drunken universe, a sullen voice yelped at his +ear. The arms loosened. +</P> + +<P> +The <I>Vandalia</I> twinkled closely and was swept into the mist, a blur, a +phantom. His hands blazed with infernal fire. +</P> + +<P> +He sat up and looked behind him. The river was murderously dark. +Water gurgled under the flimsy bow. The dull tread of feet and a +watery flailing behind him advised Peter that the coolie was struggling +against the rushing current. +</P> + +<P> +Slowly he became conscious of a weight upon his breast, a low sobbing. +A delicate, feminine odor brought him to earth, unraveled his tangled +wits. +</P> + +<P> +He was sitting upon the wet floor of the sampan's low cabin. His +captive had crept close to him for protection. Protection! He +snorted, wondering if the coolie was licensed. +</P> + +<P> +"Hai! Hai! Woo-Sung way." The voice was villainously stubborn. +</P> + +<P> +"Shanghai-way. <I>Kuai cho</I>—hurry!" roared Peter. A sigh escaped from +the girl. She snuggled closer. "Woo-Sung. <I>Pu-shih</I>! Savvy?" +</P> + +<P> +"Hai! Mebbe can do." The sampan reared, braving the direct onslaught +of the Whang-poo's swift tide. +</P> + +<P> +A myriad of questions in his brain strove for utterance. But the girl +spoke first. +</P> + +<P> +"Who are you?" she whispered. "I am Eileen Lorimer." +</P> + +<P> +"I am—I was the wireless operator of the <I>Vandalia</I>." +</P> + +<P> +The coolie paused a moment for breath, then the mad plunging of the +paddle sounded again. +</P> + +<P> +"The wireless operator? You heard my call?" +</P> + +<P> +"Been waiting for China's lights—ever since. But how—what?" he +demanded. +</P> + +<P> +She was silent a moment. "I know the code. My brother owned a private +station. We lived in Pasadena—ages ago. It does seem ages." She +stirred feebly. "You don't mind?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, no," he protested. +</P> + +<P> +"I am afraid—such a long time. Weeks? Years?" She shuddered. "I do +not know. Oh—I want to go home!" +</P> + +<P> +The coolie broke into a working sing-song as he struggled. The tide +should shift before long. +</P> + +<P> +"Were you in the loft above Ah Sih King's?" +</P> + +<P> +"Roped! I broke loose." +</P> + +<P> +"The red note?" +</P> + +<P> +"I scribbled with a nail, and threw it before she knocked me down. +That woman was a demon!" +</P> + +<P> +A pale, yellow glow seemed to body forth from the enshrouding mist. +Dawn was breaking. Soon the great river would be alight. +</P> + +<P> +"School-teacher," the girl was murmuring. "A wedding present for +her—in Ah Sih King's." A small hand fumbled for his, and found it. +"In the back room they began gibbering at me. And this demon came. +Meaningless words—Ah Sih King leered. Called me the luckiest woman in +China." +</P> + +<P> +"But how did you know?" +</P> + +<P> +An empty freighter with propellers flailing half out of water pounded +through the yellow mist close to them. +</P> + +<P> +"Hie! Hie!" shrilled the coolie's warning. +</P> + +<P> +Light seeped through the doorway. The outlines of a dark skirt were +silhouetted against the scrubbed white floor. +</P> + +<P> +"He said when I saw the lights of China I would go aboard a beautiful +ship. She was watching you. Three times our stateroom was changed. +Always at night." +</P> + +<P> +"You used a coil?" Peter was professionally interested on this point. +</P> + +<P> +The girl murmured affirmatively. "She had some affliction. A San +Francisco doctor said the electric machine would cure it. And I +pretended to use it, too. But it broke down that night." +</P> + +<P> +The yellow light grew stronger. Equipment of the cabin emerged: a +crock of rice and fish, a corked jug, a bundle of crude chop-sticks +bound with frayed twine, a dark mess of boiled sea-weed on a greasy +slab. +</P> + +<P> +He looked down. The girl moved her head. Their eyes met. +</P> + +<P> +Timid, gray ones with innocent candor searched him. Shining dark hair +rippled down either side of a pale, lovely face. She was younger than +he had expected, more beautiful than he had hoped. Her rosebud of a +mouth trembled in the overtures of a smile. +</P> + +<P> +His feelings were divided between admiration for her and horror—she +had escaped so narrowly. In the realization of that moment Peter +shaped his course. His following thought was of finances. +</P> + +<P> +He brought to light a handful of change. Less than one dollar, +disregarding four twenty-cent Hu-Peh pieces; hardly enough to pay off +the sampan coolie. +</P> + +<P> +His charge sighed helplessly, thereby clinching his resolution. "I +haven't a penny," she said. +</P> + +<P> +He explored the side-pocket of his coat, hoping against fact that he +had not changed his bill-fold to his grip. His fingers encountered an +unfamiliar object. +</P> + +<P> +The struggling pantheress flashed into his mind. And the wrinkled +envelope she had drawn from her satin jacket and pressed into his hand. +Past dealings with Chinese gave him the inkling that he had been +unknowingly bribed. +</P> + +<P> +A scarlet stamp, a monograph, was imposed in the upper right corner of +the pale blue oblong. +</P> + +<P> +"Money—Chinese bills. Full of them!" Miss Lorimer gasped. "I saw it. +What are they for? And why did that dreadful woman——" +</P> + +<P> +"Jet-t-e-e-ee!" sang the coolie, swinging the oar hard over. The +sampan grated against a landing. "Shanghai. <I>Ma-tou</I>! <I>HÄn liang +bu dung yÄng che lÄi</I>!" +</P> + +<P> +Peter was counting the pack. "Fifty one-thousand-dollar Bank of China +bills!" +</P> + +<P> +Excited yelpings occurred on the <I>ma-tou</I>. The rickshaw coolies were +dickering for their unseen fare. +</P> + +<P> +Peter tossed the sampan boy all the coins he had, and left him to +gibber over them as he lifted the girl to the jetty. She clung to his +arm, trembling, as the coolies formed a grinning, shouting circle about +them. More raced in from the muddy bund. +</P> + +<P> +"What are we going to do?" she groaned. +</P> + +<P> +"We are going to cable your mother that you are starting for home by +the first steamer," Peter cried, swinging her into the cleanest and +most comfortable rickshaw of the lot. "The <I>Mongolia</I> sails this +afternoon." +</P> + +<P> +"What will become of you?" she demanded. +</P> + +<P> +Peter gave her his ingenuous smile. "I will vanish—for a while. +Otherwise I may vanish—permanently." +</P> + +<P> +Miss Lorimer reached out with her small white hand and touched his +sleeve. They were jouncing over the Su-Chow bridge, on their way to +the American Consulate. "Won't I see you again? Ever?" She looked +bewildered and lost, as if this strange old land had proved too much +for her powers of readjustment. Her rosebud mouth seemed to quiver. +"Are you in danger, Mr. Moore?" +</P> + +<P> +Peter glimpsed a very yellow, supercilious face swinging in his +direction from the padding throng. +</P> + +<P> +"A little, perhaps," he conceded. +</P> + +<P> +"Because of me?" +</P> + +<P> +The yellow face reappeared and was swallowed again by the crowd, as a +speck of mud is engulfed by the Yangtze. +</P> + +<P> +Miss Lorimer repeated her question. Peter shook his head in an +extravagant denial, and helped her down from the rickshaw. They had +stopped before the consulate in the American quarter. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm leaving you here," he said. +</P> + +<P> +"But—but I like you!" her small voice faltered. "Aren't you going to +explain—anything? Is this—is this all?" +</P> + +<P> +Peter smothered his rising feelings under an air of important haste. +"Your way lies there"—he pointed down river. "For the present mine +lies here"—and he jerked a thumb in the general direction of +Shanghai's narrow muddy alleys. +</P> + +<P> +"Shall I—won't you—gracious!" Miss Lorimer stared into her left +hand. Two one-thousand-dollar Bank of China bills were folded upon it. +She was confused. When she looked back the young man who had +miraculously delivered her from an unguessable fate had been spirited +with Oriental magic from her sight. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0109"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER IX +</H3> + +<P> +The bund of Shanghai was striped with the long, purple shadows of +coming night, a night which seemed to be creeping out of the heart of +the land, ushering with it a feeling of subtle tension, as though the +touch of darkness stirred to wakefulness a populace of shadows, which +skulked and crouched and whispered, comprising an underworld of +sinister folk which the first glow of dawn would send scampering back +to a thousand evil-smelling hiding-places. +</P> + +<P> +The rhythmic chant of coolies on the river ended. Mammoth go-downs, +where the products of China flowed on their way to distant countries, +became gloomily silent and empty. Handsome, tall sikhs, the police of +the city, appeared in twos and threes where only one had been stationed +before; for in China, as elsewhere, wickedness is borne on the night's +wings. +</P> + +<P> +With the descent of the velvety darkness the late wireless operator of +the transpacific greyhound, the <I>Vandalia</I>, slipped out of an obscure, +shadowy doorway on Nanking Road and directed his steps toward the +glittering bund, where he was reasonably sure his enemies would have +difficulty in recognizing him. +</P> + +<P> +Peter's uniform now reposed on a dark shelf in the rear of a silkshop. +He had no desire to be stabbed in the back, which was a probability in +case certain up-river men should find him. The Chinese gentleman who +conducted the silkshop was an old friend, and trustworthy. +</P> + +<P> +Peter now wore the garb of a Japanese merchant. His feet were +sandaled. His straight, lithe figure was robed in an expensive gray +silk kimono. Jammed tight to his ears, in good Nipponese fashion, was +a black American derby. His eyebrows were penciled in a fairly +praiseworthy attempt to reproduce the Celestial slant, and he carried a +light bamboo cane. +</P> + +<P> +Yet the ex-operator of the <I>Vandalia</I> was not altogether sure that the +disguise was a success. If the scowling yellow face he had detected +among the throngs on the bund that morning should have followed him to +the silk-shop, of what earthly use was this silly disguise? +</P> + +<P> +He padded along in the lee of a money-changer's, keeping close to the +wall. By degrees he became aware that he was followed; and he +endeavored to credit the feeling to imagination, to raw nerves. A +ghostly rickshaw flitted by. The soft chugging of the coolie's bare +feet became faint, ceased. A muttering old woman waddled past. +</P> + +<P> +He looked behind him in time to see a gaunt face, lighted by the dim +glow of a shop window, bob out of sight into a doorway. Turning again +a moment later, he saw the man dive into another doorway. +</P> + +<P> +Peter ran to the dark aperture, seized a muscular, satin-covered arm, +and dragged a whispering Chinese, a big, brawny fellow, into the +circular zone of the yellow street-light. Quickly recovering from his +surprise, the Chinese reached swiftly toward his belt. Peter, hoping +that only one man had been set on his trail, gave a murderous yell, and +at the same time drove his fist into a yielding paunch. +</P> + +<P> +With a groan the Chinese staggered back against the shop window, caving +in a pane with his elbow. Peter raised his fist to strike again. +</P> + +<P> +Then a monumental figure, with a clean turban coiled about his head, +strode austerely into the circle of yellow light. +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Ta dzoh shÄ“n mÅ szi</I>?" +</P> + +<P> +"Thief," said Moore simply, indicating the broken shop window. +</P> + +<P> +"LÄo shÄ“n lÄo shÄ“n!" growled the sikh. He seized the +luckless window-breaker by both shoulders, backed him against an iron +trolley-post, and strapped him to it. +</P> + +<P> +With a jovial, "Allah be with you!" Peter Moore continued his stroll +toward the bund. Now that the trailer was out of his way for the night +at least, he could make his way in peace to the Palace bar and find out +what might be in the wind for him. +</P> + +<P> +As he crossed Nanking Road where it joined the bund, a frantic shout, +mingled with a scream of fear or of warning, impelled him to leap out +of the path of a rickshaw which was making for him at a breakneck +speed. A white face, with a slender gloved hand clutched close to the +lips, swept past. +</P> + +<P> +Peter gasped in surprise quite as staggering as if the girl in the +rickshaw had slapped him across the face. He shouted after her. But +she went right on, without turning. +</P> + +<P> +"Licksha?" A grinning coolie dropped the shafts of an empty rickshaw +at Peter Moore's heels. +</P> + +<P> +He ceased being angry as a softer glow crept into his veins. The +rickshaw turned to the right, following the other, which occupied the +center of the almost deserted bund, and speeding like the wind. +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Nà chü bà </I>!" shouted Peter Moore. The girl seemed to be headed for +the bund bridge. But why? A number of questions stormed futilely in +his brain. Why had the girl ignored him? Why had she not gone aboard +the <I>Manchuria</I>, as she had promised? +</P> + +<P> +The coolie joggled along, his naked legs rising and falling +mechanically. The wireless operator drew the folds of the kimono more +closely about his throat, for the night air blowing off the Whang-poo +was chill and damp. +</P> + +<P> +At the bridge the rickshaw ahead suddenly stopped, waiting. Peter +Moore drew alongside, and leaped to the ground. +</P> + +<P> +The near-by street-light afforded him the information that he had made +a mistake. Undeniably similar to the girl he had sent away on the +<I>Manchuria</I> that morning was the young lady in the rickshaw. She had +the same white, wistful face, the same alert, appealing eyes, the same +rosebud mouth. Any one might have made such a mistake. It was very +embarrassing. +</P> + +<P> +"Why are you following me?" she demanded. +</P> + +<P> +"I thought I knew you. I am sorry. I'll go at once." +</P> + +<P> +"No! Wait." Her volte relented. It was a fresh young voice, not +indeed unlike that of Miss Lorimer's. She was smiling. "Why are you +dressed as a Jap?" +</P> + +<P> +"I am sorry," Peter faltered, retreating. "Mistake. You're not the +girl I—I expected. <I>Sayonara</I>!" +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Please</I> don't run away," said the girl with a soft laugh. "I'm not +afraid, or I would have run, instead of waiting, when you followed me. +I've just come up from Amoy—alone. And I leave to-morrow for +Ching-Fu—alone. You're American!" she murmured. "But why the +Jap—disguise? I'm American, too. I used to live in New York, on +Riverside Drive. Oh! It must have been ages ago!" +</P> + +<P> +"Why?" asked Peter unguardedly. +</P> + +<P> +"I haven't met one of my countrymen in centuries! And to-morrow I go +up the river, 'way beyond Ching-Fu, beyond Szechwan!" +</P> + +<P> +"Bad travelling on the river this time of the year," Peter murmured +politely. "She's out of her banks up above Ichang, I have been told." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," replied the girl sadly. "If I could only have just one evening +of fun—a dance or two, maybe—I—I—wouldn't mind half so much. +I—I——" +</P> + +<P> +Peter advised himself as follows: I told you so. Aloud he said: +</P> + +<P> +"I believe there's a dance at the Astor Hotel. If we can get a +table——" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, how lovely!" exclaimed the girl. "Do—do you mind very—much?" +</P> + +<P> +"Tickled to death," Peter declared amiably. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0110"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER X +</H3> + +<P> +At a small round table in the end of the room over which hung the +orchestra balcony, Peter found himself in the presence of two disarming +gray eyes, which drank in every detail of his good-looking young face, +including the penciled eyebrows. +</P> + +<P> +Miss Vost—Miss Amy Vost—gave him to understand that she was really +grateful for his hospitality, rushed on to assure him that it was not +customary for her to meet strange young men as she had met him, and +then frankly asked him what he was doing in China. Every time she +thought of him her curiosity seemed to trip over the Japanese kimono. +</P> + +<P> +Influenced by his third glass of Japanese champagne, he almost told her +the truth. He modified it by saying that he was a wireless operator; +that he had missed his ship, and that his plans were to linger in China +for a while. He liked China. Liked China very much. +</P> + +<P> +Miss Vost caressed the tip of her nose with a small, pink thumb. She +was not the kind who hesitated. +</P> + +<P> +"You can do me a favor," she said, and halted. +</P> + +<P> +The Philippine orchestra burst into a lilting one-step. Miss Vost +arched her eyebrows. Peter arose, and they glided off. It developed +that Miss Vost was well qualified. There was divineness in her +youthful grace; she put her heart into the dance. It seemed probable +to Peter Moore that she put her heart into everything she did. +</P> + +<P> +"You spoke about my doing a favor," he suggested, glancing sternly at a +dark-eyed Eurasian girl who seemed to be trying to divert his attention. +</P> + +<P> +"There is a man in Shanghai I want you to try to find for me—to-night. +Last time I saw him—this morning—he was drunk. He was the first +officer on the steamer that brought me up from Amoy. Perhaps you know +him. He's only been on the coast a short while. Before that he ran on +the Pacific Mail Line between San Francisco and Panama. His name is +MacLaurin, a nice boy. Scotch. But he drinks." +</P> + +<P> +"MacLaurin? I know a man named MacLaurin—Bobbie MacLaurin." +</P> + +<P> +"No!" gasped Miss Vost. "I suppose I ought to make that old remark +about what a small world it is! Do you know where Bobbie MacLaurin is?" +</P> + +<P> +"No," he murmured. "Why is he drunk?" +</P> + +<P> +"That is a matter," replied Miss Vost, somewhat distantly, "that I +prefer not to discuss. Will you try to find him for me? He threatened +to be—be captain of the river-boat, the <I>Hankow</I>, that I leave on +to-morrow for Ching-Fu. I'd rather like to know if he intends to carry +out his threat. Will you find out, if you can, if he is going to be +sober enough to make the trip—and let me know?" requested Miss Vost, +as the music stopped. "I'd rather he wouldn't, Mr. Moore," she added +quickly. "But I do wish <I>you</I> were going to make the trip. I'd love +to have you!" +</P> + +<P> +The ex-operator of the <I>Vandalia</I> experienced a warm suffusion in the +vicinity of his throat. In the next breath he felt genuinely guilty. +As he looked deep into the anxious, appealing gray eyes of Miss Vost, +he cursed himself for being, or having the tendencies to be, a trifler; +and in his estimation a trifler was not far removed from the reptile +class. Yet somehow, damn it, that trip to Ching-Fu on the <I>Hankow</I> +appealed to him now as a most profitable excursion, for Ching-Fu was +only a few hundred li from Len Yang. +</P> + +<P> +Something of the doughtiness of a mongoose marching into a den of +monster cobras characterized Peter Moore's intention to penetrate the +stronghold of the cinnabar king. He knew that his chances for entering +Len Yang were absurdly small. Yet the whole of the Chinese Empire was +not particularly safe for him now. The Gray Dragon had paid him the +compliment of recognizing in him an enemy. He no longer doubted +Minion's warning; the dragon of Len Yang controlled a powerful +organization. No part of China was safe. If he desired to run away +from this very actual danger in which direction could he run? +</P> + +<P> +"<I>When menaced by danger</I>," runs an old Chinese proverb, "<I>go to the +very heart of it; there you will find safety</I>." +</P> + +<P> +It lacked a few minutes of midnight when Peter entered the Palace bar +by the bund side. Only a few lights were burning, and the exceedingly +long teak bar—"the longest bar east of Suez"—was adorned by a few +knots of men only. Tobacco smoke was thick in the place, nearly +obscuring the doorway into the hotel lobby. +</P> + +<P> +He scanned the idlers, looking for the cloth of sailormen. His quest +was ended. Bobbie MacLaurin was here, disposing of all of the imported +Scotch whiskey that came convenient to his long and muscular reach. +</P> + +<P> +In a deep and sonorous voice he was pointing out to a group of +uniformed sailors, burdening his point with a club-like forefinger with +which he pounded on the edge of the teak bar, that while he rarely +drank off duty, he never drank when on. This claim Peter had reason to +know was not untrue. +</P> + +<P> +The wireless operator edged his way to MacLaurin's side, and touched +his arm, making a whispered remark which the Scotchman evidently did +not comprehend. For MacLaurin wheeled on him, and bestowed upon him a +red, glassy, and hotly indignant stare. +</P> + +<P> +Bobbie MacLaurin was, in the language of the sea, a whale of a man. +His head seemed unnecessarily large until you began to compare it with +his body; and his body was the despair of uniform manufacturers, who +desire above all things to make a fair percentage of profit. He was +like a living monument, two and a half hundred weight of fighting flesh +and bones, which, when all of it went into action, could better be +compared to a volcano than to a monument. Otherwise he was an +exceedingly amiable young giant. +</P> + +<P> +The redness and hotness of the stare he imposed upon the friend of more +than one adventurous expedition slowly receded, leaving only the +glassiness in evidence. Bobbie fidgeted uneasily. +</P> + +<P> +"Damn my hide!" he roared. "Your face is familiar! It is! It is! +Where have I seen that face before? Ah! I know now! I had a fight +with you once." +</P> + +<P> +"More than once," corrected Peter Moore, grinning. "The last time was +in Panama. Remember? I tripped you up, after you knocked the wind out +of me, and you fell, clothes and all, into the Washington Hotel's +swimming tank." +</P> + +<P> +"Peter Moore!" gasped Bobbie MacLaurin, and Peter Moore was smothered +in log-like arms and the fumes of considerable alcohol. +</P> + +<P> +Extricating himself at length from this monstrous embrace, Peter +permitted himself to be held off at arm's length and be warmly and +loquaciously admired. +</P> + +<P> +"My old side-kick of the damn old <I>San Felipe</I>!" announced Bobbie +MacLaurin to the small group of somewhat embarrassed sailors. "The +best radio man that God ever let live! He can hear a radio signal +before it's been sent. Can't you, Peter? Boys, take a long look at +the only livin' man who can fight his weight in sea serpents; the only +livin' man who ever knocked me cold, and got away with it! Boys, take +a long, lastin' look, for the pack o' you're goin' out o' that door +inside of ten counts! God bless 'um! Just look at that there Jap +get-up! Sure as God made big fish to eat the little fellows, Peter +Moore's up to some newfangled deviltry, or I'm a lobster!" +</P> + +<P> +"Sh!" warned Peter Moore, conscious that in China the walls, doors, +floors, ceilings, windows, even the bartenders, have ears. +</P> + +<P> +"Out with the lot of you!" barked MacLaurin. "There's big business +afoot to-night. We must be alone. Eh, Peter?" +</P> + +<P> +And Peter was convinced that business could not be talked over +to-night. Of one thing only did he wish to be certain. +</P> + +<P> +"You're taking the <I>Hankow</I> up-river to-morrow?" +</P> + +<P> +"That I am, Peter!" +</P> + +<P> +"Then we'll take the express for Nanking to-morrow morning." +</P> + +<P> +"Aye—aye! Sir!" +</P> + +<P> +"We'll turn in now. Otherwise you'll look like a wreck when Miss Vost +sees you." +</P> + +<P> +"Miss Vost!" exploded MacLaurin. "When did you see Miss Vost?" +</P> + +<P> +"A little while ago, Bob. Shall we turn in now?" +</P> + +<P> +"Miss Vost is why I'm drunk, Peter," said Bobbie MacLaurin sadly. +</P> + +<P> +"So she admitted. To-morrow we'll talk her over, and other important +matters." +</P> + +<P> +"As you say, Peter. I'm the brawn, but you're the brains of this +team—as always! The bunks are the order." +</P> + +<P> +</P> + +<P> +When Bobbie MacLaurin's not unmusical snore proceeded from the vast +bulk disposed beneath the white bedclothes, Peter Moore again descended +to the lobby, let himself into the street, and hailed a rickshaw. +</P> + +<P> +The mist from the Whang-poo had changed to a slanting rain. The bund +was a ditch of clay-like mud. Each street light was a halo unto itself. +</P> + +<P> +He lighted a cigarette, suffered the coolie to draw up the clammy +oilskin leg-robe to his waist, and dreamily contemplated the quagmire +that was Shanghai. +</P> + +<P> +The rickshaw crossed the Soochow-Creek bridge and drew up, dripping, +under the porte-cochère of the Astor House Hotel, where a majestic +Indian door-tender emerged from the shadows, bearing a large, opened +umbrella. +</P> + +<P> +Contrary to her promise Miss Vost was not waiting for his message. +However, she sent back word by the coolie, that she would dress and +come down, if he desired her to. Peter pondered a moment. A glimpse +of Miss Vost at this time of night meant nothing to him. Or was he +hungry for that glimpse? Nonsense! +</P> + +<P> +He dashed off a hasty note, sealed it in an envelope, and gave it to +the room-boy to deliver. +</P> + +<P> +He pictured her sleepy surprise as she opened it, and read: +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +Bobbie seems much put out. We take morning express to Nanking. Try to +make it. We'll have tea, the three of us, at Soochow. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +At Soochow! There he was—at it again! A trifler. +</P> + +<P> +"Damn my withered-up sense of honor, anyway!" observed Peter Moore to +himself, as he climbed into the rain-soaked rickshaw. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0111"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XI +</H3> + +<P> +With the pristine dawn, Robert MacLaurin arose from his bed like a +large, yellow mountain; for his pajamas—every square yard of +them—were of fine Canton silk, the color of the bulbous moon when it +reposes low on China's horizon. +</P> + +<P> +Satisfying himself at length that the bedroom had another occupant, he +drained the contents of a fat, white water-jug, then tossed the jug +upon the incumbent of the bedroom's other bed. +</P> + +<P> +At such times as this critical one, the smiling destiny which held the +fate of Peter Moore in the hollow of her precious hand was ever +watchful, and the white water-jug caromed from his peaceful figure with +no more than an unimportant thud. The jug bounded to the floor and +ended its career against the hard wall. Peter Moore sat up, rubbing +his eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Dead or alive, Peter?" +</P> + +<P> +"You nearly broke my back." +</P> + +<P> +"Serves you right, old slug-abed! You tucked me in last night with the +warning that we pick up the early express for Nanking." +</P> + +<P> +"Quite so," admitted Peter Moore thickly. In the past two days he had +managed to set aside altogether four hours for sleep; and he felt that +way. He examined his room-mate, but was not surprised at what met his +glance. +</P> + +<P> +Bobbie MacLaurin, disregarding the fact that he had not yet shaved, +looked as fresh as a rose. His endurance was like that of a range of +mountains. His sea-blue eyes were cannily clear, his complexion was +transparent and glowing. The ill effects of last night had been +absorbed with about as much apparent effort as a gigantic sponge might +display in absorbing a dewdrop. +</P> + +<P> +"Chinamen's eyes and Chinamen's knives have been running through my +dreams," Peter muttered. +</P> + +<P> +"Cheer up! The pirates are thick above Ichang. We'll both have our +bloody necks slit a dozen times before we make Ching-Fu." Bobbie +turned from the miniature mirror. His sea-blue eyes glared through a +white lake of lather. "Hurry up and shave, you loafer! We'll miss +that train." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm not going to shave for six months!" +</P> + +<P> +"Election bet?" +</P> + +<P> +"When your utterly worthless life has been endangered as many times +as——" +</P> + +<P> +"What you need is a drink, my lad!" +</P> + +<P> +"When you have evidence that the greatest criminal-at-large wants to +have you stuck like a pig——" +</P> + +<P> +MacLaurin swung his big frame about and stared. "You're not serious." +</P> + +<P> +"I am referring to—a Gray Dragon. Ever hear of one?" +</P> + +<P> +The razor in the large, red hand of Bobbie MacLaurin flashed. It came +away from his cheek. A broad trickle of crimson spread down the +lathered jaw, But he did not curse. +</P> + +<P> +"We must hurry for that train," rumbled his big voice. "We must talk +this over. We must hurry, Peter," he said again. +</P> + +<P> +Miss Amy Vost was not in evidence when the two rickshaws rattled up to +the platform of the red brick station. +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps she's waiting for us in the coach, holding seats for us," +Peter suggested. +</P> + +<P> +"Just like her," said MacLaurin. "She's a little peach!" +</P> + +<P> +Peter entered the compartment first and scanned the heads. The only +tresses in evidence were the long, black, shining ones of a bejeweled +Chinese lady. The other passengers were men. +</P> + +<P> +"There will be no tête-à -tête in Soochow," observed Peter Moore to his +conscience. +</P> + +<P> +"I'd go to hell for that girl!" declared Bobbie MacLaurin as he sat +down at Peter's side. "Now, tell me what you were doing in that Jap +rigging. Two years, isn't it, since we were chased out of Panama City +by the <I>spigotties</I>?" +</P> + +<P> +"I came over on the <I>Vandalia</I>." +</P> + +<P> +"And didn't go back, I gather." +</P> + +<P> +"She sailed up-river for Soo-chow yesterday. No, I won't go back. +Bobbie, I started something on that ship, and I'm on my way to +Ching-Fu—and 'way beyond Ching-Fu—to finish it." +</P> + +<P> +"It will be beautifully finished, Peter! Or your name's not Moore." +</P> + +<P> +"There was a girl, a beautiful girl——" +</P> + +<P> +"There usually is," MacLaurin sighed. +</P> + +<P> +Peter gazed bitterly at the scenery flitting evenly past the window: +groves of feathery bamboo, flaming mustard fields, exquisite gardens, +and graves—graves beyond count. +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps she is passing through the Inland Sea by now. Bobbie, I +wanted her to go home. She was—she was that kind of a girl. She +wanted to stay. Bobbie, that girl could have made a man of me! +She—she even told me she—liked me!" +</P> + +<P> +"They have a way of doing that," commented Bobbie sadly. +</P> + +<P> +Several miles rolled by before either of the men spoke. +</P> + +<P> +"Why is Miss Vost making the trip to Ching-Fu?" +</P> + +<P> +"You'll have to find that out, Peter. I was too busy letting her know +how bright my life has become since she entered it!" +</P> + +<P> +The square, red jaw swung savagely toward Peter. Of a sudden the +sea-blue eyes seemed a trifle inflamed. "She's probably going to +Ching-Fu on serious business. She's like that. She's not like you!" +</P> + +<P> +"What do you mean?" said Peter. +</P> + +<P> +"You're going to try to break into Len Yang; that's what I mean! Some +day, on one of these reckless expeditions of yours, Peter, you're going +to run plumb into a long, sharp knife! If I could head you off, I +would." +</P> + +<P> +"You can't, Bobbie. My mind is made up." +</P> + +<P> +"Get out of China. Why enter the lion's den? You're too confiding, +too trusting, too young. In duty to my conscience, I oughtn't to let +you go. But I know you'd walk or fly or swim if I tried to head you +off." +</P> + +<P> +"I certainly would," agreed Peter. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0112"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XII +</H3> + +<P> +No member of the earth's great brotherhood of dangerous waterways is +blessed with quite the degree of peril which menaces those hardy ones +who dare the River of the Golden Sands. +</P> + +<P> +Bobbie MacLauren's steamer, the <I>Hankow</I>, was the net result of long +ship-building experience. Dozens of apparently seaworthy boats have +gone up the Yangtze-Kiang, not to return. After years of experiment a +somewhat satisfactory river-boat has been evolved. It combines the +sturdiness of a sea-going tug with the speed of a torpedo-boat +destroyer. +</P> + +<P> +The <I>Hankow</I> was ridiculously small, and monstrously strong. Chiefly +it consisted of engines and boilers. Despite their security, despite +the shipwrecks and deaths that have been poured into their present +design, Yangtze river-boats sink, a goodly crop of them, every season. +</P> + +<P> +But the world of commerce is an arrogant master. There is wealth in +the land bordering the upper reaches of the river. This wealth must be +brought down to the sea, and scattered to the lands beyond the sea. In +return, machinery and tools must be carried back to mine and farm the +wealth. +</P> + +<P> +Little is heard, less is told, and still less is written of the men who +dare the rapids and the rocks and the sands of the great river. +Sometimes the spirit of adventure sends them up the Yangtze. +Frequently, as is the case with men who depart unexplainedly upon +dangerous errands, a woman is the inspiration, or merely the cause. +</P> + +<P> +Miss Amy Vost, of New York City, but more recently of Amoy, China, +province Fu-Kien, was the generator in the case of Bobbie MacLaurin. +</P> + +<P> +When Miss Vost tripped blithely aboard the <I>Sunyado Maru</I>, anchored off +the breaks of Amoy, and captured, at first blush, the hearts of the +entire forward crew, Bobbie MacLaurin was the most eager prisoner of +the lot. +</P> + +<P> +Perhaps she took notice of him out of the corner of her glowing young +eyes long before he became seriously and mortally afflicted. Certainly +the first mate of the <I>Sunyado Maru</I> was no believer in the theory of +non-resistance. +</P> + +<P> +Had Miss Vost been a susceptible young woman, it is safe to assume that +Bobbie MacLaurin would not have accepted command of the <I>Hankow</I> from +tide-water to that remote Chinese city, Ching-Fu. +</P> + +<P> +He wooed her in the pilot-house—where passengers were never allowed; +he courted her in the dining-room; and he paid marked attention to her +at all hours of the day and night, in sundry nooks and corners of the +generous promenade deck. +</P> + +<P> +Miss Vost sparred with him. As well as being lovely and captivating, +she was clever. She seemed to agree with the rule of the philosopher +who held that conversation was given to mankind simply for purposes of +evasion. By the end of the first week Bobbie MacLaurin was earning +sour glances from his staid British captain, and glances not at all +encouraging from Miss Vost. +</P> + +<P> +He informed her that all of the beauty and all of the wonder of the +stars, the sea, the moonlight, could not equal the splendor of her +wide, gray eyes. She replied that the moon, the stars, and the sea had +gone to his head. +</P> + +<P> +He insisted that her smile could only be compared to the sunrise on a +dewy rose-vine. He threw his big, generous heart at her feet a hundred +times. Being fair and sympathetic, she did not kick it to one side. +She merely side-stepped. +</P> + +<P> +He closed that evening's interview with the threat that he would follow +her to the very ends of the earth. She gave him the opportunity, +literally, by observing dryly that her destination was precisely at the +world's end—in the hills of Szechuen, to be exact. +</P> + +<P> +He took the breath out of her mouth by saying that he would travel on +the same river-boat with her to Ching-Fu, if he had to scrub down decks +for his passage. She told him not to be a silly boy; that he was, +underneath his uncouthness, really a dear, but that he didn't know +women. +</P> + +<P> +When the <I>Sunyado Maru</I> dropped anchor off Woo-sung, Miss Vost let +Bobbie hold her hand an instant longer than was necessary, and +stubbornly refused to accompany him in the same sampan—or the same +tug—to the customs jetty. Summarily, she went up the Whang-poo all +alone, while Bobbie, biting his finger-nails, purposely quarreled with +the staid British captain, and was invited to sign off, which he did. +</P> + +<P> +Through devious subterranean channels Bobbie MacLaurin found that the +berth of master on the <I>Hankow</I> was vacant, the latest incumbent having +relinquished his spirit to cholera. Was he willing to assume the +tremendous responsibility? He was tremendously willing! Did he +possess good papers? He most assuredly did! +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +When the Shanghai express rolled into the Nanking station, Bobbie +MacLaurin climbed into a rattling rickshaw and clattered off in the +direction of the river-front, registering the profound hope that Miss +Vost had somehow managed to reach the <I>Hankow</I> ahead of him. Peter +Moore, who knew China's ancient capital like a book, struck off in a +diagonal direction on foot. +</P> + +<P> +He made his way to a Chinese tailor's, who bought from him the Japanese +costume and sold him a suit of gray tweeds, which another customer had +failed to call for. While not an adornment, the gray tweeds were +comfortably European, a relief from the flapping, clumsy kimono. +</P> + +<P> +He wanted to have a little talk with Miss Vost before she saw Bobbie. +He had so much affection for Bobbie that he wanted to ask Miss Vost to +please not be unnecessarily cruel with him. He did not know that Miss +Vost was never unnecessarily cruel to any living creature; for he made +the mistake there of classifying all women into the good and the cruel, +of which Miss Vost seemed to be among the latter. As a matter of fact, +Miss Vost was simply a young woman very far from home, compelled to +believe in and on occasion to resort to primitive methods of +self-defense. +</P> + +<P> +Peter took a rickshaw to the river. He picked out the <I>Hankow</I> among +the clutter of shipping, anchored not far from shore, and out of reach +of the swift current which rushed dangerously down midchannel. Black +smoke issued from her single chubby funnel. Blue-coated coolies sped +to and fro on her single narrow deck. Bobbie MacLaurin leaned far out +across the rail as Peter's sampan slapped smartly alongside. The +coolie thrashed the water into yellowy foam. +</P> + +<P> +"Have you seen Miss Vost?" shouted MacLaurin above the hiss of escaping +steam. "We pull out in an hour, Miss Vost or no Miss Vost. That's +orders." +</P> + +<P> +Peter, reaching the deck, scanned the pagoda-dotted shore-front. +"She'll be here," he said. +</P> + +<P> +Pu-Chang, the <I>Hankow's</I> pilot, a slender, grayed Chinese, grown old +before his time, in the river service, sidled between them, smiling +mistily, and asked his captain if the new tow-line had been delivered. +While MacLaurin went to make inquiries, Peter watched a sampan, bow on, +floating down-stream, with the intention, evidently, of making +connections with the <I>Hankow's</I> ladder. On her abrupt foredeck was a +slim figure of blue and white. +</P> + +<P> +Startled a little by recollection, Peter leaned far out. For a moment +he had imagined the white face to be that of Eileen Lorimer. The +demure attitude of Miss Vost's hands, caught by the finger-tips before +her, gave further grounds to Peter Moore for the comparison. Her youth +and innocence had as much to do with it as anything, for there was +undeniably an air of youth and extreme innocence about Miss Vost. +</P> + +<P> +Something in the shape of a triumphant bellow was roared from the +engine-room companionway. Whereupon the companionway disgorged the +monumental figure of Bobbie MacLaurin, grinning like a schoolboy at his +first party. He seized Miss Vost by both hands, swinging her neatly to +the deck. +</P> + +<P> +She panted and fell back against the rail, holding her hand to her +heart, and welcoming Bobbie MacLaurin by a glance that was not entirely +cordial. +</P> + +<P> +"The sampan boy hasn't been paid," she remarked, opening her purse. +"It's twenty cents." +</P> + +<P> +While MacLaurin pulled a silver dollar from his pocket and spun it to +the anxious coolie, Miss Vost turned with the warmest of smiles to +Peter. Rarely had any girl seemed more delighted to see him, for +which, under the circumstances, he found it somewhat difficult to be +grateful. +</P> + +<P> +He experienced again that dull feeling of guilt. He felt that she +ought to show more cordiality to Bobbie MacLaurin. Here was Bobbie, +trailing after her like a faithful dog, on the most hazardous trip that +any man could devise, and he had not been rewarded, so far, with even +the stingiest of smiles. +</P> + +<P> +Women were like that. They took the fruits of your work, or they took +your life, or let you toss it to the crows, without a sign of +gratitude. At least, <I>some</I> women were like that. He had hoped Miss +Vost was not that kind. He had hoped—— +</P> + +<P> +Miss Vost laid her small, warm hand in his, and she seemed perfectly +willing to let it linger. Her lips were parted in a smile that was all +but a caress. She seemed to have forgotten that the baffled young man +who stared so fixedly at the back of her pretty, white neck existed. +</P> + +<P> +It was quite embarrassing for Peter. The feeling of the little hand, +that lay so intimately within his, sent a warm glow stealing into his +guilty heart. +</P> + +<P> +Then, aware of the pain in the face of Bobbie MacLaurin, a face that +had abruptly gone white, and realizing his duty to this true friend of +his, he pushed Miss Vost's hands away from him. +</P> + +<P> +That gesture served to bring them all back to earth. +</P> + +<P> +"Aren't you glad—aren't you a little bit glad—to see me—me?" said +the hurt voice of Bobbie MacLaurin. +</P> + +<P> +Miss Vost pivoted gracefully, giving Peter Moore a view of her +splendid, straight back for a change. "Of course I am, Bobbie!" she +exclaimed. "I'm always glad to see you. Why—oh, look! Did you ever +see such a Chinaman?" +</P> + +<P> +They all joined in her look. A salmon-colored sampan was riding +swiftly to the <I>Hankow's</I> riveted steel side. With long legs spread +wide apart atop the low cabin stood a very tall, very grave Chinese. +His long, blanched face was more than grave, more than austere. +</P> + +<P> +Peter Moore stared and ransacked his memory. He had seen that face, +that grimace, before. His mind went back to the shop front, on Nanking +Road, last evening, when he was skulking toward the bund from the +friendly establishment of his friend, the silk merchant, Ching Gow Ong. +</P> + +<P> +This man was neither Cantonese nor Pekingese. His long, rather +supercilious face, his aquiline nose, the flare of his nostrils, the +back-tilted head, the high, narrow brow, and the shock of blue-black +hair identified the Chinese stranger, even if his abnormal, rangy +height were not taken into consideration, as a hill man, perhaps +Tibetan, perhaps Mongolian. Certainly he was no river-man. +</P> + +<P> +It seemed improbable that the window-breaker could have been released +by the heartless Shanghai police so quickly; yet out of his own +adventurous past Peter could recall more than one occasion when +"squeeze" had saved him embarrassment. +</P> + +<P> +There was no constraint in the pose of the man on the sampan's flat +roof. With indifference his narrow gaze flitted from the face of +Bobbie MacLaurin to that of Miss Vost, and wandered on to the stern, +sharp-eyed visage of Peter Moore. +</P> + +<P> +Here the casual gaze rested. If he recognized Peter Moore, he gave no +indication of it. He studied Peter's countenance with the look of one +whose interest may be distracted on the slightest provocation. +</P> + +<P> +An intelligent and wary student of human nature, Peter dropped his eyes +to the man's long, claw-like fingers. These were twitching ever so +slightly, plucking slowly—it may have been meditatively—at the hem of +his black silk coat. At the intentness of Peter's stare, this +twitching abruptly ceased. +</P> + +<P> +The sampan whacked alongside. The big man tossed a small, orange-silk +bag to the deck. He climbed the ladder as if he had been used to +climbing all his life. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't care for his looks," remarked Miss Vost, looking up into +Peter's face with a curious smile. +</P> + +<P> +"Nor I," said Bobbie MacLaurin. +</P> + +<P> +The richly dressed stranger vaulted nimbly over the teak-rail, +recovered the orange bag, and approached MacLaurin. His head drooped +forward momentarily, in recognition of the authority of the blue +uniform. +</P> + +<P> +He said in excellent English: "I desire to engage passage to Ching-Fu." +</P> + +<P> +"This way," replied the <I>Hankow's</I> captain. +</P> + +<P> +"You seemed to recognize him," said Miss Vost to Peter, when they had +the deck to themselves. +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps I was mistaken," replied Peter evasively. He suddenly was +aware of Miss Vost's wide-eyed look of concern. +</P> + +<P> +Impulsively she laid her hand on his arm. She had come up very close +to him. Her head moved back, so that her chin was almost on a level +with his. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Moore," she said in a low, soft voice, "I won't ask you any +questions. In China, there are many, many things that a woman must not +try to understand. But I—I want to tell you that—that I think you +are—splendid. It seems so fine, so good of you. I—I can't begin to +thank you. My—my feelings prevent it." +</P> + +<P> +"But—why—what—what——" stammered Peter. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, Mr. Moore, I know—I know!" Miss Vost proceeded earnestly. "Like +all fine, brave men, you are—you are modest! It—it almost makes me +want to cry, to think—to think——" +</P> + +<P> +"But, Miss Vost," interrupted Peter, gently and gravely, "you are +shooting over my head!" +</P> + +<P> +In the rakish bows of the <I>Hankow</I> arose the clank and clatter of wet +anchor-chains. A bell tinkled in the engine-room. The stout fabric of +the little steamer shuddered. The yellow water began to slip by them. +On the shore two pagodas moved slowly into alignment. The <I>Hankow</I> was +moving. +</P> + +<P> +Miss Vost strengthened her gentle hold upon Peter's reluctant arm. Her +bright eyes were a trifle blurred. "Last night, when we met on the +bund," she went on in a small voice, "I knew +immediately—immediately—what you were. A chivalrous gentleman! A +man who would shelter and protect any helpless woman he met!" +</P> + +<P> +"That was nice of you," murmured Peter. +</P> + +<P> +Like Saul of Tarsus, he was beginning to see a bright light. +</P> + +<P> +"And it was true!" Miss Vost plunged on. "Now—now, you are risking +your life—for poor, unworthy little me! Please don't deny it, Mr. +Moore! I only wanted to let you know that I—I understand, and that I +am—g-grateful!" Her eyelids fluttered over an unstifled moistness. +</P> + +<P> +"Bobbie <I>loves</I> you," blurted Peter. "He'd do anything in the world +for you. He told me so. He told me——" +</P> + +<P> +Miss Vost opened her eyes on a look that was hurt and humiliated. +"What?" +</P> + +<P> +"He'd go to hell for you!" +</P> + +<P> +"He's an overgrown boy. He doesn't know what he says. That's +nonsense," declared Miss Vost, looking away from Peter. "I know his +type, Mr. Moore. He falls in love with every pretty face; and he falls +out again, quite as easily." +</P> + +<P> +"You don't know Bobbie, the way I do," said Peter stubbornly. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't have to. I know his kind—a girl in every port." +</P> + +<P> +"No, no. Not Bobbie!" +</P> + +<P> +For a moment it seemed that they had come to an <I>impasse</I>. Miss Vost +was blinking her eyes rapidly, appearing to be somewhat interested in a +junk which was poling down-stream. +</P> + +<P> +She looked up with a wan smile. Tears were again in her eyes. "Mr. +Moore," she said in a broken voice, "what you've told me about Mr. +MacLaurin, Captain MacLaurin, moves me—deeply!" +</P> + +<P> +"Do try to be nice to Bobbie," begged Peter. "He is the finest fellow +I know. He is true blue. He would give his life for your little +finger. Really he would, Miss Vost!" +</P> + +<P> +The bright eyes gave him a languishing look. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll try," she said simply. +</P> + +<P> +That night the banks of the great river were gray and mysterious under +the effulgence of a top-heavy yellow moon. The search-light on the +peak pierced out the fact that a low, swirling mist was creeping up +from the river's dulled surface. +</P> + +<P> +The air was damp with the breath of the land. Occasionally the gentle +puffs of the wind bore along the water the flavor of queer, +indistinguishable odors. +</P> + +<P> +Elbow to elbow, glancing down at the hissing water, Miss Vost and Peter +stood for a number of sweet, meditative moments in silence. At length +Miss Vost slipped her arm through his. +</P> + +<P> +"Sometimes," she murmured, inclining her head until it almost rested +against his shoulder, "I feel lonely—terrible! Especially on such a +night as this. The moon is so impersonal, isn't it? Here it is, a +great, gorgeous ball of cold fire, shining across China at you and me. +In Amoy it seemed to frown at me. Now—it seems to smile. The same +moon!" +</P> + +<P> +"The same moon!" whispered Peter as her warm hand slipped down and +snuggled in his. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't <I>you</I> ever feel lonely—like this?" demanded Miss Vost suddenly. +</P> + +<P> +Peter sighed. "Oh, often. Often! The world seems so big, and so +filled with things that are hard to learn. Especially at night!" He +wondered what she thought he meant. +</P> + +<P> +"I—I feel that way," Miss Vost's absorbed voice replied. "I try—and +try—to reason these things out. But they are so baffling! So +elusive! So evasive! Here is China, with its millions of poor +wretched ones, struggling in darkness and disease. There are so many! +And they are so hard to help. And out beyond there, not so many miles +beyond that ridge, lies Tibet, with her millions, and her ignorance, +and her disease. And to the left—away to the left, I think, is India. +</P> + +<P> +"If a person would be happy, he must not come to China or India. Their +problems are too overwhelming. You cannot think of solutions fast +enough, and even while you think, you are overcome by the weariness, +the hopelessness, of it all. I wish I had never come to China. +</P> + +<P> +"I happened to be in Foo-Chow not long ago. There is in Foo-Chow a +thing that illustrates what I mean. It is called the baby tower. +Girls, you know, aren't thought much of in China. At the bottom of the +tower is a deep well. Women to whom are born baby girls go to the baby +tower——" Miss Vost shuddered. "The babies are thrown into the well. +I have seen them. Poor—poor, little creatures—dying like that!" +</P> + +<P> +Miss Vost sniffled for a moment. Brightly she said: +</P> + +<P> +"I like to talk to you, Mr. Moore. You're so—so sympathetic!" +</P> + +<P> +A great, dark shadow bulked up against the rail alongside Peter. +</P> + +<P> +"Good evening, folks!" declared the pleasant bass voice of Bobbie +MacLaurin. +</P> + +<P> +"We were just talking about you, Bobbie," said Peter affably. "As I +was telling Miss Vost, you're the most sympathetic man I ever knew! +Good night, Miss Vost. Night, Bobs!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0113"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XIII +</H3> + +<P> +When Peter descended the stairway into the narrow vestibule which +served as reception-hall, dining-saloon, and, incidentally, as the +corridor from which the <I>Hankow's</I> four small staterooms were entered, +he had the chilly feeling that the darkness had eyes. +</P> + +<P> +Yet he saw nothing. The cabin was dark. Three round ports glimmered +greenly beyond the staircase on the cabin's forward side. The glimmer +was occasioned by the refracted rays of the <I>Hankow's</I> dazzling +searchlight. But these were not the ones he felt. +</P> + +<P> +Gradually his own eyes became accustomed to the pulp-like darkness. He +steadied his body against the gentle swaying of the steamer, and +endeavored to listen above, or through, the imminent thrashing and +clattering of the huge engine. +</P> + +<P> +He examined the four stateroom doors anxiously. As the darkness began +to dissolve slightly, Peter, still conscious that eyes were fastened +upon him, made the discovery that the stateroom adjoining his was +slightly ajar. The moon favored him—Miss Vost's impersonal moon. It +outlined against the slit what appeared to be a large, irregular block. +</P> + +<P> +Peter decided that the irregular block was nothing more nor less than +the head of a man. To prove that his surmise was correct, Peter +quickly shifted the revolver from his right hand to his left, brought +it even with his eyes and—struck a match. +</P> + +<P> +In the startling flare of the phosphorus the evil glint of Celestial +eyes was instantly revealed in the partly opened door. +</P> + +<P> +With incredible softness the door was closed. Where there had been +half-lidded eyes, a positive snarl, and a shock of blue-black hair was +now a white-enameled panel. +</P> + +<P> +Peter continued to smile along the barrel, which glistened in the dying +flame of the match. He unlocked his door, closed it, and shot the +bolt. Switching on the electric light, he cautiously drew back the +sheet. Apparently satisfied, he sniffed the air. It was nothing more +than stuffy, as a stateroom that has been closed for a week or so is +apt to be. +</P> + +<P> +Unscrewing the fat wingbolts which clamped down the brass-bound +port-glass, he let in a breath of misty river air. Simultaneously +voices came into the room. +</P> + +<P> +Miss Vost and Bobbie MacLaurin were conversing in clear, tense +syllables. Peter could not help eavesdropping. They were standing on +the deck, directly over his stateroom, only a few scant feet from his +porthole, which was situated much nearer the deck than the surging +water. +</P> + +<P> +"But I do—I do love you!" Bobbie was complaining in his rumbling +voice. "Ever since you set foot on the old <I>Sunyado Maru</I> I've been +your shadow—your slave! What more can any man say?" he added bitterly. +</P> + +<P> +"Not a great deal," rejoined Miss Vost lightheartedly. She became +abruptly serious. "Bobbie, I do like you. I admire you—ever so much. +But it happens that you are not the man for me. You don't understand +me. You can never understand me. Don't you realize it? You're too +sudden—too brutal—too——" +</P> + +<P> +"Brutal! I've treated you like a flower. I want to shield you——" +</P> + +<P> +"But I don't <I>need</I> shielding, Bobbie. I'm prudent, fearless, +and—twenty-two. I don't need a watch-dog!" +</P> + +<P> +"Good God, who said anything about being a watchdog?" exclaimed Bobbie. +"I—I just want——" +</P> + +<P> +"You just want me," completed Miss Vost. "Well, you can't have me." +</P> + +<P> +"You love somebody else, then. That young pup!" +</P> + +<P> +Peter stared sourly at the bilious moon. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't you dare call him a young pup, Robert MacLaurin," retorted Miss +Vost resentfully. "He is a fine young man. I admire him and I respect +him very, <I>very</I> much." +</P> + +<P> +"He can't fool around any girl of mine!" +</P> + +<P> +Peter heard Bobbie sucking the breath in between his teeth, as if he +might have pricked himself with a pin. Bobbie had done worse than that. +</P> + +<P> +"A girl of <I>yours</I>!" snapped Miss Vost. +</P> + +<P> +Followed low, anxious and imploratory whispers. These were terminated +by a long, light, and delicious laugh. +</P> + +<P> +"Bobbie, you're so <I>funny</I>!" Miss Vost gurgled. +</P> + +<P> +"I wish I was dead!" declared Bobbie despondently. +</P> + +<P> +"You should go to Liauchow," Miss Vost chirped. +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Why</I> should <I>I</I> go to Liauchow?" grumbled the bass voice. +</P> + +<P> +"To be happy, you must be born in Soochow, live in Canton and die in +Liauchow. So runs the proverb." +</P> + +<P> +"Why should I go to Liauchow?" persisted Bobbie. +</P> + +<P> +"Because Soochow has the handsomest people, Canton the most luxury, and +Liauchow the best coffins!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0114"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XIV +</H3> + +<P> +Peter Moore's curiosity regarding the motives which were sending Miss +Amy Vost into Szechwan, most deplorable, most poverty-stricken of +provinces, was satisfied before the <I>Hankow</I> had put astern the great +turbulent city after which it had been named. +</P> + +<P> +At Hankow the <I>Hankow</I> picked up the raft which it would tow all the +way up to Ching-Fu. Upon this raft was a long, squat cabin, in and out +of which poured incessantly members of China's large and growing family. +</P> + +<P> +There were thin, dirty little men, and skinny, soiled little women, and +quantities of hungry, dirty little boys and girls. A great noise went +up from the raft as the <I>Hankow</I> nosed in alongside, and the new +towline was passed and made fast over the bitts. +</P> + +<P> +As the big propeller thumped under them and churned the muddy water +into unhealthy-looking foam, Peter Moore and Miss Vost leaned upon the +rail, where it curved around the fantail, and discoursed at length, +speculating upon the probable destination of that raftful of dirty +humanity, and offering problematic answers to the puzzling question as +to why were all these people deserting relatively prosperous Hankow for +the over-populated, overdeveloped province of Szechwan. +</P> + +<P> +Peter had an inkling that Miss Vost was distressed by the scene. +</P> + +<P> +"Let's take a stroll forward," he suggested. +</P> + +<P> +An urchin, directly below them, stood rubbing his eyes with two grimy +fists. His whines were audible above the churning of the engines. +</P> + +<P> +"No, no. I'm quite accustomed to this. Look—just look at that +miserable little fellow!" +</P> + +<P> +"He is blind," stated Peter quietly. +</P> + +<P> +"Half of them are blind," Miss Vost replied. Her features were +transfixed by a look of sadness. "Wait for me. I'll return in a +second." +</P> + +<P> +Peter watched the graceful swing of her shoulders as she strode down +the deck to the forward companionway, admiring the slim strength of her +silk-clad ankles. She was every inch an American girl. He was proud +of her. She returned, carrying a small oblong of cardboard, upon which +a photograph was pasted. +</P> + +<P> +Peter found himself looking into the sad, be-wrinkled eyes of a +gray-bearded man, a patriarchal gentleman, who stood on the hard clay +at the foot of a low stone stairway. His nose, his eyes, his +intellectual forehead were distinctly those of Miss Vost. A child in a +freshly starched frock, with eyes opened wide in surprise and interest, +was firmly clutching one of his trouser-legs. +</P> + +<P> +"My father," explained Miss Vost. "He was stationed at Wenchow then, +in charge of the mission. I have not seen him since." +</P> + +<P> +Peter remarked to himself that somehow Miss Vost did not seem to be the +daughter of a missionary, nor was the costly way she dressed in key +with her remark. Perhaps she divined his thoughts. +</P> + +<P> +"He has money—lots of it. He has a keen, broad mind. But he chose +this. When he was first married be brought mother to China. He saw, +and realized, China's vast problems. And he stayed. He wanted to +help." +</P> + +<P> +Peter gazed into her gray eyes, which seemed to take on a clear violet +tinge when she was deeply moved. +</P> + +<P> +"He told me to come to see him because he was growing old. I stopped +off in Amoy," said Miss Vost with a ghost of a smile. "A young +missionary he wanted me to meet lives there. I met him. But I could +not admire that young missionary. He was a—a <I>poseur</I>. He was +pretending. One reason I like you, Mr. Moore, is because you're so +sincere. He was so transparent. And his 'converts' saw through him, +too. They were bread-and-butter converts. They listened to him; they +devoured his food—then they went to the fortune-tellers! Father could +not have known Doctor Sanborn longer than a few minutes—or else he's +not the father that he used to be! I inherit his love for sincerity. +I—I'm sure he will like you!" +</P> + +<P> +"But—but——" stammered Peter—"I don't expect to go to Wenchow. +Better say he'd like—Bobbie!" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, he'd like anybody that I liked," Miss Vost said lightly. +"It—it's really interesting, you know, from Ching-Fu to Wenchow. We +take bullock carts—if we can find them. Otherwise we walk. Doesn't +it—appeal to you—just a little—to be all alone with me for nearly a +hundred miles?" +</P> + +<P> +"Very much indeed," replied Peter earnestly. "But our roads part—at +Ching-Fu. I go directly south." +</P> + +<P> +"In search of more adventure and romance? Perhaps—perhaps a girl who +is not so silly as I have been? Or—is it India—or Afghanistan?" +</P> + +<P> +"Neither. An old friend!" +</P> + +<P> +"Is that why you are growing a beard—to surprise—<I>him</I>?" +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps," said Peter, absently fingering the bristles. "Don't tell me +it's unbecoming or I'll have to shave it off!" +</P> + +<P> +"As if what I thought made a particle of difference!" retorted Miss +Vost defiantly. +</P> + +<P> +Peter gave her a thoughtful, a puzzled stare. "I overheard you last +night. You broke your promise. You promised to be nice to him." +</P> + +<P> +"I was. Do you mean what I said about Liauchow?" +</P> + +<P> +"You don't realize what you <I>mean</I> to Bobbie. My dear, dear girl——" +</P> + +<P> +"I am not your dear, dear girl!" +</P> + +<P> +Peter groaned. +</P> + +<P> +"Does your heart ache, too, Peter?" +</P> + +<P> +"Of course it does! I—I'd like——" +</P> + +<P> +"Then why don't you?" +</P> + +<P> +"It wouldn't be fair, that's why!" +</P> + +<P> +"To—Bobbie?" +</P> + +<P> +"Bobbie, too." +</P> + +<P> +"Then there <I>is</I> another girl," Miss Vost cried bitterly. She bit her +lip. "You should have told me before." +</P> + +<P> +"I thought it wouldn't be necessary." +</P> + +<P> +Miss Vost dropped her eyes to Peter's hand which was resting on the +rail. Her own hand moved over and nestled against it. +</P> + +<P> +"Do—do you l-love her as much as th-this?" Her eyes returned to his +face. +</P> + +<P> +"I did think I did!" +</P> + +<P> +"But you're not sure—now?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I thought I was sure! I <I>am</I> sure'" +</P> + +<P> +"There's little more to say, then, is there?" Her lids were blinking +rapidly as she looked down at the mob of filthy little Arabs on the +flat. Her fingers plucked, trembling, at the embroidered hem of a +white, wadded handkerchief. +</P> + +<P> +"Bobbie <I>does</I> care for you so," observed Peter with unintentional +cruelty. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh—oh—<I>him</I>!" sobbed Miss Vost, leaving him to stare after her +drooping figure as she retreated down the deck. +</P> + +<P> +She seemed on a sudden to be avoiding the entrance to the forward +companionway. He wondered why. +</P> + +<P> +The girl stopped, with her hands clenched into white fists at her sides. +</P> + +<P> +From the doorway, smiling suavely and wiping one hand upon the other in +a gesture of solicitous meekness, emerged the tall and commanding +figure of the Mongolian—or was he a Tibetan? He was attired now in +the finest, the shiniest of Canton silks. His satin pants, of a +gorgeous white, a <I>courting</I> white, were strapped about ankles which +terminated in curved sandals sparkling with gold and jewels in the +mid-day sun. His jacket, long and perfectly fitting, was of a robin's +egg blue. His blue-black queue, freshly oiled, gleamed like the coils +of an active hill snake. +</P> + +<P> +He was a picture of refined Chinese saturninity. +</P> + +<P> +Miss Vost, beholding him, was properly impressed. She stepped back, +not a little appalled, and swept him from queue to sandal with a look +that was not the heartiest of receptions. The Mongolian was speaking +in oiled, pleasing accents. +</P> + +<P> +Peter strode toward them. +</P> + +<P> +"He insulted me!" panted Miss Vost. "Like many fine, Chinese +gentlemen, he thought, perhaps, that I might be—what do they call +'em—a 'nice li'l 'Melican girl!' Impress him with the fact that I am +not, Mr. Moore—please do that!" +</P> + +<P> +She hastened around the forward cabin, out of sight. +</P> + +<P> +The Mongolian was regarding Peter with a cool, complacent smile. His +expression was smug, uninjured. +</P> + +<P> +"Looka here, Chink-a-link," Peter advised him, "my no savvy you; you no +savvy my. My see you allatime. Allatime. You savvy, Chink-a-link?" +</P> + +<P> +"I comprehend you, my friend," replied the Mongolian in polished +accents. "In my case, 'pidgin' is not, let me hasten to say, +necessary." +</P> + +<P> +"Very good, Chink; the next time you so much as glance in Miss Vost's +direction, you're going to walk away with a pair of the dam'dest black +eyes in China! Get that—you yellow weasel?" +</P> + +<P> +"Unfortunately," replied the Mongolian, lifting his fine, black +eyebrows only a trifle, "your suggestion—your admonitions—are again, +most inappropriate. Miss Vost—do I pronounce it correctly? Miss Vost +and yourself are the victims of a misunderstanding." +</P> + +<P> +"Take off your coat, and prove I'm wrong!" shouted Peter. "I'm a +better man than you are! Swallow it or—fight!" +</P> + +<P> +Peter's gray tweed coat flopped in a heap upon the ironwood deck. +</P> + +<P> +The Mongolian retired a few feet, with indications of anxiety. +</P> + +<P> +"I—I did not intend to offend her," he retracted. His ropy throat +muscles seemed to convulse. His long face flamed hotly red. He burst +out, as though unable to control himself: "My savvy allatime you no +savvy! <I>Nà bùh yà o tÄ« nà gò hwà ! Djan gò chü, rà ng ó dzóu!</I>" +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Lao-shu</I>," laughed Peter. "<I>Dang hsin!</I>" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0115"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XV +</H3> + +<P> +They came to Ichang next noon. Peter was on deck watching the somewhat +hazardous procedure of transferring large grass-bound cases of tools +from a tidewater steamer to the stern of the flat when he saw the +Mongolian emerge from the companionway and walk to the rail, forward. +Peter gave him a full stare, but the man did not glance in his +direction. He was looking down at the muddy river, and beckoning. +</P> + +<P> +Peter observed a sampan coolie give an answering wave, and the sampan +sidled alongside the flat. +</P> + +<P> +The Mongolian returned a few minutes before the <I>Hankow</I> hauled in her +anchor. He retired to his stateroom and stayed there until late +afternoon. +</P> + +<P> +The river above Ichang was swifter, more dangerous, than in its lower +course. Except for the junks and an occasional sampan, the <I>Hankow</I> +had the stream to herself. The yellow waters were tinged with red, +dancing and sparkling to a fresh breeze under a fair blue sky. Great +blue hills confined the swollen current. This was not the Yangtze of +yesterday. It was a maddened millrace, gorged by the mountain rains. +Even the gurgle under the sharp-cut waters seemed to convey a menace. +</P> + +<P> +Dikes were broken down. The brown waters had flowed out to right and +left, forming quiet lakes where there had been fields of paddy and +wheat. The junks from up-river were having a strenuous time of it. +Swarms of gibbering coolies manned the long sweeps, striving above all +to keep their clumsy craft in safe mid-current. +</P> + +<P> +They were passing a long row of pyramids, green, brown and red. But +Miss Vost was staring along the deck. +</P> + +<P> +"The Mongolian!" she muttered. "How he is grinning at you!" +</P> + +<P> +The Mongolian had come upon them, apparently unintentionally. He +hesitated and paused when Peter looked up. Peter saw no grin upon his +lips. They were set in a firm, straight line. His long arms were +folded behind his back, and his eyes were empty of mirth—or malice. +They simply expressed nothing. He looked at Peter shortly, and favored +Miss Vost with a long stare. +</P> + +<P> +Her eyes faltered. Peter stepped forward. +</P> + +<P> +But the Mongolian bowed, passed them at a slow, meditative walk, and +was lost from their sight behind the cabin's port side. +</P> + +<P> +The idea took hold of Peter that the stalker had become the killer. +There was a telegraph station at Ichang through which ran the frail +copper wires connecting the seventy millions of Szechwan Province with +civilization. Had it been possible for the Mongolian to signal his +master in Len Yang and receive an answer while the <I>Hankow</I> lay at +Ichang? +</P> + +<P> +After dinner, curious and nervous, Peter went below. The light was +burning over the table of weapons in the main cabin. +</P> + +<P> +The Mongolian's door was slightly ajar, and as Peter descended the +stairs, the door closed. +</P> + +<P> +He waited. His heart thumped, louder than the thump of the laboring +engine. He walked to his stateroom, opened the door, kicked the +threshold, and—slammed the door! He hastened to the table, and hid +behind it. Between the table legs he had a splendid view of both doors. +</P> + +<P> +Holding a kris, point down, in front of him, the Mongolian slipped out, +tried the adjacent door-knob and entered Peter's room. When he came +out, he looked perplexed and angry. He slid the dagger into his silk +blouse and looked up the stairway, listening. +</P> + +<P> +His expression of rage passed away; now his look was inscrutable. +Stealing across the vestibule, he approached Miss Vost's door, and +rapped. +</P> + +<P> +Peter ran his fingers along the edge of the table until they +encountered the hilt of a cutlass. He waited. +</P> + +<P> +The Mongolian rapped a little louder. There was no answer. Again he +knocked, imperatively. Peter heard Miss Vost's sleepy voice pitched in +inquiry. Her door opened an inch or two. +</P> + +<P> +The Mongolian forced his way inside! +</P> + +<P> +Miss Vost uttered a short, sharp scream, which was instantly smothered. +</P> + +<P> +As Peter burst into the room, the Mongolian turned with a snarl, +reaching for his silk blouse. Peter clapped his free hand to the +muscled shoulder, and dragged him into the corridor. +</P> + +<P> +Miss Vost, in a long, white nightgown, was framed in the doorway, +staring sleepily. Her hand was clutched to her lips. Her hair tumbled +about her bare shoulders in dark, silky clusters. +</P> + +<P> +Bright steel flashed in the Mongolian's hand. "<I>Ha-li!</I>" he muttered. +</P> + +<P> +Peter braced himself, and thrust straight upward, striking with fury. +He drove the sword through the Mongolian's right eye. +</P> + +<P> +Miss Vost, a slender pillar of white, stared down at the floundering +heap. She seemed to be going mad, with the green light of the electric +glittering in her distended eyes. +</P> + +<P> +Bobbie MacLaurin bounded down the steps. +</P> + +<P> +"He tried to come into my room," said Miss-Vost. "He tried to come +into my room!" +</P> + +<P> +"I know. I know. But it's all right," soothed Peter, panting. "You +must go back to bed. You must try to sleep." He talked as though she +were a child. "He was a bad man. He had to—to be treated—this way!" +</P> + +<P> +"You—you look like an Arab. The dark. And that beard. Where is +Bobbie?" +</P> + +<P> +"Right here. Right here beside you!" +</P> + +<P> +"You're not hurt—either of you? You're both all right?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. Yes. <I>Please</I> go to bed!" begged Peter. +</P> + +<P> +"Please!" implored Bobbie. +</P> + +<P> +To them there was something unreligious, something terrible, in the +notion of Miss Vost standing in the presence of the grim black heap in +the shadow. Nor were her youth and her innocence intended to be bared +before the eyes of men in this fashion. +</P> + +<P> +As if a chill river wind had struck her, she shivered—closed the door. +</P> + +<P> +The men carried the limp body, which was unaccountably heavy, to the +deck. After a minute there—was a splash. The <I>Hankow</I> had not been +checked. On the Yangtze formal burial ceremonies are seldom performed. +</P> + +<P> +Peter went to bed at once. He tried to sleep. He counted the +revolutions of the propeller. He added up a stupendous number of sheep +going through a hole in a stone wall. Every so often the sheep faded +away, to be replaced by the fearful countenance of the Mongolian, who +was now perhaps ten miles or more downstream. +</P> + +<P> +After a while the engines were checked, turning at half speed for a +number of revolutions, then ceasing as a bell rang. The only sound was +the soughing gurgle of the water as it lapped along the steel plates, +and the distant drone of the rapids. +</P> + +<P> +He heard the splash of an anchor, accompanied by the rumble and clank +of chains, forward; and a repetition of the sounds aft. Directly under +him, it seemed a loud, prolonged scraping noise took place. The fires +were being drawn. +</P> + +<P> +The sounds could only mean that the <I>Hankow</I> had reached the journey's +end. The trip was over; the <I>Hankow</I> was abreast Ching-Fu. She would +lie in the current for a few days, before facing about and making for +tidewater. +</P> + +<P> +To-day would see the last of Miss Vost, a termination of that +serio-humorous love affair of theirs, which, on the whole, had been one +of his most delightful experiences. He wondered whether or not she +would ask him to kiss her good-bye. He rather hoped she would. +</P> + +<P> +On the other hand, he hoped she would do nothing of the kind. Distance +was lending enchantment to Eileen Lorimer. He was sure this was not +infatuation. She was not the first; he had had affairs; oh, numbers of +them! But they were mere fragments of his adventurous life. They were +milestones, shadowy and vague and very far away now. Dear little +milestones, each of them! +</P> + +<P> +Sometime he would go to Eileen, and get down on his knees before her in +humility, and ask her if she could overlook his systematic and hardened +faults! When would he do this? Frankly, he did not know. +</P> + +<P> +He dozed off, and it seemed only an instant later when he was awakened +by a harsh cry. +</P> + +<P> +The port-hole was still dark. Morning was a long way off. +</P> + +<P> +The cry was repeated, was joined by others, excited and fearful. +</P> + +<P> +Peter sat up in bed, and was instantly thrown back by a sudden lurch. +Next came a dull booming and banging. The stateroom was filled with +the hot, sweet smell of smoking wood, the smell that is caused by the +friction of wood against wood, or wood against steel. +</P> + +<P> +Another pounding and booming. Some one hammered at the door. Peter +tried to turn on the electric light. There was no current. He opened +the door. +</P> + +<P> +Bobbie, shoeless and collarless, dressed only in pants and shirt, +towered over the light of a candle which he held in a hand that shook. +</P> + +<P> +"A collision! Junk rammed us! Get up quick! Don't know damage. Call +Miss Vost! Get on deck! Take care of her! My hands filled with this +dam' boat." +</P> + +<P> +Peter snatched his clothes, and before he was out of his pajamas the +<I>Hankow</I> began to keel over. It slid down, until the port-hole dipped +into the muddy current. Water slopped in and drenched his knees and +feet. +</P> + +<P> +He yanked open the door, not stopping to lace his shoes, and called +Miss Vost. She had heard the excitement, and was dressing. The floor +lurched again, and he was thrown violently against a sharp-edged post. +</P> + +<P> +Miss Vost's door was flung open, and she stumbled down the sloping +floor, bracing her hands against his chest to catch herself. +</P> + +<P> +"We're sinking," she said without fear. +</P> + +<P> +To Peter it was evident that Miss Vost had never been through the +capsizing of a ship before. He fancied he caught a thrill of eager, +almost exultant, excitement in her voice. In that vestibule, he knew +they were rats in a water-trap, or soon would be. +</P> + +<P> +He still felt weak and limp from his fall against the post, and he was +trying hard to regain his strength before they began their perilous +ascent to the deck. +</P> + +<P> +Miss Vost misunderstood his hesitancy. +</P> + +<P> +"I am not afraid, not a bit!" she declared, holding with both hands the +folds of his unbuttoned shirt. "I am never afraid with <I>you</I>! When I +am in danger, you—you are always near. It—it seems that you were put +here to—to look after me. But there is no danger—is there?" She +shook him almost playfully. +</P> + +<P> +"Cut out your babbling," he snapped. "Get to that stairway!" +</P> + +<P> +He heard the breath hiss in between her teeth. But she clung to his +arm obediently. They sprawled and slipped in the darkness to the +stairs. Clinging to the railing, they reached the deck, which was +inclined so steeply that they clung to the cabin-rail for support. +</P> + +<P> +In the dark on all sides of them coolies shouted in high-pitched +voices. Heavy rain was falling, drumming on the deck. The odor of +wood rubbing against steel persisted. They could see nothing. The +world was dark, and filled with contusion. +</P> + +<P> +A sharp explosion took place in the bows. Chains screamed through the +air and clanged on metal and wood. One of the forward anchor-chains +had parted. +</P> + +<P> +The deck was tilted again. Bobbie MacLaurin was not in evidence. +Peter shouted for him until he was hoarse. Then he left Miss Vost and +groped his way to the starboard davits. The starboard life-boat was +gone! +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly the rain ceased. A dull red glow smouldered on the eastern +heaven. +</P> + +<P> +Miss Vost was praying, praying for courage, for help. She clung to +him, and sobbed. By and by her nerves seemed to steady themselves. +</P> + +<P> +There was nothing to do but wait for daylight—and pray that the +gurgling waters might not rise any higher. +</P> + +<P> +The glow in the east increased, and permitted them to see the vague +outlines of a looming shape which seemed to grow out of the bows. As +dawn came, Peter made out the form of a huge junk, which had pinioned +and crushed the foredeck rail under her brawny poop. +</P> + +<P> +Then the remaining anchor-cable snapped like a rotten thread. Dimly +they saw the end of the chain whip upward and crash down. A coolie, +paralyzed, stood in its way. The broken end struck him in the face. +He screamed and rolled down the deck until he lodged against the rail. +</P> + +<P> +Bobbie shouted their names, and scrambled and slipped down. +</P> + +<P> +"We're trying to get up steam. Our only chance. Both forward anchors +gone. We'll swing around with the current and lose this damn junk. If +the after anchor holds till steam's up—we're safe!" He sped aft. +</P> + +<P> +The steamer shuddered, and they felt her swinging as the scattered +shore lights moved from left to right. The junk was acting as a drag. +The shore lights became stationary. A gang of coolies with grate bars +were trying to pry up the junk's coamings. +</P> + +<P> +Peter was aware then that Miss Vost's arms were clinging about his +neck, and that she was whimpering softly in his ear. +</P> + +<P> +Up-river boomed another explosion. The deck seemed to fall from under +his feet. Water splashed up over his toes. In the gold-speckled dawn +he could see the waters foaming and swirling, and rising higher. +</P> + +<P> +He knew it was suicide to swim the Yangtze rapids, knew the whirlpools +which sucked a man down and held him down until his body was torn to +shreds. There was no alternative. And the water was now half-way to +his knees. He dragged the unresisting girl to the rail. +</P> + +<P> +"Can you swim—at all?" +</P> + +<P> +"A—a little," she chattered. +</P> + +<P> +"Hold to my collar and swim with one hand. Only try to keep afloat." +</P> + +<P> +They slipped into the racing current, were seized, and spun around and +around. Above the drone of the waters he heard the roar of a +whirlpool, coming rapidly nearer. The firm clutch of Miss Vost's hand +on his collar was not loosened. Occasionally he heard her gasp and +sputter as a wave washed over her face. +</P> + +<P> +They were swept down. On they went, spinning, snatched from one eddy +to another. The roar of the whirlpool receded, became a low growl and +mutter. +</P> + +<P> +Now they could see the churning surface covered with torn bits of +wreckage. A body, bloated and discolored, spun by, and was caught and +dragged under, leaving only an indescribable stench. +</P> + +<P> +After a while the northern shore, a low, brown bank, crept out toward +them, like a long, merciful arm. In another minute Peter's bare feet +came in contact with slimy, yielding mud. They were in shoal water! +</P> + +<P> +He picked up Miss Vost in his arms, and carried her ashore; and she +clung to him, shivering and moaning. He did not realize until +afterward that she was kissing him over and over again on his wet lips +and cheeks. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Coolies found them, and carried them to a village, and deposited them +in a little red clay compound behind a building of straw. A bonfire +was kindled. The sun came up, a disk that might have been cut out of +red tissue-paper. +</P> + +<P> +Some time later a tall man came into the clearing with a little group +of coolies who were pointing out the way. A white patriarchal beard +extended nearly to his waist. +</P> + +<P> +He saw Miss Vost and shouted. She leaped up, was enfolded in his arms. +</P> + +<P> +Peter stared at them a moment with a look that was somewhat dazed. He +picked himself up, and skulked out of the compound, in the direction of +the foaming river. +</P> + +<P> +His mind was not in a normal state just then, or he would not have +wanted to cross to Ching-Fu in a sampan. But he did want to cross. In +the back of his brain foolish words were urging him: "You must get to +Ching-Fu. You must go on to Len Yang. Hurry! Hurry!" +</P> + +<P> +He had no money. A box filled with perforated Szechwan coins now lay +at the bottom of the river in what was left of the <I>Hankow</I>. +Nevertheless, he hailed a sampan as though his pockets were weighted +down with lumps of purest silver. +</P> + +<P> +The boat leaked in dozens of places. The paddle, scarred and battered, +clung to the stern by means of a rotting leather thong. As Peter +looked and hesitated, a long, imperative cry issued from behind him. +Possibly Miss Vost wanted him to return. +</P> + +<P> +The coolie stipulated his price, and Peter stepped aboard without a +murmur, without looking around, either. The crossing was precarious. +They skirted the edge of more than one whirl; they were caught and +tossed about in waves as large as houses. Peter kept his eye on the +rotting thong, and marveled because it actually held. +</P> + +<P> +Deposited on the edge of Ching-Fu's bund, he confessed his poverty, and +offered his shirt in payment. The shirt was of fine golden silk, woven +in the Chinan-Fu mills. For more than a year it had worn like iron, +and it had more than an even chance of continuing to do so. +</P> + +<P> +Peter stripped off the shirt before a mob of squealing children, and +the coolie scrutinized it. He accepted it, and blessed Peter, and +Peter's virtuous mother, and called upon his green-eyed gods to make +the days of Peter long and filled with the rice of the land. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0116"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XVI +</H3> + +<P> +With the coming of noon Peter sat down under a stunted cembra pine tree +and contemplated the distant rocky blue ridge with a wistful and +discouraged air. He removed from his trouser-pocket two yellow loquats +and devoured them. +</P> + +<P> +He was dreadfully hungry. His stomach fathered a dull, persistent +ache, which forced upon his attention the pains in his muscles and +bones. It was their way of complaining against the abuse he had heaped +upon them during the past twenty-four hours. +</P> + +<P> +He was beginning to feel weak and dispirited. His was a constitution +that arose to emergencies in quick, battling trim; but when the +emergency was past, his vitality seemed to be drained. +</P> + +<P> +He looked down the muddy brown road as he finished the second loquat +(which he had stolen from a roadside farm in passing) and estimated +that Ching-Fu was all of ten miles behind him. Walking through the +pasty blue mud in his bare feet, with the rain streaming through his +hair and down his beard and shoulders, had been tedious, trying. +Several times he had stopped, with his feet sinking in the clay, and +cursed the Yangtze with bitterness. +</P> + +<P> +What had become of Bobbie MacLaurin? Had that noble soul been snatched +down by the River of Golden Sands? +</P> + +<P> +He cursed the river anew, for Bobbie was a man after God's own heart. +Never had there lived such a generous, such a fine and brave comrade. +More than once the mule-kick which lurked behind those big, kind, red +fists had saved Peter from worse than black eyes. +</P> + +<P> +He would never forget that night on the pier at Salina Cruz, when the +greaser had flashed out a knife, bent on carving a hole in Peter's +heart—and Bobbie had come up from behind and knocked the raving +Mexican a dozen feet off the pier into the limpid Pacific! +</P> + +<P> +Those days were ended now. The adventures, the excitement, the +sorrows, and the fiery gladness were all well beyond recall. +</P> + +<P> +Peter leaned back against the thorny trunk of the cembra pine, and +sniffed the odors of drenched earth, listened to the drip and patter of +the cold, gray rain, and gazed pessimistically at the blue crest of +rock which lifted its granite shoulders high into the mist miles away. +</P> + +<P> +He stretched himself, groaned, and staggered on through the mire. +</P> + +<P> +The valley was filled with the blue shades of dusk when he espied some +distance beyond him what was evidently a camp, a caravan at rest. The +setting sun managed at last to burrow its way through a rift of purple +before sinking down behind the granite range, to leave China to the +mercies of its long night. +</P> + +<P> +These departing rays, striking through the purple crevice, and setting +its edges smolderingly aflame with red and gold, became a narrow, +dwindling spotlight, which brought out in black relief the figures of +men and mules, of drooping tents and curling wisps of cookfire smoke. +The sun was swallowed up, and the camp vanished. +</P> + +<P> +Peter plunged on, with one leg dragging more reluctantly than the +other. But he had sensed the odor of cooking food in the quiet air. +</P> + +<P> +A sentry whose head was adorned by a dark-red turban presented the +point of his rifle as Peter approached. He shouted, was joined by +others, both Chinese and Bengalis, and Peter, not adverse even to being +in the hands of enemies as long as food was imminent, was inducted into +the presence of a kingly personage, who sat upon a carved teak stool. +</P> + +<P> +This creature, by all appearances a mandarin, of middle age, was garbed +in a stiff, dark satin gown, heavy with gold and jewels which flashed +brightly in the light of a camp-fire. His severe, dark face was long, +and stamped with intelligence of a high order. He wore a mustache +which drooped down to form a hair wisp on either side of his small, +firm mouth. +</P> + +<P> +As Peter was whisked into his presence he placed his elbow with a slow, +deliberate motion upon his knee, and rested his rounded chin in his +palm, bestowing upon the mud-spattered newcomer a look that searched +into Peter's soul. +</P> + +<P> +A single enormous diamond blazed upon the knuckle of his forefinger. +</P> + +<P> +He put a question in a tongue that Peter did not understand. It was a +deep, resonant voice, with the mellow, rounded tones of certain +temple-bells, such a sound as is diffused long after the harsh stroke +of the wooden boom has subsided. Vibrant with authority, it was such a +voice as men obey, however much they may hate its owner. He repeated +the question in Mandarin, and again Peter indicated that that was not +his speech. +</P> + +<P> +A different voice, yet quite as impelling as the other, caused Peter to +look up sharply. The mandarin smiled wisely, but not unkindly. +</P> + +<P> +"The darkness deceived me," he said in English of a strange cast. "I +mistook you for a beggar. You are far from the river, my friend. The +bones of your steamer lie fathoms deep by now. Why are you so far from +Ching-Fu? You were stunned, perhaps?" +</P> + +<P> +"I am only hungry," said Peter boldly. "My way lies into India. There +I have friends." +</P> + +<P> +The mandarin studied him dubiously, and clapped his hands, the great +diamond cutting an oval of many colors. Coolies were given up by the +night, and ran to obey his guttural, musical commands. They returned +with steaming bowls of rice and meat, and a narrow lacquer table. +</P> + +<P> +"Come and sit beside me. Your feet must be sore—bleeding. You may +call me Chang. So I am known to my British friends on the frontier. I +have been ill, a mountain fever, perhaps. In Ching-Fu. I had expected +medicine on the river steamer." +</P> + +<P> +He snapped his fingers, and whispered to a coolie whose face was gaunt +and stolid in the flickering red glow of the fire. +</P> + +<P> +So while Peter consumed the rice and stew, his bruised feet were bathed +in warm water, rubbed with a soothing ointment, and wrapped in a downy +bandage. +</P> + +<P> +A blue liquor served in cups of shell silver completed the meal. The +aromatic syrup, which exhaled a perfume that was indescribably +oriental, sent an exhilarating fire through his veins. It seemed to +clarify his thoughts and vision, to oil his aching joints, and remove +their pain. +</P> + +<P> +From the corner of his eye he detected the silken folds of the +mandarin's lofty tent, in the murky interior of which a fat, yellow +candle sputtered and dripped. When his eyes came back to the table, +the bowls and cups had been removed, and in their place was a +chess-board inlaid with ivory and pearl. +</P> + +<P> +Inspired by the cordial, and the queerness of this setting, Peter felt +that he was the central figure of a dream. The pungent odor of remote +incense, the distant tinkling of a bell, the stamping and pawing of the +mules and the brooding figure in silk and gold at his side, took him +back across the ages to the days and nights of Scheherezade. +</P> + +<P> +And the mandarin appeared to be hungry for Peter's companionship. Over +the chess-board, between plays, they discoursed lengthily upon the +greatness of the vast empire, once she should awake; upon the menace of +the wily Japanese; upon the lands across the mountains and beyond the +seas, and their peoples, of which Chang had read much but had never +visited. +</P> + +<P> +Wood was heaped upon the fire, which flared up and leaped after the +crowding shadows. +</P> + +<P> +It was the life that Peter dearly loved. +</P> + +<P> +The mandarin's eyes glowed, and rested upon him for longer spaces. His +words and sentences came fewer and more reluctant. +</P> + +<P> +In one of these pauses he seized Peter's hand. And Peter was forthwith +given the meagre details of a story, neither the beginning nor the end +of which he would ever know. It was the cross-section of a tale of +intrigue, of cold-blooded killings that chased the thrills up and down +his spine; a tale of loot, of gems that had vanished, of ingots and +kernels of gold that had leaked from iron-bound chests. +</P> + +<P> +The mandarin uttered his woe in a quivering voice, shifting from a +Bengal patois to Mandarin, and again to reckless English. +</P> + +<P> +Peter was given to understand that in Chang's camp was a traitor, a man +who eluded him, whose identity was shielded, a snake that could not be +stamped out unless the lives of every one of his attendants were taken! +</P> + +<P> +In a composed voice Chang, the mandarin, was saying: +</P> + +<P> +"You have walked far. You are weary. Another couch is in my tent. +You shall sleep there." +</P> + +<P> +The candle was guttering low in its bronze socket when Peter awoke. A +cool breeze stirred the tent flaps. A queer feeling oozed in his veins. +</P> + +<P> +He lay still, breathing regularly, searching the corners with eyes that +were brighter than a rat's. The low sleep-mutterings of the mandarin +continued from the couch across from him. +</P> + +<P> +Slowly the tent flaps were being drawn back. Peter strained his eyes +until they ached. He was impelled to shout, to awaken his companion. +Yet the visitor might be bent on legitimate business. He would wait. +In the final analysis it was Peter's profound acquaintance with the +ways of the East which sealed his lips. In the heart of China one does +not strike at shadows, or shriek at sight of them. Not always. +</P> + +<P> +At his side between the covers lay a strong, naked dagger. Why the +mandarin had provided him with the weapon he did not know. +</P> + +<P> +A gray shadow entered the tent and backed noiselessly against the front +pole. Indeed, not a sound was created by his entrance, not even the +rustling whisper of bare feet on dry grass. It seemed very ominous, +mysterious, and ghostly. +</P> + +<P> +The gray shadow floated into the candle-light, which waved and quivered +a little as the still air was disturbed. Peter was conscious that he +was being acutely examined. Not a muscle of his face twitched. He +continued to breathe regularly, with the heaviness of a man steeped in +sleep. Tentatively he permitted his lids to raise. +</P> + +<P> +The intruder's back was toward him. He was bending with slow stealth +over the mandarin's face. What was the fellow doing? +</P> + +<P> +Peter caught the glint of metal, or glass. At the same time a +powerful, sickening odor spread through the tent. +</P> + +<P> +Peter groped for the naked dagger, bounded up from the couch with a +nervous cry, and burled the steel up to its costly jeweled hilt in the +foremost shoulder. +</P> + +<P> +Without a sound the man in gray turned part way round, and a shudder +ran through him, causing the folds of his garment to flap slightly. He +sank down with a sigh like wind stealing through a cavern, and his +fingers clawed feebly in the leaping shadow. +</P> + +<P> +Peter detected a tiny glass vial spilling out its dark, volatile fluid +upon the dust. He picked it up, but it was snatched from his hand. +The dull pig-eyes of Chang stared very close to his, with the +stupefaction of sleep still extending the irises into round dark pools. +The vial was in his hand, and he was sampling its odor, waving it +slowly back and forth under his wide nostrils. He shouted, and +turbaned men filed into the tent, and carried the gray figure away. +</P> + +<P> +The hand of Chang rested upon Peter's shoulder, and in a voice that +throbbed with the sonorousness of a Buddha temple-gong he said: +</P> + +<P> +"You have rendered me a service for which I can never sufficiently +repay you—for I value my life highly! In the morning your mind will +have forgotten what has taken place. Try to sleep now. You will +obey—promptly!" +</P> + +<P> +The candle sputtered and jumped, as if it were striving mightily to +lengthen its golden life if only for another minute; and went out. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +From Chow Yang to Lun-Ling-Ting all the land could not provide costlier +raiment than Peter found at his bedside when the long, high-keyed cries +of the mule men opened his eyes upon another morning. +</P> + +<P> +When camp was broken up, long before the sun became hot, he was given a +small but able mule; and he rode down the valley toward India at +Chang's side. They moved at the head of a long, slow train, for here +bandits were not feared, despite the loneliness of the land through +which they were traveling. Farms became more scattered, more widely +separated by patches of broken, barren rock; and, finally, all traces +of the microscopic cultivation which gave Szechwan Province its lean +fruitfulness were left behind them. +</P> + +<P> +The mandarin rode for many miles in silence, occasionally changing +reins, looking steadily and gloomily ahead of him, with his attention +riveted, it seemed, upon the sharp and ceaseless clatter of his mule's +hoofs and the twisting rock road. +</P> + +<P> +Peter's mind was fixed upon the problem which crept hourly nearer. His +head was cast between his shoulders as if the weight of a sorrowful +world rested upon that narrow, well-proportioned skull, with its +covering of shining light hair. +</P> + +<P> +He loved his task as a man might love a selfish and thoughtless woman, +who demanded and craftily accepted all that he could give, to the last +ounce of his gold and the final drop of his blood. It was a thankless +task, yet it had grace. +</P> + +<P> +It was well past mid-morning before Chang spoke the first word. +</P> + +<P> +"A grateful dream came into my sleep last night. For years I have +fought in the darkness with a man who has the heart of Satan himself. +He has robbed me. Time after time he has sent into my camp his spies. +Some were more adroit than others. But none so adroit as the coolie +from Len Yang." +</P> + +<P> +Peter repressed his surprise, and merely winked his eyes thoughtfully a +number of times. Chang went on: +</P> + +<P> +"In this dream last night a young man was given into my keeping whose +spirit and manliness have not yet been soiled. His gratitude was +immediate. In return for the acts which grew out of that gratitude, I +am prepared to give him anything that is mine, or in my power, whether +he desires wealth, or position, or my friendship." +</P> + +<P> +"The young man," said Peter gravely, "desires neither wealth nor +position. If he has been of service to the man who befriended him, +that is enough." +</P> + +<P> +"Should he desire a favor of any kind——" +</P> + +<P> +"Then help him to reach his enemy, who is your enemy, who is the Gray +Dragon of Len Yang!" +</P> + +<P> +"In jest——" +</P> + +<P> +"In all seriousness!" said Peter. +</P> + +<P> +"It is death to enter Len Yang!" +</P> + +<P> +"My mind is made up, mandarin!" +</P> + +<P> +They had entered a narrow ravine, and on both sides of the slender +trail rose up sharp elbows of hard rock. Peter's head was inclined a +little to the right in an attitude he unconsciously assumed when +listening for important words of man or wireless machine. +</P> + +<P> +"It is the folly of adventurous youth," rang out the melodious and +sincere voice of the mandarin. "It is a quest for a grail which will +end in a pool of your own blood! Come into India with me!" +</P> + +<P> +"But I decided—long ago—mandarin!" +</P> + +<P> +"Your life is your life," said the mandarin sadly. "The City of Stolen +Lives is beyond the mountain. <I>Ch'ing</I>!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0117"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XVII +</H3> + +<P> +A road as white and straight as a silver bar led directly between the +black, jutting shoulders of the hills to the gates of Len Yang. +</P> + +<P> +Peter, with his heart beating a wild symphony of anticipation and fear, +drew rein. +</P> + +<P> +The small mule panted from the long desperate climb, his plump sides +filling and caving as he drank in the sharp evening air. +</P> + +<P> +Close behind the city's faded green walls towered the mountain ranges +of Tibet, cold, gloomy, and vague in the purple mystery of their +uncertain distances. They were like chained giants, brooding over the +wrongs committed in the City of Stolen Lives, sullen in their mighty +helplessness. +</P> + +<P> +In the rays of the swollen sun the close-packed hovels enclosed within +the moss-covered walls seemed to rest upon a blurring background of +vermilion earth. +</P> + +<P> +As Peter clicked his tongue and urged the tired little animal down the +slope, he recalled the fragment of the description that had been given +him of this place. Hideous people, with staring eyes, dripping the +blood-red slime of the cinnabar-mines—leprosy, filth, vermin— +</P> + +<P> +His palace! It stood out above the carmine ruck like a cube of purest +ivory in a bleeding wound. Its marble outrivaled the whiteness of the +Taj Mahal. It was a thing of snow-white beauty, like a dove poising +for flight above a gory battlefield. And it was crowned by a dome of +lapis lazuli, bluer than the South Pacific under a melting sun! But +its base, Peter knew, was stained red, a blood-red which had seeped up +and up from the carmine clay. +</P> + +<P> +The gate to the city was down, and by the grace of his blue-satin robe +Peter was permitted to enter. +</P> + +<P> +And instantly he was obsessed with the flaming color of that man's +unappeased passion. Red—red! The hovels were spattered with the red +clay. The man, the skinny, wretched creature who begged for a moment +of his gracious mercy at the gate, dripped in ruby filth. The mule +sank and wallowed in vermilion mire. +</P> + +<P> +Scrawny, undernourished children, naked, or in rags that afforded +little more protection than nakedness, thrust their starved, +red-smeared faces up at him, and gibed and howled. +</P> + +<P> +And above all this arose the white majesty of his palace—the throne of +the Gray Dragon! +</P> + +<P> +Peter urged the mule up the scarlet alley to a clearing in which he +found coolies by the thousands, trudging moodily from a central orifice +that continued to disgorge more and more of them. The dreadful, +reeking creatures blinked and gaped as if stupefied by the rosy light +of the dying day. +</P> + +<P> +Some carried lanterns of modern pattern; others bore picks and shovels +and iron buckets, and they seemed to pass on interminably, to be +engulfed in the lanes which ran in all directions from the clearing. +</P> + +<P> +It was as though the earth were vomiting up the vilest of its +creatures. And in the same light it was consuming others of equal +vileness. Down into the red maws of the shaft an endless chain of men +and women and children were descending. +</P> + +<P> +Quite suddenly the light gave way, and Peter was aware that the night +of the mountains was creeping out over the city, blotting out its +disfigurements, replacing the hideous redness with a velvety black. +</P> + +<P> +At the shaft's entrance a sharp spot of dazzling light sprang into +being. It was an electric arc light! Somehow this apparition struck +through the horror that saturated him, and he sighed as if his mind had +relinquished a clinging nightmare. +</P> + +<P> +Professionally now he gave this section of Len Yang another scrutiny. +Thick cables sagged between stumpy poles like clusters of black snakes, +all converging at the mine's entrance. His acute ears were registering +a dull hum, indicating the imminence of high-geared machinery or of +dynamos. +</P> + +<P> +At the further side of the red shaft, now crusted with the night's +shades, and garishly illuminated by the diamond whiteness of the frosty +arc, he made out a deep, wide ditch, where flowed slowly a ruddy +current, supplied from a short fat pipe. +</P> + +<P> +Peter believed that electric pumps sucked out the red seepage waters +from the mine and lifted them to the bloody ditch. +</P> + +<P> +On impulse he lifted his eyes to the darkening heavens, and he knew now +that the threads of this, his greatest adventure, were being drawn to a +meeting point; for he detected in the sun's last refracted rays the +bronze glint of aerial wires! What lay at the base of the antenna he +could guess accurately. He hastened to the base of the nearest aerial +mast—a pole reaching like a dark needle into the sky—and found there +a low, dark building of varnished pine with a small door of eroded, +green brass. +</P> + +<P> +The rain-washed pine, the complete absence of windows, and the +austerity of the massive brass door contributed to a personality of +dignified and pessimistic aloofness. The building occupied a place to +itself, as if its reserve were not to be tampered with, as if its dark +and sullen mystery were not meant for the prying eyes of passing +strangers. +</P> + +<P> +Peter knocked brazenly upon the door, and it clanked shallowly, giving +forth no inward echo. He waited expectantly. +</P> + +<P> +It yawned open to the accompaniment of grumbled curses in a distinctly +tenor whine. +</P> + +<P> +A man with a white, shocked face stared at him from the threshold. The +countenance was long, tapering, and it ended nowhere. Dull, mocking +eyes with a burned-out look in them stared unblinkingly into Peter's +face. +</P> + +<P> +Peter could have shouted in recognition of the weak face, but he +compressed his lips and bowed respectfully instead. +</P> + +<P> +"What the hell do you want?" growled the man on the threshold. +</P> + +<P> +"May Buddha bring the thousandth blessing to the soul of your virtuous +mother," said Peter in solemn, benedictive tones. "It is my pleasure +to desire entrance." +</P> + +<P> +"Speak English, eh?" shrilled the man. "Dammit! Then come in!" And +to this invitation he added blasphemy in Peter's own tongue that made +his heart turn sour. It was the useless, raving blasphemy of a +weakling. It was the man as Peter had known him of old. But a little +worse. He still wore what remained of his Marconi uniform, tattered, +grease-stained coat and trousers, with the ragged white and blue +emblems of the steamship line by which he had been employed before he +had disappeared. His bony hands trembled incessantly, and his face had +the chalky pastiness native to the opium eater. +</P> + +<P> +Peter, reflecting upon the honor which that uniform had always meant +for him, felt like knocking this chattering, wild-eyed creature down +and trampling upon him. But he bowed respectfully. The door clanged +behind him, and his eye absorbed in an instant the details of the +ponderously high-powered electrical apparatus. +</P> + +<P> +"Speak God's language, eh?" whined the man. "Sit down and don't stare +so. Sit down. Sit down." +</P> + +<P> +"A mandarin never seats himself, O high one, until thrice invited." +</P> + +<P> +"Thrice, four, five times, I tell you to sit down!" he babbled. "Men, +even rat-eaters like you, who speak my language, are too rare to let go +by. Mandarin?" +</P> + +<P> +He stepped back and eyed his guest with stupid humor. +</P> + +<P> +"I say, men who speak my language are rare. Nights I listen to fools +on this machine, and tell them what I please. What is the news from +outside? What is the news from home?" +</P> + +<P> +"From where?" +</P> + +<P> +"From America!" He stumbled over the words, and took in his breath +with a long, trembling hiss between his yellow teeth. +</P> + +<P> +"It is many years since I visited that strange land, O great one! It +is many, many years, indeed, since I studied for the craft which you +now perform so honorably." +</P> + +<P> +"You—what was that?" +</P> + +<P> +"I, too, studied to your honorable craft, my son. But it was denied +me. Buddha decreed that I should preach his doctrines. It is my life +to bring a little hope, a little gladness into the hearts——" +</P> + +<P> +"You stand there and tell me that you know the code?" cried the +white-faced man shrilly. +</P> + +<P> +"Such was my good fortune," Peter replied gravely. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I believe you're a dam' liar, you Chink!" scoffed the other, who +was swinging in nervousness or irritation from side to side. +</P> + +<P> +Peter shrugged his shoulders, and permitted his gaze to fondle the +monstrous transmission coil. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll show you!" railed the man. "I'll give you a free chance, I will! +Now, listen to me. Tell me what I say." He pursed his lips and +whistled a series of staccato dots and dashes. +</P> + +<P> +"What you have said," replied Peter in a deep voice, "is true, O high +one!" +</P> + +<P> +"What did I say?" +</P> + +<P> +"You said: 'China, it is the hell-hole of the world!' Do I speak the +truth?" +</P> + +<P> +Peter thought that this crazy man—whose name had formerly been +Harrison—was preparing to leap at him. But Harrison only sprang to +his side and seized his hands in a clammy, excited grip. Tears of an +exultant origin glittered in the man's eyes, now luminous. +</P> + +<P> +"You stay with me, do you hear?" he babbled. "You stay here. I'll +make it worth your while! I'll see you have money. I'll see——" +</P> + +<P> +"But I have no need of money, O high one!" interrupted Peter in a +somewhat resentful tone, striving to mask his eagerness. +</P> + +<P> +"You stay!" cried Harrison. +</P> + +<P> +"Lotus eater!" Peter said, knowing his ground perfectly. +</P> + +<P> +"What if I am?" demanded Harrison defiantly. "So are you! So are we +all! So is everybody who lives in this rotten country!" +</P> + +<P> +"To the sick, all are sick," Peter quoted sorrowfully. +</P> + +<P> +"Rot! As long as I must have opium, there's nothing more to be said. +Now, I pry my eyes open with matches to stay awake. With you here——" +</P> + +<P> +His thin voice trailed off. He had confessed what Peter already knew. +It was the blurted confession, and the blurted plea, of a mind that was +half consumed by drugs. A diseased mind which spoke the naked truth, +which caught at no deception, which was tormented by its own gnawings +and cravings to such an extent that it had lost the function of +suspecting. Suspicion of a low, distorted sort might come later; but +at its present ebb this mind was far too greedy to gain its own small +ends to grope beyond. +</P> + +<P> +The lids of Harrison's smoldering eyes drew down, and they were blue, a +sickly, pallid blue. With their descent his face became a death-mask. +But Peter knew from many an observation that such signs were deceptive; +knew that opium was a powerful and sustaining drug; knew that Harrison, +while weak and stupid and raving, was very much alive! +</P> + +<P> +"There is little work to be done," went on the thin voice. "Only at +night. Say you will stay with me!" he pleaded. +</P> + +<P> +Peter permitted himself to frown, as if he had reached a negative +decision. Harrison, torn by desire, flung himself down on his ragged +knees, and sobbed on Peter's hand. Peter pushed him away loathfully. +</P> + +<P> +"What is my task?" +</P> + +<P> +Harrison sank back on his heels, oblivious of the wet streak which ran +down from his eyes on either side of his thin, sharp nose, and delved +nervously into his pocket. He withdrew a lump of black gum, about the +size of a black walnut, broke off a fragment with his finger-nails, and +masticated it slowly. He smirked sagely. +</P> + +<P> +"He won't care. Why should he care?" +</P> + +<P> +"Who, my son?" +</P> + +<P> +"That man—that man who owns Len Yang, and me, and these rat-eaters. +All <I>he</I> wants is results." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, yes. He owns other mines?" +</P> + +<P> +"What does <I>he</I> care about the mines? Of course he directs the other +mines by wireless. He owns a sixth of the world. <I>He</I> does. He is +rich. Rich! You and I are poor fools. He gives me opium"—Harrison +glared and gulped—"and he does not ask questions." +</P> + +<P> +"Wise men learn without asking questions, my son," said Peter gravely. +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly they do! He knows everything, and he never asks a question. +Not a one! He answers them, <I>he</I> does!" +</P> + +<P> +"You have asked him questions?" +</P> + +<P> +"I? Humph! What an innocent fool you are, in spite of that gold on +your collar! Have I seen him to ask questions?" +</P> + +<P> +"That is what I meant." +</P> + +<P> +"Not I. He is no fool. You may be the Gray Dragon for all of me. No +one in Len Yang sees him. No one dares! It is death to see that man! +Didn't I try? But only once!" +</P> + +<P> +"You did try?" +</P> + +<P> +"That was enough. I got as far as the first step of the ivory palace. +Some one clubbed me! I was sick. I thought I was going to die! There +is a scar on my neck. It never seems to heal!" +</P> + +<P> +The senile whine trailed off into a thin, abusive whimper. His bony +jaws moved slowly and meditatively. He went on: +</P> + +<P> +"He is crazy, too. Women! Beautiful women for the mines! +Men—men—men everywhere know the price he will pay. In pure silver!" +</P> + +<P> +"He pays well, my son?" +</P> + +<P> +"A thousand taels, if he is satisfied. That is where this hole got its +name. You know the name—the City of Stolen Lives? It should be the +City of Lost Hope. For none ever leave. The mines swallow them up. +What becomes of them?" +</P> + +<P> +"Ah! What does become of the stolen lives?" +</P> + +<P> +The sunken eyes stared playfully at him. "What is a thousand taels to +him? He is rich, I tell you! They say his cellar is filled with +gold—pure gold; that his rooms and halls run and drip with gold, just +as his rat-eaters run and drip with the cinnabar poison. And the +wireless—he has stations, and this is the best. Mine is the best. I +see to that, let me tell you!" +</P> + +<P> +"To be sure!" +</P> + +<P> +"These hunters, these men who know his price for beautiful women—he +will have none other—and who are paid a thousand taels——" +</P> + +<P> +"Where did you say these stations are?" +</P> + +<P> +"In all parts. There is a station in Afghanistan, between Kabul and +Jalalabad, and one in Bengal, in the Khasi Hills, and another in +northern Szechwan Province, and one in Siam, on the Bang Pakong +River——" +</P> + +<P> +"A station on the Bang Pakong?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I tell you. All over. These hunters find a woman, a lovely +girl; and they must describe their prize in a few words. He is sly! +The fewer the better. If the words appeal to him, he has me tell them +to come. Lucky devils! A thousand taels to the lucky devils! Some +day I myself may become a hunter." +</P> + +<P> +"It is tempting," agreed Peter. "But why does he want beautiful young +girls for his mine, my son?" +</P> + +<P> +Harrison ignored the question. +</P> + +<P> +"To-night I will listen. You can watch me. Then you can see how +simple it is. It is time." +</P> + +<P> +Peter was aware that the door had opened and closed behind his back, +and now he heard the faint scraping of a sandaled foot, heavy with the +red slime. A Chinese, in the severe black of an attendant, stood +looking down at him distrustfully. His eyebrows were shaved, and a +mustache drooped down to his sharp, flat chin like sea-weed. +</P> + +<P> +He asked Harrison a sharp question in a dialect that smacked of the +guttural Tibetan. +</P> + +<P> +"He wants to know where you came from," translated Harrison irritably. +</P> + +<P> +"From Wenchow. A mandarin. He should know." +</P> + +<P> +The man in severe black bowed respectfully, and Peter looked at him +frigidly. +</P> + +<P> +Harrison slipped the Murdock receivers over his ears, and his voice +went on in a weak, garrulous and meaningless whimper. +</P> + +<P> +"Static—static—static. It is horrible to-night. I cannot hear these +fellows. Ah! Afghanistan has nothing, nor Bengal. Hey, you fool, I +cannot hear this fellow in Szechwan. He has a message. Yes, you, I +cannot hear him. Not a word! He is faint, like a bad whisper. They +will beat me again if I cannot hear!" +</P> + +<P> +He tried again, forcing the rubber knobs against his ears until they +seemed to sink into his head. +</P> + +<P> +"Have you good hearing?" +</P> + +<P> +"I will try," said Peter. +</P> + +<P> +"Then sit here. You must hear him, or we will both be beaten. This +fellow goes straight to <I>him</I>." +</P> + +<P> +Peter slipped into the vacated chair and strapped down the receivers. +A long, faint whisper, as indistinguishable as the lisp of leaves on a +distant hill, trickled into his ears. Ordinarily he would have given +up such a station in disgust, and waited for the air to clear. Now he +wanted to establish his ability, to demonstrate the acuteness of +hearing for which he was famous. +</P> + +<P> +Behind him the black-garbed attendant muttered, and Peter scowled at +him to be silent. +</P> + +<P> +With deftness that might have surprised that wretch, Harrison, had his +wits been more alert, he raised and closed switches for transmission, +and rapped out in a quick, professional "O.K." +</P> + +<P> +He cocked his head to one side, as he always did when listening to +far-away signals, and a pad and pencil were slid under his hand. +</P> + +<P> +The world and its noises and the tense, eager figures behind him, +retreated and became nothing. In all eternity there was but one +thing—the message from the whispering Szechwan station. +</P> + +<P> +His pencil trailed lightly, without a sound, across the smooth paper. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +A message for L. Y. An American girl. Brown hair. Eyes with the +moon's mystery. Lips like a new-born rose. Enchantingly young. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +The blood boiled into Peter's brain, and the pencil slipped from +fingers that were like ice. There was only one girl in the world who +answered to that description. Eileen Lorimer! She had been captured +again, and brought back to China! +</P> + +<P> +He grabbed for the paper. It was gone. Gone, too, was the +black-garbed attendant, hastening to his master. +</P> + +<P> +Harrison was pawing his shoulder with a skinny, white hand, and making +noises in his throat. +</P> + +<P> +"You lucky fool! He'll give you <I>cumshaw</I>. God, you have sharp ears! +Only one man I ever knew had such sharp ears. He always gives +<I>cumshaw</I>. <I>Na-mien-pu-liao-pa</I>! You must divide with me. That is +only fair. But—what difference? Here you can enter, but you can +never leave. You have no use for silver. I have." +</P> + +<P> +The face of Eileen Lorimer swam out of Peter's crazed mind. Miss Vost, +that lovely innocent-eyed creature, fitted the same description! +</P> + +<P> +Peter stared stupidly at the massive transmission key, and disdained a +reply. Miss Vost—and the red mines! He shuddered. +</P> + +<P> +Harrison was whining again at his ear. "He says yes. Yes! Tell that +fellow yes, and be quick. The Gray Dragon will give him an extra +thousand taels for haste. Oh, the lucky fool! Two thousand taels! +Tell him, or shall I?" +</P> + +<P> +How could Peter say no? The ghastly white face was staring at him +suspiciously now. +</P> + +<P> +While he hesitated Harrison pushed him aside, and his fingers flew up +and down on the black rubber knob. "Yes—yes—yes. Send her in a +hurry. A thousand taels bonus. The lucky devil!" +</P> + +<P> +Out of Peter's anguish came but one solution, and that vague and +indecisive. He must wait and watch for Miss Vost, and take what +drastic measures he could devise to recapture her when the time came. +</P> + +<P> +The pallid lips trembled again at his ear. "Here! You must divide +with me. A bag of silver. <I>Yin</I>! A bag of it! Listen to the chink +of it!" +</P> + +<P> +Peter seized the yellow pouch and thrust it under his silken blouse. +He was beginning to realize that he had been exceptionally lucky in +catching the signals of the Szechwan station. He was vastly more +important now than this wretch who plucked at his arm. +</P> + +<P> +"Give me my half!" whined Harrison. +</P> + +<P> +Peter doubled his fist. +</P> + +<P> +"Give me my half!" Harrison clung to his arm and shook him irritably. +</P> + +<P> +Peter hit him squarely in the mouth. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0118"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XVIII +</H3> + +<P> +As night melted into day and day was swallowed up by night, the problem +which confronted Peter took on more serious and baffling proportions. +His hope of entering the ivory palace was dismissed. It was imperative +for him to give up the idea of entering, of piercing the lines of armed +guards and reaching the room where the master of the City of Stolen +Lives held forth until some later time. +</P> + +<P> +That had been his earlier ambition, but the necessity of discarding the +original plan became hourly more important with the drawing near of the +girl captive. +</P> + +<P> +If he could deliver Miss Vost from this dreadful city, that would be +more than an ample reward for his long, adventurous quest. +</P> + +<P> +He could not sleep. Perched on an ancient leather stool upon the roof +of the wireless building, he kept a nightly and a daily watch with his +eyes fixed upon the drawbridge. A week went by. Food was carried up +to him, and he scarcely touched it. The rims of his eyes became +scarlet from sleeplessness, and he muttered constantly, like a man on +the verge of insanity, as his eyes wandered back and forth over the red +filth, from the shadowy bridge to the shining white of the palace. +</P> + +<P> +Drearily, like souls lost and wandering in a half world, the prisoners +of Len Yang trudged to the scarlet maws of the mine and were engulfed +for long, pitiless hours, and were disgorged, staggering and blinking, +in Tibet's angry evening sun. +</P> + +<P> +The woeful sight would madden any man. And yet each day new souls were +born to the grim red light of Len Yang's day, and clinging remorsefully +to the hell which was their lot, other bleeding souls departed, and +their shrunken bodies fed to the scarlet trough, where they were washed +into oblivion in some sightless cavern below. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +It was a bitterly cold night, with the wind blowing hard from the ice +and snow on the Tibetan peaks, when Peter's long vigilance was +rewarded. A booming at the gate, followed by querulous shouts, aroused +him from his lethargy. He looked out over the crenelated wall, but the +cold moonlight revealed a vacant street. +</P> + +<P> +The booming and shouting persisted, and Peter was sure that Miss Vost +had come, for in cities of China only an extraordinary event causes +drawbridges to be lowered. +</P> + +<P> +He slipped down the creaking ladder into the wireless-room. Harrison +was in a torpor, muttering inanely and pleadingly as his long, white +fingers opened and closed, perhaps upon imagined gold. +</P> + +<P> +Peter opened the heavy brass door, and let himself into the deserted +street. The jeweled sandals with which Chang had provided him sank +deep into the red mire, and remained there. +</P> + +<P> +He sped on, until he reached the black shadow of the great green wall. +Suddenly the bridge gave way with many creakings and groanings and +Peter saw the moonlight upon the silvery white road beyond. +</P> + +<P> +A group of figures, mounted on mules, with many pack-mules in +attendance, made a grotesque blot of shadow. Then a shrill scream. +</P> + +<P> +Hoofs trampled hollowly upon the loose, rattling boards, and the +cavalcade marched in. +</P> + +<P> +A slim figure in a long, gray cloak rode on the foremost mule. Peter, +aided by the black shadow, crept to her side. +</P> + +<P> +"Miss Vost! Miss Vost!" he called softly. "It is Peter, Peter Moore!" +</P> + +<P> +He heard her gasp in surprise, and her moan went into his heart like a +ragged knife. +</P> + +<P> +Peter tried to keep abreast, but the red clay dragged him back. Behind +him some one shouted. They would emerge into the sharp moonlight in +another second. +</P> + +<P> +"Help me! Oh, help me!" she sobbed. "He's following! He is too late!" +</P> + +<P> +She was carried out into the moonlight. At the same time, countless +figures seemed to rise from the ground—from nowhere—and in every +direction Peter was blocked. The stench of Len Yang's miserable +inhabitants crept from these figures upon the chill night air. +</P> + +<P> +Naked, unclean shoulders brushed him; moist, slimy hands pressed him +back. But he was not harmed; he was simply pushed backward and +backward until his bare foot encountered the first board of the bridge +which was still lowered. +</P> + +<P> +Behind him an order was hissed. He placed his back to the surging +shadows. Coils of heavy rope were unfolding. The drawbridge was being +raised. +</P> + +<P> +Down the white road, veering drunkenly from one side to the other, came +a leaping black dot. +</P> + +<P> +The drawbridge creaked, the ropes became taut, and the far end lifted +an inch at a time. +</P> + +<P> +Peter shouted, but no one heeded him. His breath pumped in and out of +his lungs in short, anguished gulps. He leaped out upon the bridge, +and shouted again. The creaking ceased; the span became stationary. +</P> + +<P> +The drunken dot leaped into the form of a giant upon a galloping mule +which swept upon them in a confusion of dust. Hoofs pounded on the +bridge; the giant on the mule drew rein, and to Peter it was given to +look upon the face of the man he thought dead. The raging eyes of +Bobbie MacLaurin swept from his face to his muddy feet. +</P> + +<P> +"Moore! Where have they taken her?" ripped out the giant on the mule. +</P> + +<P> +"Dismount and follow me. To the white palace! Are you armed?" +</P> + +<P> +"And ready to shoot every dam' yellow snake in all of China!" +</P> + +<P> +He jumped heavily to the boards, and Peter caught the gleam of +steel-tipped bullets in the narrow strap which was slung from shoulder +to waist. +</P> + +<P> +The foreman of the rope-pullers dared to raise his head, and Bobbie +kicked him with his heavy-shod foot in the stomach, and the coolie +bounded up and backward, and lay draped limply over the side. +</P> + +<P> +As they ran under the broad, dark arch into the street, he gave Peter +in one hand the thick butt of an army automatic, and in the other a +half-dozen loaded clips. +</P> + +<P> +And they began blazing their way to the palace steps. Weird figures +sprang up from the muck, and were shot back to earth. +</P> + +<P> +They reached the hill top, and the green moon of Tibet scored the roof +of the white palace. +</P> + +<P> +A handful of guards, with rifles and swords, rushed down the broad, low +flight. +</P> + +<P> +The two men flung themselves upon the clay, while high-powered bullets +plunked on either side of them or soughed overhead. The two automatics +blazed in shattering chorus. The guards parted, backed up, some ran +away, others fell, and Peter felt the sudden burn of screaming lead +across his shoulder. He slipped another clip of cartridges into the +steel butt; they leaped up and raced to the white steps. A rifle +spurted and roared in the black shadow. Bobbie groaned, staggered, and +climbed on. Now they were guided by a woman's sharp cries issuing from +an areaway. And they stopped in amazement before a majestic +white-marble portal. +</P> + +<P> +With two coolies struggling to pinion her arms, the girl was kicking, +scratching, biting with the fire of a wildcat, dragging them toward the +broad, white veranda. +</P> + +<P> +Bobbie shot the foremost of them through the brain, and the other, +gibbering terribly, vanished into the shadow. +</P> + +<P> +Peter caught Miss Vost by one hand and raced down the steps. Bobbie, +holding his head in a grotesque gesture, ran and staggered behind them. +</P> + +<P> +Bobbie waved his free arm savagely. "Don't wait for me! Get her out +of this place! Don't take your eyes from her till you reach Wenchow!" +</P> + +<P> +He wheeled and shot three times at a figure which had stolen up behind +him. The figure spun about and seemed to melt into a hole in the earth. +</P> + +<P> +Peter wrapped his arm about Bobbie's waist and dragged him down the +hill. Miss Vost, as he realized after that demonstration in the +areaway, could handle herself. +</P> + +<P> +The bridge was up. Lights glowed from hovel ways like evil red eyes. +Peter released the rope and the bridge sprang down to the road with a +boom that shook the solid walls. Bobbie's mule nosed toward them, and +Peter all but shot the friendly little animal! +</P> + +<P> +Between Peter and Miss Vost, who was chattering and weeping as if her +heart was breaking, their wounded companion was lifted into the saddle. +They crossed the bridge, and the bridge was whipped up behind them. +</P> + +<P> +Not until they attained the brow of the hill did they look back upon +the gloomy walls, now black and peaceful under the high clear moon. +And it was not until then that Peter marveled upon their easy escape, +upon the snatching up of the bridge as they left. Why had no shots +been fired at them as they climbed the silver road? +</P> + +<P> +They trusted to no providence other than flight. All night long they +hastened toward the highway which led to Ching-Fu—and India. And they +had no breath to spare for mere words. At any moment the long arm of +the Gray Dragon might reach out and pluck them back. +</P> + +<P> +Only once they paused, while Peter ripped out the satin lining of his +robe and bound up the wound in Bobbie's dazed head. +</P> + +<P> +Miss Vost sat down upon a moss-covered rock and wept. She made no +effort to help him, but stared and wiped her eyes with her hands. +</P> + +<P> +A misty, rosy dawn found them above the valley in which ran the +connecting road between Ching-Fu and the Irriwaddi. +</P> + +<P> +Miss Vost was the first to see the camp-fires of a caravan. She +laughed, then cried, and she tottered toward Peter, who stood there, a +lean weird figure in his tattered blue robe and his tangled beard. +</P> + +<P> +She extended her arms slightly as she approached, and her gray eyes +were luminous with a soft and gentle fire. +</P> + +<P> +Bobbie staggered away from the mule's heaving sides, with one hand +fumbling weakly at the satin bandage, and in his eyes, too, was the +look that rarely comes into the eyes of men. +</P> + +<P> +In a single glance Peter could see to the very depths of that man's +unselfish soul. It was like glancing into the light of a golden autumn +morning. +</P> + +<P> +Miss Vost lifted both of Peter's hands, and one was still blue from the +back-fire of the automatic. She lifted them to her lips and kissed +them solemnly. With a little fluttering sigh she looked up at Bobbie, +standing beside her and towering above her like a strong hill. +</P> + +<P> +They looked long at one another, and Peter felt for a moment curiously +negligible. He had cause to feel that his presence was absolutely +unessential when, with a happy, soft little laugh, Miss Vost sprang up +and was crushed in the cradle of Bobbie's great arms. +</P> + +<P> +Peter looked down into the green valley with tears standing in his +grave, blue eyes. The caravan was slowly winding out upon the trail. +In five weeks it would leave Kalikan, the last soil of China, on the +frontier of India. +</P> + +<P> +Peter felt exceedingly happy as he hastened down the hillside to catch +the caravan. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="part2"></A> +<A NAME="chap0201"></A> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +PART II +</H2> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +THE BITTER FOUNTAIN +</H2> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER I +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +She bends over her work once more:<BR> +"I will weave a fragment of verse among the flowers of his robe,<BR> +and perhaps its words will tell him to return."<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 4em">—LI-TAI-PE.</SPAN><BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +The newly arrived wireless operator of the Java, China, and Japan +liner, <I>Persian Gulf</I>, deposited his elbows upon the promenade +deck-rail, and cast a side-long glance at the Chinese coolie who had +taken up a similar position about a bumboat's length aft. And the +coolie returned his deliberate stare with a look of dreamy interest, +then quickly shifted his glance to the city which smoldered and +vibrated across Batavia's glinting, steel-blue harbor. +</P> + +<P> +Without turning his head the wireless man continued to watch sharply +the casual movements of this Chinese, quite as he had been observing +him since they had left Tandjong Priok in the company's launch and come +out to the <I>Persian Gulf</I> together. +</P> + +<P> +He had suspected the fellow from the very first, and he was prepared, +on the defensive; yet he was willing and eager to take the offensive +should this son of the yellow empire so much as show the haft of his +kris, or whisper a word of counsel in his ear. The latter he feared +quite as much as the former, for it would mean many things. +</P> + +<P> +As the fellow sidled a little closer, Peter was aware that the man was +making queer signals with his slanting eyes for the purpose of +attracting his attention, without arousing the curiosity or interest of +any persons who might be observing the two. +</P> + +<P> +Whereupon Peter turned on his left heel, walked to the other's side and +gave him a stare of deliberate hostility. +</P> + +<P> +The coolie moved backward a few inches by flexing his body; his feet +remained as they were. And as Peter ran his eye from the black crown +hat to the faded blue jacket, the black-sateen pants, which were +clipped about the ankles, giving them a mild pantaloon effect, and to +the black slippers with their thick buck-soles, the coolie smiled. +</P> + +<P> +It was a smile of arrogance, of self-satisfaction. Indeed, it was the +smile of a hunter who has winged his prey, and smiles an instant to +watch it squirm before administering the death-shot. +</P> + +<P> +"You wanchee my?" inquired Peter succinctly. +</P> + +<P> +"You allatime go Hong Kong way?" replied the coolie, his smile becoming +a little more civil, while he measured Peter's length, breadth, and +seemed to estimate his brawn. +</P> + +<P> +It was a foolish question, for the <I>Persian Gulf</I>, as everybody in +Batavia knew quite well, made a no-stop run from the Javanese port to +Hong Kong. Peter indicated this fact impatiently. +</P> + +<P> +"No go Hong Kong way?" persisted the coolie, not relaxing that devilish +grin. "<I>Maskee</I> Hong Kong. <I>Nidzen yang gïang</I>?" +</P> + +<P> +The wheezy old whistle of the <I>Persian Gulf</I> told the world in +unmistakable accents that sailing time was nigh. The <I>Persian Gulf</I> +was not a new boat or a fast boat, and she sailed in the intermediate +service south of Java. Yet she was stout, and typhoons meant very +little to her as yet. +</P> + +<P> +"Why not?" demanded Peter in the tones of an interlocutor. +</P> + +<P> +The coolie simply lifted the flap of his blue tunic, and Peter was +given the singular glimpse of a bone-hafted knife, the blade of which +he could guess lay flat against the man's paunch. +</P> + +<P> +Still the Chinese smiled, without avarice. Plainly he was stating the +case as it was known to him, reciting a lesson, as it were, which had +been taught him by one skilled in the ways of killing and of espionage. +</P> + +<P> +The facts of this case were that Peter Moore should immediately +postpone or give up entirely his trip to Hong Kong for reasons best +known to the powers arrayed against him. And strangely enough, Hong +Kong was one of the two cities in China where Peter had pressing +business. +</P> + +<P> +It made him furious, this knowledge that the man of Len Yang had picked +up the trail again. +</P> + +<P> +So Peter glanced up and down the deck to see if there would be any +witness to his act, and there was only one, a passenger. The Chinese +was still smiling, but by degrees that smile was becoming more evil and +sour. He was perplexed at the wireless operator's furtive examination +of the promenade deck. Yet he was not kept in the dark regarding +Peter's intentions much longer than it would have taken him to utter +the Chinese equivalent of Jack Robinson. +</P> + +<P> +With an energetic swoop, Peter seized him by the nearest arm and leg, +and in the next breath the coolie was shooting through an awful void, +tumbling head over heels like a bag of loose rice, straight for the +oily bosom of Batavia's harbor! +</P> + +<P> +So much for Peter's slight knowledge of jiu-jitsu. +</P> + +<P> +He was angrily at a loss to account for the appearance of this trailer, +for he had been watchful every moment since escaping from the green +walls of that blood-tinted city, and he was positive that he had shaken +off pursuit. Yet somewhere along that trail, which ran from Len Yang +to Bhamo, from Rangoon to Penang, and around the horn of Malacca, his +escape had been betrayed. +</P> + +<P> +The spies of Len Yang's master must have possessed divining rods which +plumbed the very secrets of Peter's soul. +</P> + +<P> +In Batavia Peter attended to a task long deferred. He despatched a +cablegram to Eileen Lorimer in Pasadena, California, advising her that +he was still on top, very much alive, and would some day, he hoped, pay +her a visit. +</P> + +<P> +He wondered what that gray-eyed little creature would say, what she +would do, upon receipt of the message from far-away Java. It had been +many long months since their parting on the rain-soaked bund at +Shanghai. That scene was quite clear in his mind when he turned from +the Batavia cable office to negotiate his plan with the wireless man of +the <I>Persian Gulf</I>. +</P> + +<P> +Peter found the man willing, if not positively eager, to negotiate—a +circumstance that Peter forecasted in his mind as soon as his eyes had +dwelt a fleeting moment upon the pudgy white face with its greedy, +small, black eyes. The man was quite willing to lose himself in the +hills behind Batavia until the <I>Persian Gulf</I> was hull down on the +deep-blue horizon, upon a consideration of gold. +</P> + +<P> +Peter could have paid his passage to Hong-Kong, and achieved his ends +quite as handily as in his present role of wireless operator. But his +fingers had begun to itch again for the heavy brass transmission-key, +and his ears were yearning for the drone of radio voices across the +ethereal void. +</P> + +<P> +It was on sailing morning that he was given definite evidence in the +person of the Chinese coolie that his zigzagged trail had been picked +up again by those alert spies of Len Yang's monarch. +</P> + +<P> +He steamed out to the high black side of the steamer in the company's +passenger-launch, gazing back at the drowsy city, quite sure that the +pursuit was off, when he felt the glinting black eyes of the coolie +boring into him from the tiny cabin doorway. +</P> + +<P> +His suspicions kindled slowly, and he admitted them reluctantly. It +was the privilege of any Chinese coolie to stare at him, quite as it +was the privilege of a cat to stare at a king. But the seed of +mistrust was sown, and it was sown in fertile soil. +</P> + +<P> +Peter ignored the stare, however, until the launch puffed up alongside +the sea-ladder, then he gave the coolie a glance pregnant with +hostility and understanding. +</P> + +<P> +Taking the swaying steps three at a time, Peter hastened to his +stateroom, emerging about five minutes later in a white uniform, the +uniform of the J. C. & J. service, with a little gold at the collar, +bands of gold about the cuffs, and gold emblems of shooting sparks, +indicative of his caste, upon either arm. +</P> + +<P> +He looked for the coolie and found him on the starboard side of the +promenade deck. The subsequent events have already been partly +narrated. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0202"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER II +</H3> + +<P> +The coolie plunged into the water with a weltering splash which sent a +small spiral of spray almost to the deck. For a moment the man in the +water pedaled and flailed, vastly frightened, and gasping, above the +clang of the engine-room telegraph, for a rope. The black side of the +<I>Persian Gulf</I> started to slide away from him. +</P> + +<P> +"You better make for shore!" shouted Peter between megaphonic hands. +</P> + +<P> +Several boatmen were poling in the coolie's direction, but all of them +refrained from slipping within reach of the thrashing hands. A +Javanese boatman can find more amusing and enjoyable scenes than an +angry Chinese coolie flailing about in the water; but he must travel +many miles to find them. +</P> + +<P> +"Swim to the <I>ma-fou</I>," Peter encouraged him. He knew there were +sharks in that emerald pond. +</P> + +<P> +His attention then was diverted by a flutter of white at his elbow. He +turned his head. The lonely passenger, a girl, was smiling +mischievously into his face. But in her very dark eyes there was a +blunt question. +</P> + +<P> +"Why did you do that?" she asked in a voice that rang with a low +musical quality. Her voice and her beauty were of the tropics, as were +the features which, molded together, gave form to that beauty; because +her hair and eyes were of a color, dark like walnut, and her olive skin +was like silk under silk, with the rosy color of her youth and fire +showing underneath. +</P> + +<P> +She was rather startling, especially her deep, dark and restless eyes. +It was by sense rather than by anything his eyes could base conclusions +upon that Peter realized her spirited personality, knew instinctively +that radiant and destructive fires burned behind the sombre, +questioning eyes. The full, red lips might have told him this much. +</P> + +<P> +And now these lips were forming a smile in which was a little humor and +a great deal of tenderness. +</P> + +<P> +Why there should be any element of tenderness in the stranger's smile +was a point that Peter was not prepared to analyze. He had been +subjected to the tender smiles of women, alas! on more than one +occasion; and it was part of Peter's nature to take these gifts +unquestioningly. He was not one to look a gift smile in the mouth! +Yet, if Peter had looked back upon his experience, he would have +admitted that such a smile was slightly premature, that it smacked of +sweet mystery. +</P> + +<P> +And it is whispered that richly clad young women do not ordinarily +smile with tenderness upon young ruffians who throw apparently peaceful +citizens from the decks of steamers into waters guarded by sharks. +</P> + +<P> +To carry this argument a step farther, it has always seemed an unfair +dispensation of nature that women should fall in love so desperately, +so suddenly, so unapologetically and in such numbers with Peter the +Brazen. +</P> + +<P> +The phenomenon cannot be explained in a breath, or in a paragraph, if +at all. While he was good to look upon, neither was Peter a god. +While he was at all times chivalrous, yet he was not painstakingly +thoughtful in the small matters which are supposed to advance the cause +of love at a high pace. Nor was he guided by a set of fixed rules such +as men are wont to employ at roulette and upon women. +</P> + +<P> +Peter did not understand women, yet he had a perfectly good working +basis, for he took all of them seriously, with gravity, and he gave +their opinions a willing ear and considerable deference. +</P> + +<P> +The rest is a mystery. Peter was neither particularly glib nor witty. +Instinctively he knew the values of the full moon, the stars, and he +had the look of a young man who has drunk at the fountain of life on +more than one occasion, finding the waters thereof bitter, with a trace +of sweetness and a decided tinge of novelty. +</P> + +<P> +Life was simply a great big adventure to Peter the Brazen; and he had +been shot, stabbed, and beaten into insensibility on many occasions, +and he was not unwilling for more. He dearly loved a dark mystery, and +he had a certain reluctant fondness for a woman's bright, deceptive +eyes. +</P> + +<P> +As from a great distance he heard the jeers of the Javanese boatmen and +the flounderings of the coolie as he looked now into the dark, deep +eyes of this pretty, smiling stranger. +</P> + +<P> +"Why did you do that?" she repeated softly. +</P> + +<P> +"Because I wanted to," returned Peter with his winning smile. +</P> + +<P> +"But there are sharks in there." This in a voice of gentle reproof. +</P> + +<P> +"I hope they eat him alive," said Peter, unabashed. +</P> + +<P> +"You threw him overboard just because you wanted to. And if you want +to, I'll go next, I suppose." +</P> + +<P> +"You might," laughed Peter. "When I have these spells I simply grab +the nearest person and over he goes. It is a terrible habit, isn't it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps he insulted you." +</P> + +<P> +"Or threatened me." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah!" Her sigh expressed that she understood everything. "May I ask: +Who are you?" +</P> + +<P> +"I? Peter Moore." +</P> + +<P> +"I mean, your uniform. You are one of the ship's officers, are you +not?" +</P> + +<P> +"The wireless operator. Shall we consider ourselves properly +introduced?" +</P> + +<P> +"My name is Romola Borria. I presume you are an American—or British." +</P> + +<P> +"American," informed Peter. "And you? Spanish <I>señorita</I>?" +</P> + +<P> +"I have no nationality," she replied easily. "I am what we call in +China, a 'B. I. C.'" +</P> + +<P> +"Born in China!" +</P> + +<P> +"Born in Canton, China. Father: Portuguese; mother: Australian. +Answer: What am I?" She laughed deliciously, and Peter was moved. +</P> + +<P> +They lingered long enough to see the coolie drag himself up on the +shore unassisted, and then separated, the girl to make ready for lunch +and to request the steward to assign them to adjoining seats at the +same table, and Peter to take a look at the register, the crew, and +what passengers might be on deck. +</P> + +<P> +The passengers, lounging in steamer-chairs awaiting the call to tiffin, +and the deck crew, strapping down the forward cargo booms and battening +the forward hatch, Peter gave a careful inspection, retaining their +images in an eye that was rapidly being trained along photographic +lines. +</P> + +<P> +It was a comparatively simple matter, Peter found, to remember peoples' +faces; the important point being to select some striking feature of the +countenance, and then persistently drive this feature home in his +memory. He knew that the human memory is a perverse organ, much +preferring to forget and lose than to retain. +</P> + +<P> +So he looked over the crew and found them to be quite Dutch and quite +self-satisfied, with no more than a slight but polite interest in him +and his presence. Wireless operators, as a rule, are self-effacing +individuals who inhabit dark cabins and have very little to say. +</P> + +<P> +He called at the purser's office and helped himself to the register, +finding the name of Romola Borria in full, impulsive handwriting, +giving her address as Hong Kong, Victoria; and a long list of Dutch +names, representing quite likely nothing more harmful than sugar and +coffee men, with perhaps a sprinkling of copra and pearl buyers. +</P> + +<P> +Peter then investigated the wireless cabin, which was situated aft on +the turn of the promenade deck, and commanding a not entirely inspiring +view of the cargo well and the steerage. +</P> + +<P> +Assuring himself that the wireless machine was in good working order, +Peter hooked back the door, turned on the electric fan to air the place +out, and with his elbows on the rail gave the steerage passengers a +looking over. +</P> + +<P> +He did not look far before his gaze stopped its traveling. +</P> + +<P> +Directly below him, sitting cross-legged on a hatch-cover, was a +Chinese or Eurasian girl whose face was colorless, whose lips were red, +and whose eyes, half-lidded, because of the dazzling sunlight, were of +an unusual blue-green shade. +</P> + +<P> +Had Peter wished to make inquiries regarding this maiden, he would have +found that she was from the Chinese settlement in Macassar, and on her +way to Canton, to pay a visit to a grandmother she had never seen. But +it was Peter's nature to spin little dreams of his own whenever he +contemplated exotic young women, to place them in settings of his own +manufacture. +</P> + +<P> +Her blue-black hair was parted in a white line that might have been +centered by the tip of her tiny nose and an unseen point on the nape of +her pretty neck. +</P> + +<P> +Peter could not know, as he studied her, how this innocent maid from +Macassar was destined to play an important and significant part in his +life, entering and leaving it like a gentle and caressing afternoon +monsoon. His guess, as he looked away, was that she was a woman of no +caste, from her garb; probably a river girl; more than likely, worse. +Yet there was an undeniable air of innocence and youth in her narrow +shoulders as she slowly rocked. Peter could see the tips of bright-red +sandals peeping from under each knee, and he guessed her to be about +eighteen. +</P> + +<P> +She caught sight of Peter, who had folded his arms and was resting +their elbows idly upon the teak rail, and their eyes met and lingered. +A light, indescribably sad and appealing, shone in the blue-green eyes, +which seemed to open larger and larger, until they became round pools +of darting, mysterious reflection. It was a moment in which Peter was +suspended in space. +</P> + +<P> +"I am afraid that wireless operators are not always discreet," purred a +low, sweet voice at his side. +</P> + +<P> +Peter smiled his grave smile, and vouchsafed nothing. The girl in the +steerage had returned to her sewing and was apparently quite oblivious +of his presence. And still that look of demure, wistful appeal stood +out in his memory. +</P> + +<P> +Romola Borria was murmuring something, the context of which was not +quite clear to him. +</P> + +<P> +"Eh? I beg pardon?" +</P> + +<P> +"It is quite dreadful, this traveling all alone," she remarked. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," he admitted. "Sometimes I bore myself into a state of agony." +</P> + +<P> +"And it breeds such strange, such unexplainable desires and caprices," +the girl went on in her cultivated, honeyed tones. "Strangers +sometimes are so—so cold. For instance, yourself." +</P> + +<P> +"I?" exclaimed Peter, supporting himself on the stanchion. "Why, I'm +the friendliest man in the world!" +</P> + +<P> +Romola Borria pursed her lips and studied him analytically. +</P> + +<P> +"I wonder——" she began, and stopped, fretting her lip. "I should +like to ask you a very blunt and a very bold question." Her expression +was darkly puzzled. +</P> + +<P> +"Go right ahead," urged Peter amiably, "don't mind me." +</P> + +<P> +"Why I speak in this way," she explained, "is that since I ran away +from Hong Kong——" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, you ran away from Hong Kong!" +</P> + +<P> +"Of course!" She said it in a way that indicated a certain lack of +understanding on his part. "Since I ran away from Hong Kong I have +been looking, looking for such—for such a man as you appear to be, +to—to confide in." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't you suppose a woman would do almost as well?" spoke Peter, who, +through experience, had grown to dislike the father-confessor role. +</P> + +<P> +"If you don't <I>care</I> to listen——" she began, as though he had hurt +her. +</P> + +<P> +"I am all ears," stated Peter, with his most convincing smile. +</P> + +<P> +"And I have changed my mind," said Romola Borria with a disdainful toss +of her pretty head. "Besides, I think the Herr Captain would have a +word with you." +</P> + +<P> +The fat and happy captain of the <I>Persian Gulf</I> occupied the breadth if +not the height of the doorway, wearing his boyish grin, and Peter +hastened to his side with a murmured apology to the girl as he left her. +</P> + +<P> +He merely desired to have transmitted an unimportant clearance message +to the Batavia office, to state that all was well and that the +thrust-bearing, repaired, was now performing "smoot'ly." +</P> + +<P> +Dropping the hard rubber head-phones over his ears, Peter listened to +the air, and in a moment the silver crash of the white spark came from +the doorway. +</P> + +<P> +Romola Borria stared long and venomously at the little Chinese maiden, +who was sewing away industriously as she rocked to and fro on the +hatch. Immersed in her own thoughts the girl, removing her quick eyes +from the flying needle, glanced up at the deep-blue sky, and, smiling, +shivered in a sort of ecstasy. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0203"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER III +</H3> + +<P> +At dinner Peter met the notables. It seemed the fat and handsome +captain had taken a fancy to him. And it was as Peter had deduced +earlier. These passengers were stodgy Dutchmen, each with a little +world of his own, and forming the sole orbit of that little world. For +the most part they were plantation owners escaping the seasonal heat +for the cool breezes of a vacation in Japan, boastful of their +possessions, smug in their Dutch self-complacency, and somewhat +gluttonous in their manner of eating. +</P> + +<P> +The fat captain beamed. The fat plantation owners gorged themselves +and jabbered. The three-piece orchestra played light opera that the +world had forgotten. The company became light-hearted as more frosty +bottles of that exotic drink, <I>arracka</I>, were disgorged by the <I>Persian +Gulf's</I> excellent ice-box. And all the while, speaking in light, +soothing tones, Romola Borria gazed alluringly into the watchful eyes +of Peter Moore. +</P> + +<P> +At length the chairs were pushed back, and Peter, with this fairy-like +creature in a dinner-gown of most fetching pink gossamer clinging to +his arm, took to the deck for an after-dinner Abdullah. +</P> + +<P> +They chatted in low, confiding tones of the people in the dining-room. +They whispered in awe of the Southern Cross, which sparkled like frost +on the low horizon. She confessed that at night the moon was her god, +and Peter, feeling exalted under the influence of her exquisite charm, +the touch of the light fingers upon his arm which tingled and burned +under the subtle pressure, became bold and recited that verse of +"Mandalay" wherein "I kissed her where she stood." +</P> + +<P> +It was quite thrilling, quite delicious, and altogether quite too fine +to last. +</P> + +<P> +After a while, when they were passing the door of the wireless cabin, +Romola squeezed his arm lightly and expressed a desire to have him send +a message, a message she had quite forgotten. When Peter replied that +such a message would be costly, involving an expensive retransmission +by cable from Manila to Hong Kong, she only laughed. +</P> + +<P> +Peter snapped on the green-shaded light and handed her pad and pencil. +Dropping lightly to the couch which ran the length of the opposite +wall, she nibbled at the pencil's rubber, and her smooth brow was +darkened by a frown of perplexity. +</P> + +<P> +Peter, lowering the aerial switch, sent out an inquiring call for the +Manila station. The air was still as death. A dreary hush filled the +black receivers, and then, through this gloomy silence trickled a +far-away silver voice, the brisk, clear signals of Manila. +</P> + +<P> +He swiveled half around, and the girl nervously extended the pad of +radio blanks. +</P> + +<P> +The message was directed to Emiguel Borria, the Peak, Hong Kong, and it +contained the information that she would reach the Hong Kong anchorage +on the following Tuesday morning. The last sentence; "Do not meet me." +</P> + +<P> +Peter inclined his eyebrows slightly, but not impertinently, counted +the words and flashed them to the operator at Manila. +</P> + +<P> +This one shot back the following greeting: +</P> + +<P> +"Who are you? Only one man on the whole Pacific has a fist like that." +</P> + +<P> +Peter changed the manner of his sending, resorting to a long and +painful "drawl." +</P> + +<P> +"I am a little Chinese waif," Peter spelled out slowly, and smiled, +adding: "Good hunting to you, Smith!" He signed off. +</P> + +<P> +The silvery spark of Smith was quick in reply. +</P> + +<P> +"If you are Peter Moore, the Marconi people are scouring the earth +trying to find you. Are you Peter Moore?" +</P> + +<P> +"In China," replied Peter breezily, changing back to the inimitably +crisp sending for which he was famous, "we bite off people's noses who +are inquisitive. Good night, old-timer!" +</P> + +<P> +The voice of Manila screamed back in faint reprisal, but Peter dropped +the nickeled band to the ledge, and pivoted quickly, to face the girl. +</P> + +<P> +It was startling, the look she was giving him. Perhaps he had +completed the transmission before she was aware. At all events, when +Peter turned with a smile, her eyes bored straight into his with a +distorted look, a look that seemed cruel, as if it might have sprung +from a well of hate; and hard and glinting and black as polished jade. +</P> + +<P> +All of this vanished when she caught Peter's eyes, and it was as the +passage of a vision, unreal. In its place was an expression of +demureness, of gentle, almost fondling meekness. Had she been staring, +not at him, but beyond him, over the miles to a detestable scene, a +view of horror? It seemed more than likely. +</P> + +<P> +Then he observed that the door of the wireless room was closed. He +made as if to open it, but she interrupted him midway with a commanding +gesture of her white, small hand. +</P> + +<P> +"Lock it, and sit down here beside me." +</P> + +<P> +Somewhat dazed and greatly flabbergasted, Peter obeyed. +</P> + +<P> +He locked the door, then sat down beside her. She moved closer, took +his hand, wrapped both of hers tightly around it, and leaned toward him +until the breath from her parted lips was upon his throat, moist and +warm, and her eyes were great shining balls of limpid mystery and +dancing excitement, so close to his that he momentarily expected their +eyelashes to mingle. +</P> + +<P> +She caught her breath, and then, for such dramatic circumstances, made +a most ridiculous remark. She realized that herself, for she whipped +out: +</P> + +<P> +"It is a foolish question. But, Mr. Moore, do you believe in love at +first sight?" +</P> + +<P> +Peter's tense look dissolved into a smile of giddy relief. He was +expecting something quite frightful, and the clear wit of him found a +ready answer. +</P> + +<P> +"Foolish?" he chuckled. "Why, I'm the most devout worshiper at the +shrine! The shrine brags about me! It says to unbelievers: Now, if +you don't believe in love at first sight, just cast your orbs upon +Peter Moore, our most shining example. Allah, by Allah! The old +philanderer is assuredly of the faith!" +</P> + +<P> +"I am quite serious, Mr. Moore." +</P> + +<P> +"As I was afraid, Miss Borria. Seriously, if you must know it, then +here goes: As soon as I saw you I was mad about you! Call it +infatuation, call it a rush of blood to my foolish young head, call it +anything you like——" +</P> + +<P> +"Why don't you stop all this?" she broke him off. +</P> + +<P> +"All what?" he inquired innocently. +</P> + +<P> +"This—this life you are leading. This indolence. This constant +toying with danger. This empty life. This sham of adventure-love that +you affect. It will get you nothing. I know! I, too, thought it was +a great lark at first, and I played with fire; and you know just what +happens to the children who play with fire. +</P> + +<P> +"At first you skirt the surface, and then you go a little deeper, and +finally you can do nothing but struggle. It is a terrible feeling, to +find that your wonderful toy is killing you. Certain people in China, +Mr. Moore, are conducting practises that you of the western world frown +upon. And blundering upon these practices, as perhaps you have, you +believe you are very bold and daring, and you are thrilled as you rub +elbows with death, in tracing the dragons to their dens." +</P> + +<P> +"Dragons!" The syllables cracked from Peter's lips, and his wits, +which were wandering in channels of their own while this lecture +progressed, suddenly were bundled together, and he was alert and keenly +attentive. +</P> + +<P> +"Or call them what you will," went on the girl in a low-pitched +monotone. "I call them dragons, because the dragon is a filthy, +wretched symbol." +</P> + +<P> +"You have some knowledge of my encounters with—dragons?" put in Peter +as casually as he was able. +</P> + +<P> +"I profess to know nothing of your encounters with anybody," replied +the girl quietly and patiently. "I base my conclusions only on what I +have seen. This morning I saw you throw a Chinese coolie into the +harbor at Batavia. It happens that I have seen that coolie before, and +it also happens that I know a little—do not ask me what I know, for I +will never tell you—a little about the company that coolie keeps." +</P> + +<P> +"I guess you are getting a little beyond my depth," stated Peter +uncomfortably. "Would you mind sort of summing up what you've just +said?" +</P> + +<P> +"I mean, I want to try to persuade you that the life you have been +living is wrong. At the same time, I want you to help me, as only you +can help me, in putting a life of wretchedness behind me. It is asking +a great deal, a very great deal, but in return I will give you more +than you will ever realize, more than you can realize, for you cannot +realize the danger that surrounds your every movement, and will +continue to surround you until they—<I>they</I>—are assured that you have +decided to forget them." +</P> + +<P> +Peter shook his head, forgetting to wonder what an officer might think +upon finding the door locked. Would the jovial little captain be quite +so jovial viewing these incriminating circumstances? Not likely. But +Peter had dismissed the fat captain from his mind, together with all +other alien thoughts, as he concentrated upon the amazing words of this +exceedingly amazing and beautiful girl. She was looking down at the +chevron of gold sparks on his sleeve. +</P> + +<P> +"I can tell you but one more thing of consequence," she continued. "It +is this: Together we can stand; divided we will fall, just as surely as +the sun follows its track in the heavens. I have a plan that will +offend you—perhaps offend you terribly—but there is no other way. +When <I>they</I> know that we have decided to forget them, we can breathe +easily. Our secrets, grown stale, are not harmful to them." +</P> + +<P> +"I am always open to any reasonable inducement," Peter said dryly. +</P> + +<P> +The eyes meeting his were quite wild. +</P> + +<P> +"How would you like to go to some lovely little place to have money, to +live comfortably, even luxuriously, with a woman of whom you could be +justly proud, and who would bend every power with the sole view of +making you happy?"—she was blushing hotly—"and all this woman would +demand in return would be your loyalty, your respect—and later your +love, if that were possible." +</P> + +<P> +"But this—this is—astounding!" Peter exclaimed. +</P> + +<P> +"I expected you to say that. But let me assure you, I have thought +this over. I have given it every possible consideration, and now I +know there is no other way. I want to leave China. I want to go away +forever and ever. I must leave." +</P> + +<P> +Her shoulders jerked nervously. +</P> + +<P> +"My life has been miserable—so miserable. And I am not brave enough +to go through with it alone. I am afraid, terribly afraid. And afraid +of myself, and of my weakness. I must be encouraged, must have some +one to make me strong and brave, and afterward to take the good in me +and bring it out, and kill the bad." +</P> + +<P> +She relinquished Peter's hand and thumped her chest with small fists. +</P> + +<P> +"There is good in me; but it has never been given a chance! I want a +man who will bring that good out, a man who will make me fine and true +and honorable. For such a man I would give everything—my life!" She +lowered her voice. "I would give my best—my love. When I saw you +lift the coolie, after he showed you his knife, I thought you were such +a man; and when I looked into your face I believed I had found such a +man. The rest—remains—for you to say." +</P> + +<P> +"Where do you want me to t-take you?" demanded Peter. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah! That is of so little importance! To Nara—Nagoya—to +Australia—America." +</P> + +<P> +She shrugged, as if to say, "and little I care." +</P> + +<P> +"Now I am offering you only two rewards for that sacrifice—your safety +against <I>them</I>—and money. You can name your price. I feel that you +will come to love me; but that can come, if it cares, any time. When +you want me—I will be waiting. I want you to consider this now. Now! +Will you? Tell me that you will!" +</P> + +<P> +"I—I don't know what to say!" stammered Peter in a husky voice. +"Are—you are not joking, are you, Miss Borria? You can't be! But +this is so serious! Shocking! Why, you never saw me before! Why +should you pick me for such a thing when you never saw me? You don't +know me. You don't know what a brute I might be. Why, I might be +married for all you know——" +</P> + +<P> +"I am reasonably sure," said the girl with some of her former serenity. +</P> + +<P> +"But this—this is unbelievable!" cried Peter. "You never saw me +before to-day. Why, you're a nice girl. You're not the kind of girl +who runs away with a man at first sight. You're not in love with me at +all. Not at all. Miss Borria——" +</P> + +<P> +A flame of hot suspicion shot athwart Peter's mind. He seized her +hands, glared into her eyes, dragged her to her feet. +</P> + +<P> +"See here!" he clamored. "Tell me what you really want. What's your +game, eh? You're a wise little bird, you are. I may look stupid, I +may not see all the way through this talk you've been giving me. +You're holding back. What is it? Come on! Out with it!" +</P> + +<P> +She was not disturbed in the least at his harshness, nor did she +seemingly disapprove of the rough way he handled her. +</P> + +<P> +"I am married," she said simply. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0204"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER IV +</H3> + +<P> +To Peter this revelation was like the addition of a single grain to a +bucket brimming with sand. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, what of it?" he barked. +</P> + +<P> +"To a man who is fat and untidy, a man old enough to be my father, who +treats me as if I were a thief, or a dog. I loathe him. And he +detests me. You see"—she smiled ironically—"we are not very happy. +I ran away from him a month ago, from Hong Kong. I ran as far as +Singaraja, and now I have to go back because I have not the courage to +stay away. A stronger will would make me give him up. Would make me +go away, and stay. And I grabbed at you." +</P> + +<P> +"As a drowning man would grab at a straw." +</P> + +<P> +"Not at all! Perhaps, let us say, I had pictured such a man as you. +And then you came. He will beat me when I return." +</P> + +<P> +"No!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes!" She pressed down the gauzy stuff which came up almost to her +throat in the form of a high "V." And across the rounded white curve +of her chest were four angry red stripes, the marks of a whip. +</P> + +<P> +He shuddered. "This is terrible." +</P> + +<P> +"Will you help me—now?" +</P> + +<P> +"What can I do? What can I do?" He was striving to adjust himself to +this exceedingly difficult situation. "But I don't understand how you +can place all this confidence in me." +</P> + +<P> +"Because when I saw you I knew you were a man who stopped at nothing." +</P> + +<P> +"But why—why does he beat you? It—it's incomprehensible!" +</P> + +<P> +He stared at the beautiful face, the long, white appealing face, and +the deep, dark eyes with their fringe of long lashes. If ever a girl +was meant to be loved and protected it was this one. +</P> + +<P> +"I know I am asking a great deal, far more than I have any right, and +not taking you into consideration at all. But you will help me. You +must. Have I talked to you in vain? Do—do you think I would make you +unhappy?" +</P> + +<P> +"That's not the question, not the question at all. But you don't know +me. We are perfect strangers!" +</P> + +<P> +That is what Peter had been trying to get out of his system all of this +time. Had he been thinking connectedly at this trying moment, not for +the life of him would he have uttered those words. He had convinced +himself that he was above and beyond all shallow conventions. And in +an unguarded moment this thought, which had been in and out of his +mind, popped out like a ghost from a closet. We are perfect strangers! +</P> + +<P> +"So is every man a stranger to his wife. What difference does time +make? Very little, I think. A day—a week—a month—a +year—twenty!—you and I would still be strangers, for that matter. +Who can see into any man's heart?" +</P> + +<P> +She stopped talking, and kneaded her hands as if in anguish. +</P> + +<P> +"And think! Do think of me!" +</P> + +<P> +"I am thinking of you," said Peter constrainedly. +</P> + +<P> +"We can go to Nara, if you like, to the little inn near the deer-park, +and be so happy—you and I. Think of Nara—in cherry-blossom time!" +</P> + +<P> +"I can't see the picture at all," said Peter dryly. "But since you've +elected me to be your—your Sir Galahad, I'll tell you what I will do." +</P> + +<P> +Nervously the girl was fumbling at her throat, where, suspended by a +fine gold chain, hung a cameo, a delicately carved rose, as red as her +lips, and as life-like. She nodded, quite as though her life hung by +that gold thread and depended at the high end upon his decision. +</P> + +<P> +"Your husband's nationality?" he asked abruptly. +</P> + +<P> +"He is a Portuguese gentleman, my father's cousin." +</P> + +<P> +"It would be possible for me, perhaps, to aid a lady in distress by +punishing the cause of it." +</P> + +<P> +"You mean——" +</P> + +<P> +"I will gladly undertake to thrash the gentleman, if it would do any +good." +</P> + +<P> +"No, no! That would not do." +</P> + +<P> +"Then there's no choice for me. Either I must accept or decline your +invitation." +</P> + +<P> +"I pray you will! I have told you frankly and quickly, because time is +valuable. We have none to lose. A steamer leaves for Formosa and Moji +the morning after we arrive—at daybreak. We would scarcely have time +to complete our plans, and embark." +</P> + +<P> +Peter raised his eyebrows. "Complete our plans?" he intoned. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. We must raise money. You see, there is money, thousands of +dollars, always in that house. It would be necessary to—to take +whatever of it we needed. That is why I will need you, too." +</P> + +<P> +"I think," declared Peter with decision, "that we had better call this +a misdeal, and play another game for a while. In the first place, I +will not run away with you, because it is against my principles to run +away with a strange young woman. In the second place, stealing for +pleasure is one of the seven deadly sins that I conscientiously avoid. +</P> + +<P> +"Now that I have aired my views, now that I have proved to you I'm not +as fine and brave as you hoped me to be, let's shake hands and part the +best of friends—or the worst of enemies." +</P> + +<P> +The girl rose from the chair into which she had dropped when Peter +began his say. Alternately she was biting her upper and lower lips in +nervousness or irritation. She put her back to the door and braced her +hands against the white enameled panels. Her breast was heaving. She +was desperately pale, and little dots of perspiration shone on her +white forehead. And she was limp, as though his last remark had +drained the final drop of vitality from her. +</P> + +<P> +"I—I won't give you up," she said in a small, husky voice. "Besides, +you are wrong, wrong in saying and believing that stealing his money +would not be for a good cause. He is a brute, a monster, and worse +than a thief. I cannot tell you how he gets his money. I would not +dare to whisper it. You will be doing a fine and splendid thing in +taking his money. You will be freeing me! Does that sound like +heroics? I don't care if it does! But with that money you can buy my +soul out of bondage. You can make me happy. Won't you? Won't you +do—that—for me?" +</P> + +<P> +Peter stood there like a block of ice—melting rapidly! But he said +nothing. His thoughts were beyond the expression of clumsy words. +</P> + +<P> +Her dumb hand found the key, turned it. The door opened, and a sweet +breath of the cool sea air crept into the small room. +</P> + +<P> +For a moment her white, distraught face hung down on her breast like +that of a child who has been scolded without understanding why. Then +she darted out of the room. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0205"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER V +</H3> + +<P> +When Peter snapped off the switch he found that he was trembling, +trembling from his knees to his neck. With a feeling akin to guilt he +wiped the sweat from his face and walked unsteadily to the rail which +overhung the cargo-well. +</P> + +<P> +He lighted an Abdullah, and watched the little smoke pool, which the +wind snatched and tossed up into the booms and darkness. +</P> + +<P> +It must have been a nightmare, this scene just past. What an +incredible, a preposterous request for a woman to make! And the more +thought he fed to the enigma the more incredible and unreal it became. +</P> + +<P> +It was too big and complex a thought to hold all together in his tired +brain now. In the morning he would tackle it with some zest, with an +inner eye washed clean by a long sleep. Just now he felt the need of +relaxation, and as he smoked, his thoughts flitted afar, to come back +now and then, irresistibly drawn by the vivid picture painted in his +mind by Romola Borria. +</P> + +<P> +His eyes, commanders of his thoughts, traveled out over the stern, +which rose and sank with a ponderous, wallowing sound in the heaving +ground swells, and he made out the weaving and coiling, the lustrous +but dim windings of the phosphorescent wake. +</P> + +<P> +As he became more accustomed to the shadowy, pointed darkness of the +steerage cabins, he became aware of a small figure crouching on the +hatch-cover near the starboard rail. He studied this intently, and at +length he made out the long, black queue of the Chinese girl who had +stared at him in such bewitching fashion a little earlier in the day. +</P> + +<P> +And his mind was carried back at the thought of this small maiden to +the grim and red Tibetan city, whose memories now were scarcely more +than a confused and hideous dream. He pictured again the splendors of +the blue-domed white palace which reposed like a beast of prey atop the +red filth disgorged by the cinnabar mine. +</P> + +<P> +Peter's heart thumped in youthful resentment as the thought of that +evil spirit came to him now. When would he meet the Gray Dragon face +to face? When would he again penetrate the stronghold of that unhappy +red city? Who could say? Probably never. +</P> + +<P> +The small Chinese girl on the hatch-cover had found him staring at her, +and with a little shiver of surprise Peter made the discovery that she +was smiling archly at him; and she inclined her head. She was +beckoning? It seemed so, indeed. +</P> + +<P> +Because Peter was a youth of deep and subtle understandings, he did no +more than nod slightly, and forthwith descended the companion-ladder to +the well, and crossed the well to her side. +</P> + +<P> +Her eyes were given a queer little twinkle by the near-by electric +which burned dimly over the door of the engine-room galley, and she +motioned him to be seated. He squatted, Chinese fashion, and she took +a deep, sighing breath, holding out her hands with a quick gesture. +</P> + +<P> +Across her wrists and drooping to her knees and beyond them into the +shadow was a strip of heavy, deep-blue silk. All down its length were +stitched small, round dots of dark red. Peter knew this for a sarong, +an ornamental waist-sash, affected by most Javanese gentlemen and many +Australians and New Zealanders. +</P> + +<P> +While he hesitated, she laid this in his lap with a shy impulsiveness. +</P> + +<P> +"It is yours, sar," she informed Peter in English of a very strange +mold. She spoke in a rather high-pitched, bell-like voice, pure and +soft, and tinkling with queer little cadences. "It is yours, sar. I +made it for you." +</P> + +<P> +Indubitably the girl was Eurasian. Asiatic features predominated, with +the exception of her eyes, which were more round than oblique, from +which circumstance Peter could surmise that her Aryan blood, provided +she was a half-caste, came from her mother's side; the predominance of +the Mongolian in her features being due to an Asiatic father, a Chinese. +</P> + +<P> +The colorless face, relieved by the bright color of her lips, the +slightly oblique eyes, told him that; yet her accents were those of a +Javanese, a Malay from the south. +</P> + +<P> +"You made this—for me?" replied Peter, surprised. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes, sar," said the tinkling little voice. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, that is fine. It is beautiful," he said, feeling his way with +prudence. "And how much do I owe you, small one?" +</P> + +<P> +She shook her head indignantly. +</P> + +<P> +"It is a geeft," she informed him. "I am no longer poor, my lord. I +can now give geefts. I like you. I give this to you." +</P> + +<P> +Peter was moved momentarily beyond speech. +</P> + +<P> +"You are very fine, <I>busar satu</I>," went on the tiny, musical voice. +"So is this sarong. You will wear it, great one, around thy middle?" +</P> + +<P> +"Around my middle, to be sure, small one," laughed Peter; "until my +middle is clay, or until the sarong is no more than a thread." +</P> + +<P> +"Well said, <I>busar satu</I>!" The girl giggled, bobbing her small head in +happy approval. "It is twice blessed: with my love and with my foolish +blood, for I pricked my finger on the wicked needle. But I covered +that spot with a red mata-ari (sun). You can never, never tell." +</P> + +<P> +"Assuredly not!" cried Peter gaily. +</P> + +<P> +"Let the sarong be wound about thy middle," commanded the Chinese +maiden. "Arise, sar, and wind it about thy middle." +</P> + +<P> +And Peter did rise, winding the sarong about his lean waist twice, +allowing one end to dangle down on his left side in a debonair and +striking fashion. If set off his slim figure in a rather bizarre way. +</P> + +<P> +"It's bully!" he exclaimed, pirouetting with one hand on his head after +the style of the matador. +</P> + +<P> +"It is bully!" she echoed, in such quaint reflection of his exclamation +that Peter laughed outright. "Now, sit down again, sar," she invited. +And when Peter had again disposed himself at the side of this +light-hearted young person, she went on: +</P> + +<P> +"I am coming a long, long way to visit my aged grandmother (may the +green-eyed gods grant her the twelve desires!) who lives Canton-way. +My dear father sells opium. He has grown rich in that trade, even +though the stupid eyes of the Dutch <I>babis</I> are on him all the while. +When I have seen my ancient grandmother, and given her geefts, I will +go home, to the south, Macassar-way." +</P> + +<P> +"Now, where, oh where, do I fit in this scheme?" was what Peter +thought. "What have I that this maiden desires?" +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, <I>busar satu</I>!" the maiden was saying, deftly and unaffectedly +patting the sarong. "It is bully! And now——" +</P> + +<P> +"And now——" intoned Peter calmly, for even as a life pays for a life, +and an eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth, so does a gift pay for +a gift. +</P> + +<P> +"And now," went on the maid from Macassar, whose father had grown rich +in the opium-trade under the very eyes of the Dutch, "tell me but one +thing, my lord—is Hong Kong safe for such as I?" +</P> + +<P> +"When one is young and virtuous," spake Peter in the drone of an +ancient fortune-teller, "one keeps her eyes pinned on the front. One +hears nothing; and one becomes as discreet of tongue as the little blue +sphinx at Chow-Fen-Chu." +</P> + +<P> +"Those are the words of Confucius, the wise one," retorted the little +bell-like voice with a tinkling laugh. "I need no guide, then? I have +heard that China is unsafe. That is why I asked." +</P> + +<P> +"Small one," replied Peter, with a smile of gravity and with much +candor in his blue eyes, "in China, such a one as you are as safe as a +Javanese starling in a nest of hungry yellow snakes. You will travel +by daylight, or not at all. You will go from Kowloon to your venerable +grandmother by train. You will carry a knife, and you will use it +without hesitation. Have you such a knife?" +</P> + +<P> +The small head bowed vehemently. +</P> + +<P> +"In Hong-Kong you will go aboard a sampan and be rowed Kowloon-way, +from whence the train runs by the great river to Canton." +</P> + +<P> +"That will be safe, that sampan?" +</P> + +<P> +"I will make it safe, small one. For I will go with you as far as +Kowloon, if that is what you wish." +</P> + +<P> +"And does the brave one admire my sarong?" the small voice wavered. +</P> + +<P> +"It shames my ugly body," said Peter. "Now run along to bed—<I>kalak</I>!" +And he clapped his hands as the small figure bobbed out of sight, with +her long, black pigtail flopping this way and that. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0206"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VI +</H3> + +<P> +It came to Peter as he climbed up the iron-fretted steps to the lonely +promenade-deck that life had begun to take on its old golden glow, the +luster of the uncertain, the charm of women who found in him something +not undesirable. +</P> + +<P> +At this he smiled a little bit. He had never known, as far back as the +span of his adventures extended, a woman who deemed his companionship +as quite so valuable a thing as the mysterious and alluring Romola +Borria, the husband-beaten, incredible, and altogether dangerous young +woman who passionately besought him to accompany her on a pilgrimage of +forgetfulness into the flowery heart of dear old Japan. +</P> + +<P> +Ascending the ladder to the unoccupied deck, he was conscious of the +sweet drone of the monsoon, which blew off the shores of Annam over the +restless bosom of the China Sea, setting up a tuneful chant in the +<I>Persian Gulf's</I> sober rigging, and kissing his cheeks with the ardor +of a despairing maiden. +</P> + +<P> +Peter the Brazen decided to take a turn or two round deck before going +to his bunk, to drink in a potion of this intoxicating, winelike night. +The wheel of fortune might whirl many times before he was again sailing +this most seductive of oceans. +</P> + +<P> +And he was a little intoxicated, too, with the wine of his youth. His +lips, immersed in the fountain, found very little bitterness there. +Life was earnest and grave, as the wiseacres said; but life was, on the +whole, sublime and poignantly sweet. A little bitterness, a little +dreary sadness, a pang at the heart now and again, served only to +interrupt the smooth regularity, the monotony, to add zest to the +nectar. +</P> + +<P> +When he had finished the cigarette, he flung the butt over the rail +into the gushing water, which swam south in its phosphorescent welter, +descended between decks to the stateroom that had been assigned to him, +and fitted the key to the lock. +</P> + +<P> +He felt decidedly young and foolishly exalted as he closed the door +after him and heard the lock click, for to few men is it given to have +two lovely young women in distress seek aid, all in the span of a few +hours. Perhaps these rosy events had served merely to feed oil to the +fires of his conceit; but Peter's was not a conceit that rankled +anybody. And there were always volunteers, hardened by the buffets of +this life, to cast water upon that same fire. +</P> + +<P> +So, humming a gay little tune, Peter snapped on the light, bathing the +milk-white room in a liquid mellowness, opened the port-hole, wound his +watch, hung it on the curtain-bar which ran lengthwise with his berth, +pushed the flowered curtains at either end as far back as they would +go, in order to have all the fresh air possible, and—— +</P> + +<P> +Peter gasped. He declared it was absolutely impossible. Such things +did not happen, even in this world of strange happenings and of +stranger stirrings below the surface of actual happenings. His +self-complacencies came shattering down about his ears like mountains +of senseless glitter, and he stooped to recover the object which was +lying upon, almost ready to tumble from, the rounded, neat edge of the +white berth. +</P> + +<P> +A rose of cameo! The hot breath from his lips, which drooped in +astonishment and chagrin, seemed to stir the delicate petals of the +exquisitely carved red rose which reposed in its mountain of soft gold +in the palm of his trembling hand. The fine gold chain, like a rope of +gold sand, trickled between his fingers and dangled, swinging from side +to side. +</P> + +<P> +The impossible thought pounded at the door of his brain and demanded +recognition. Romola Borria had been a visitor to his room. But why? +He had no secrets to conceal from the prying ears of any one, not now, +at all events, for he had destroyed all evidences depending upon the +excursion he had made from Shanghai to Len Yang, and from Len Yang to +Mandalay, to Rangoon, to Penang, Singapore, and Batavia. +</P> + +<P> +Naturally, his first impulsive thought was that Romola Borria was +somehow entangled with those who ruled the destinies of the hideous +mountain city, which crouched amidst the frosty emerald peaks on the +fringe of Tibet. He had felt the weight of that ominous hand on other +occasions, and its movements were ever the same. Night stealth, +warnings chalked on doors, the deliberate and cunning penetration of +his secrets; all of these were typical machinations of the Gray Dragon, +and of those who reported back to the Gray Dragon. +</P> + +<P> +No one would break into his stateroom who was not the tool of Len +Yang's unknown king. Thus the finger of accusation was brought to bear +tentatively upon Romola Borria. +</P> + +<P> +Yes, it was incredible that this girl, with those scarlet stripes +across her breast, could in any way be complicated with the wanton +designs of the beast in Len Yang. Yet here was evidence, damning her, +if not as a wilful tool of the cinnabar king, then at least as a +room-breaker. Why had she come into his room? And how? +</P> + +<P> +He searched the room, then dragged his suit-case from under the bunk to +the middle of the blue carpet, and spilled its contents angrily upon +the floor. It took him less than ten seconds to discover what was +missing; not his money, nor the few jewels he had collected in his +peregrinations, for they were untouched in the small leather bag. +</P> + +<P> +Peter looked again, carefully shaking each garment, hoping, and +refusing to hope, that the revolver would make its appearance. It was +an American revolver, an automatic, a gift from Bobbie MacLaurin. And +now this excellent weapon was missing. +</P> + +<P> +He felt that eyes were upon him, that ears were listening slyly to his +breathing, that lips were rustling in bated whispered comments upon the +fury with which he took this important loss. +</P> + +<P> +Snapping off the light, he plunged down the murky corridor, with the +guilty rose cameo clutched in his sweating hand, and came at length to +the purser's office. This dignitary was absent, at midnight lunch +probably; so Peter rifled the upper drawer in the desk, and brought out +the passenger-register, finding the name and room number he sought +after an instant of search. +</P> + +<P> +Carefully he replaced the ledger in its original position, closed the +drawer, and darted back up the corridor. +</P> + +<P> +In front of a room not far from his own he paused and rapped. His +knock, sharp and insistent, was one of practice, a summons which would +not be mistaken by the occupants of adjoining staterooms, nor was it +likely to disturb them. +</P> + +<P> +After a moment, light showed at the opened transom. Some one rustled +about within, and in another instant the door opened far enough to +admit a head from which dark masses of hair floated, framing a face +that was white and inquisitive. +</P> + +<P> +At sight of her midnight visitor Romola Borria opened her door wide and +smiled a little sleepily. She had paused long enough in arising to +slip into a negligee, a kimono of blackest satin, revealing at the +baglike sleeves and the fold which fell back from her throat a lining +of blood-red silk. +</P> + +<P> +One hand was caught up to her throat in a gesture of surprise, and the +other was concealed behind her, catching, as Peter surmised, nothing if +not his own automatic revolver, which had been loaded, ready for +instant use, immediately the safety-catch was released. +</P> + +<P> +She stared at him softly, with eyes still mirroring the depths of the +sleep from which he had so rudely aroused her, her delicate red lips +forming a curious smile. And she continued to smile more gently, more +tenderly, as she became quite conscious of his presence. +</P> + +<P> +"You have come to tell me that you will go to Japan with me," she +stated. +</P> + +<P> +Peter shook his head slowly, and with equal deliberateness lifted up +the small object in his hand until the light from the ceiling-lamp fell +directly upon it. +</P> + +<P> +"My cameo!" she exclaimed with a start of surprise. "Where did you +find it?" She reached impulsively for the ornament, but Peter closed +his fingers upon it firmly. +</P> + +<P> +"You have something to give me in return, I think," he said sternly. +</P> + +<P> +She was staring at the closed hand with something of despair and +fright, as if reluctant to believe this truth, while her fingers groped +at her throat to verify a loss apparently not before detected. +</P> + +<P> +She stepped back into the room and said: +</P> + +<P> +"Close the door. Come inside." +</P> + +<P> +He thought: If she had wanted to shoot me, she had plenty of chance +before. A shot in this room, a murder would fasten evidence upon her, +and besides, it would instantly arouse the occupants of the adjoining +staterooms, if not one of the deck crew on watch. +</P> + +<P> +So he entered and closed the door, presenting a full view of his broad, +white-uniformed back, and the gaudy-blue sarong about his waist. He +took more time than was necessary in closing the door and sliding the +bolt, to give her every opportunity to arrange this scene she desired. +</P> + +<P> +But the girl was only drawing the curtains over the port-hole, to keep +out prying eyes, when he turned about. +</P> + +<P> +She sat down on the edge of her berth, with her small white feet almost +touching the floor, and the huge blue automatic resting upon her knees. +It was unlikely that she did not appreciate fully the seductive charm +of the red and black gown which adapted itself in whatever pose to the +youthful curves of her body; and she permitted Peter to sit down on the +narrow couch opposite and to examine her and perhaps to speculate for a +number of seconds before she seemed to find her speech. +</P> + +<P> +Meekly her dark eyes encountered his. +</P> + +<P> +"I was afraid," she explained in a voice, low but free in her +remarkable self-possession. "I knew you would not care, and I hoped +that you would have a revolver in your room. So I went there. How did +I get in? I borrowed a pass-key from the purser on the plea that I had +left mine in my room. I hoped you would not miss it until we reached +Hong Kong, and I intended to return it then and explain to you. +</P> + +<P> +"My life," she added deprecatingly, "is in some slight danger, and, +like the small fool that I am—even though I am fully aware that no one +in the whole world cares whether I am living or dead—well, Mr. Moore, +for some reason I still persist in clinging to the small hope." +</P> + +<P> +She smiled wanly and earnestly, so Peter thought. A dozen impulses +militated against his believing a word of this glib explanation; his +common sense told him that he should seek further, that the explanation +was only half made; and yet it cannot be denied that she had gone +unerringly to his greatest weakness, perhaps his worst fault, his +belief in the sincerity of a woman in trouble. +</P> + +<P> +"Why didn't you ask me?" he demanded in his most apologetic voice, as +though he had wronged her beyond repair. "Why didn't you tell me you +were in danger? I'd have loaned you the revolver willingly—willingly!" +</P> + +<P> +"I did try to find you," she replied; "but the wireless room was dark. +You were nowhere on deck." +</P> + +<P> +Peter was aware that for some reason Romola Borria did not prefer to +share the secret of her real or fancied danger with him. He felt a +little dissatisfied, cheated, as though the straightforward answer for +which he had come had been turned into the counterfeit of evasion. +</P> + +<P> +The situation as it now had shaped itself demanded some sort of +decision. Without the whole truth he was reluctant to leave, and it +was imprudent to remain any longer. +</P> + +<P> +Romola, in this constrained pause in their conversation, feeling +perhaps the reason for his silence, lowered her dark lashes and drew up +her feet until they were concealed by the red folds of the kimono, and +she drew the satin more closely about her soft, white throat. +</P> + +<P> +"You have decided nothing, then?" she parried. +</P> + +<P> +"What decision I might have formed," he said, a trifle coolly, "has +been put off by—this. You see, I must admit it, this—this rather +complicates things for me. I'm in the dark altogether now, you see. I +wanted to help you, however I could. And then—then I find this cameo." +</P> + +<P> +She nodded absently, fingering the groove in the automatic's handle. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm afraid I took too much for granted," she said in a low voice. +"Don't you suppose my curiosity was aroused when you threw the coolie +overboard? I said nothing; rather, I asked you no questions; and I +thought that a man who was self-poised enough to meet his enemies in +that way would be—what shall I say?—charitable enough to overlook +such a——" She paused. "When I confessed that you and I are facing a +common enemy, that the same hands are eager to do away with both of us, +I thought that bond was sufficient, was strong enough, to justify what +might shock an ordinary man. I mean——" +</P> + +<P> +"I think I understand," Peter took her up in contrite tones. "I'll ask +nothing more. In the morning we will talk the other matter over. I +must have a little time. For the present, I want you to keep the +revolver, and—here is the cameo. Forgive me for being so +unreasonable, so—so selfish." +</P> + +<P> +He leaned over. She seemed uncertain a moment, then caught the gold +chain lightly from his hand. +</P> + +<P> +"And—your revolver," she said. "Those are the terms of the agreement, +I believe." +</P> + +<P> +"No, no," he protested. "I have no use for it; none whatever. You +keep it." +</P> + +<P> +But quite as resolutely Romola Borria shook her head and extended the +automatic, butt foremost, to him. "I insist," she said. +</P> + +<P> +"But you say you're in danger," he argued. +</P> + +<P> +"No. Not now. I have something else that will do quite as well. If +it is written that I am to die, why give Death cause to be angry? I am +a fatalist, you see. And I want you to take back your revolver, with +my apologies, and quite without any more explanation than I have given +you, please." +</P> + +<P> +"But——" began Peter. +</P> + +<P> +"Look," she said. +</P> + +<P> +In the small space of the stateroom he could not avoid bending so low +as to sense the warmth of her skin, in order to study the object toward +which she was directing his gaze. A sense of hot confusion permeated +him as her fingers lightly caressed his hand; her physical nearness +obsessed him. +</P> + +<P> +She had drawn back the fluffy pillow, and on the white sheet he +glimpsed a long, bright, and exceedingly dangerous-looking dagger, with +a jewel-incrusted hilt. +</P> + +<P> +The singular thing about this knife was the shape of the blade, which +was thin and with three sides, like a machinist's file. It would be a +good dagger to throw away after a killing because of the triangular +hole it would leave as a wound, a bit of evidence decidedly +incriminating. +</P> + +<P> +Peter straightened up, round-eyed, accepted the automatic, and slipped +it into his pocket, smoothing his coat and the sarong over the lump, +and approached the door. +</P> + +<P> +For a moment his heart beat in a wild desire, a desire to take her in +his arms as she stood so close and so quiet beside him, smiling +wistfully and a little sadly; and unaccountably she seemed to droop and +become small and limp and pitifully helpless in the face of him and of +all mankind. +</P> + +<P> +"Good night, Mr. Moore, and thank you so—much," she murmured. "And I +do hope you will forgive me for being a—a thief." +</P> + +<P> +He thought that she was on the point of kissing him, and his eyes swam +and became of a slightly deeper and more silky blue than a moment +before. But she faltered back, while the faintest suggestion of a sigh +came from her lips. +</P> + +<P> +In the next instant, as the door closed quietly behind him, Peter was +mighty glad that neither he nor she had yielded to impulse. He was +not, in the light of the literal version, the owner of a wholly +untarnished record, for he had given in to weakness, as most men do +give into weakness. +</P> + +<P> +But he was above temptation now, not because temptation was put behind +him, but because he had had the strength to resist; and it was his +full, deep desire to hold himself until that girl, far across the +Pacific, who inspired the finest and best in him, should bear the name +he bore. +</P> + +<P> +It was a splendid thing, that feeling. It gave him courage and +confidence, and took him quite light-heartedly, with head erect and +shoulders back, out of the dreariest of his moments. +</P> + +<P> +So, quick in a new and buoyant mood, Peter joggled the key in the lock +of his stateroom door, slipped in, and was before long dreaming of a +cottage built for two, of springtime in California, albeit snoring +almost loud enough to drown out the throb of the <I>Persian Gulf's</I> old +but still useful engines. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0207"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VII +</H3> + +<P> +Because of the fatigue which possessed his every muscle, fatigue +springing from the arduous, the trying hours now past, Peter the Brazen +was sleeping the slumber of the worthy, when, at a somewhat later hour +in the night, some time before dawn crept out of the China Sea, a +figure, lean and gray, flitted past his stateroom on the narrow orlop +deck, peered in the darkened port-hole, and passed on. +</P> + +<P> +Awakened by an instinct developed to a remarkable degree by his +training of the past few months, Peter established himself upon one +elbow and looked and listened, wondering what sounds might be abroad +other than the peaceful churn of the engine. +</P> + +<P> +Quite as intuitively he slipped his hand under the pillow and +encountered the reassuring chill of the blued steel. Half withdrawing +this excellent weapon, he shifted his eyes, alternately from the door +to the port-hole, conscious of an imminent danger, a little stupefied +by his recent plunge into the depths of sleep, but growing more widely +awake, more alert and watchful, with the passage of each instant. +</P> + +<P> +The port-hole loomed gray and empty, one edge of it licked by the +yellow light of some not far distant deck-lamp. With his eye fastened +upon this scimitar of golden light, Peter was soon to witness an +unusual eclipse, a phenomenon which sent a shiver, an icy shiver, of +genuine consternation up and down his backbone. +</P> + +<P> +As he watched, a square of the yellow reflected light was blotted out, +as though a bar of some nature had cast its shadow athwart that +metallic gleam. This shadow then proceeded to slide first up and then +down the brass setting of the port-hole, and the shadow dwindled. +</P> + +<P> +As Peter sat up on the edge of his cot, gripping the square butt of the +automatic in his hand and tentatively fingering the trigger, the origin +of the shadow moved slowly, ever so slowly, into the range of his +perplexed and anxious vision. +</P> + +<P> +What appeared at first glance to be a cat-o'-nine-tails on a rather +thick stem, Peter made out to be, as he built some hasty comparisons, +the Maxim silencer attached either at the end of a revolver or of a +rifle; for the black cylinder on the muzzle was circumscribed at +regular intervals with small, sharp depressions, the clinch-marks of +the silencing chambers. +</P> + +<P> +As this specter crept up and over the edge of the port, Peter, with a +deliberate and cold smile, raised the automatic revolver, slipped out +of the berth with the stealth and litheness of a cat, crept into the +corner where the stateroom door was hinged, and leveled the weapon +until his eye ran along the dark obstruction of the barrel. +</P> + +<P> +Slowly and more slowly the silencer moved inward until the blunt end of +it was registered precisely upon a point where Peter's head would lie +if he were sleeping in a normal attitude. +</P> + +<P> +This amused him and perplexed him. All Peter wanted to see was the +head or even the eye of this early morning assassin, whereupon he would +take immediate steps to receive him with a warm cordiality that might +forestall future visitations of a kindred sort. +</P> + +<P> +In the space between heart-beats Peter stopped to inquire of himself +who his visitor might be. And even as he stopped to inquire, a bright, +angry, red flame spurted straight out from the mouth of the silencer, +and Peter would have willingly gambled his bottom dollar that the +bullet found its way into his pillow, a wager, as he later verified, +upon which he would have collected all of the money he was eager to +stake. +</P> + +<P> +The lance of yellow-red flame had occasioned no disturbance other than +a slight smack, comparable with the sharp clapping of a man's hands. +</P> + +<P> +In the second leaping flame Peter was far more interested. Having +delivered himself of one shot, the assassin could be depended upon to +make casual inquiries, and to drop at least one more bullet into the +darkness between the upper and lower berths, to make a clean job of it. +</P> + +<P> +And it was on the appearance of the inquiring head that Peter relied to +repay the intruder in his own metal, that metal taking the form of a +wingless messenger of nickel-sheathed lead. +</P> + +<P> +But the visitor was cautious, waiting, no doubt, for sounds of the +death struggle, provided the shot had not gone directly home, its home +being, as Peter shuddered to think, his own exceedingly useful brain. +</P> + +<P> +He waited a little longer before his guest apparently decided that the +time was come for his investigation; and thereupon a small, square head +with the black-tasseled hat of a Chinese coolie set upon it at a rakish +angle was framed by the port-hole. +</P> + +<P> +Smirking nervously, Peter released the safety catch and brought +pressure to bear slowly and firmly upon the trigger. +</P> + +<P> +<I>Click</I>! That was all. But it told a terrible story. The weapon was +out of commission, either unloaded or tampered with. And Peter's +panic-stricken thoughts leaped, even as the square head leaped away +from the window, to the Borria woman, to the cause of his desperate +helplessness. +</P> + +<P> +Romola Borria, then, had tampered with this revolver. Romola Borria +had plotted, that was sure, with the coolie outside the port-hole for +his assassination. That explained the visit to his room. That +explained her perturbation over his discovery of her visit, of her sly +and cool evasions and dissimulations. +</P> + +<P> +It was with these thoughts hammering in his brain that Peter dropped +out of range of the deadly porthole and squirmed, inching his way into +the doubtful shelter provided by the closet. At any instant he +expected another red tongue to burn the now still darkness above his +head, to experience the hot plunge of a bullet in some part of his +slightly clad anatomy. And then—death? An end of the glorious +adventures whose trail he had followed now for well upon ten years? +</P> + +<P> +And still the death bullet was withheld. Groping about in the darkness +with one hand as he loosened the magazine clip on the butt, and finding +that the clip of cartridges had been removed, he finally discovered the +whereabouts of the suit-case, and dragged it slowly toward him, with +his eyes pinned upon the vacant port. +</P> + +<P> +Fumbling among the numerous objects contained in the suit-case, his +fingers encountered at length a cartridge clip. He slipped this into +the magazine, and indulged in a silent grunt of relief as the clip +moved up into place. He drew back the rejecting mechanism, and heard +the soft, reassuring <I>snick</I> of the cartridge as it slid from the +magazine into the chamber. +</P> + +<P> +Then sounds without demanded his attention, the sounds of a tussle, of +oaths spoken in a high, feminine tongue, in a language not his own. +</P> + +<P> +Peter would have shouted, but he had long ago learned the +inadvisability of shouting when such grim business as to-night's was +being negotiated. +</P> + +<P> +Slipping on his bath-robe, he opened the door and tentatively peered +out into the half-light of the orlop deck from the cross corridor +vestibule-way, for indications of a shambles. +</P> + +<P> +They were gone. The deck was deserted. But he caught his breath +sharply as he made out a long, dark shape which lay, with the inertness +of death, under his port-hole, blending with the shadows. He rolled +the man over upon his back, and dragged him by the heels under the +deck-light, and, dragging him, a dark trail spread out upon the boards, +and even as Peter examined the cold face, the spot broadened and a +trickle broke from it and crept down toward the gutter. +</P> + +<P> +Stabbed? More than likely. Pausing only long enough to reassure +himself that this one was the assassin whose square head had been +framed by the port, Peter looked for a wound, and shortly he found the +wound, and Peter was not greatly astounded at the proportions thereof. +</P> + +<P> +It was a small wound, running entirely through the neck from a point +below the left ear to one slightly below and to the right of the locked +jaw. Upon close scrutiny the death wound proved to be small and +thorough and of a triangular pattern. +</P> + +<P> +Just why he had expected to find that triangular wound Peter was unable +to explain even to himself, but he was quite as sure that Romola +Borria's hand was in this latest development as he had been sure a +moment before that her steady, small hand had deliberately removed the +clip of cartridges from the butt of the automatic, to render him +helpless in the face of his enemies. +</P> + +<P> +Silently contemplating the stiffening victim of Romola Borria's +triangular dagger, Peter heard the rustle of silk garments, and looked +up in time to observe the slender person of Romola Borria herself, +attired exactly as he had left her a few hours previous, detach itself +from the corridor vestibule-way which led to his stateroom. She +approached him. +</P> + +<P> +A thousand questions and accusations swam to his lips, but she was +speaking in low, impassioned tones. +</P> + +<P> +"I knocked at your door. God! I thought he had killed you! I was +afraid. For a moment I thought you were dead." +</P> + +<P> +"You stabbed him," said Peter in an expressionless voice. +</P> + +<P> +She nodded, and drew a long, sobbing breath. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. He tried to shoot you. I saw him pass my window. I was +waiting. I watched. I knew he would try. Oh, I'm so glad——" +</P> + +<P> +"You knew? You knew that?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, yes. He was the—the mate of the coolie you threw overboard in +Batavia. You know, they always travel in pairs. You didn't know that?" +</P> + +<P> +"No; I did not know. But I could have defended myself easily enough if +it had not been for——" +</P> + +<P> +"Your clip of cartridges? Can you forgive me? Can you ever forgive me +for taking them out? I took them out. Oh, Mr. Moore, believe me, I am +concealing nothing! I did remove the clip, and in my carelessness I +forgot to give them back to you when you left my room." +</P> + +<P> +"I see. Have you them?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Please give them to me. You have not by any chance, in another of +those careless moods of yours, happened to tamper with the bullets, +have you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Moore——" she gasped, clutching her white hands to her breast in +indignation. +</P> + +<P> +"You <I>are</I> clever," said Peter sarcastically. "You're altogether too +damn clever. What your game is, I'm not going to take the trouble to +ask. You—you——" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, Mr. Moore!" She caught his arm. +</P> + +<P> +He cast it away. +</P> + +<P> +"Didn't tamper with the bullets, eh?" he went on in a deep, sullen +voice. "Well, Miss Borria, here is what I think of your word. Here is +how much I trust you." +</P> + +<P> +And with a single motion Peter whipped all seven cartridges from the +clip and tossed them into the sea. He snarled again: +</P> + +<P> +"You <I>are</I> clever, damn clever. Poor, poor little thing! Still want +to go to Japan with me, my dear?" +</P> + +<P> +"I do," stated the girl, whose eyes were dry and burning. +</P> + +<P> +"Sure! That's the stuff," railed Peter bitingly; "whatever you do, +stick to your story." +</P> + +<P> +He grabbed her wrist, and her glance should have softened granite. +</P> + +<P> +"For example," he sniffed; "that neat little cock-and-bull story you +made up about your cruel, brutal husband. Expect me to believe that, +too, eh?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not if you don't care to," said the girl faintly. +</P> + +<P> +Peter knocked away her hand, the hand which seemed always to fumble at +her throat in moments of strain. He pulled down the black kimono and +dragged her under the light, forcing her back against the white cabin. +He looked. +</P> + +<P> +The white, soft curve of her chest was devoid of all marks. It was as +white as that portion of a woman's body is said to be, by the singing +poets, as white as alabaster, and devoid of angry stripes. +</P> + +<P> +Peter seized both limp wrists in one of his hands. +</P> + +<P> +"By God, you <I>are</I> clever!" he scoffed. "Now, Miss Enigma, you spurt +out your story, and the true story, or, by Heaven, I'll call the +skipper! I'll have you put in irons—for murder!" +</P> + +<P> +She hung her head, then flung it back and eyed him with the sullen fire +of a cornered animal. +</P> + +<P> +"You forget I saved your life," she said. +</P> + +<P> +As if they were red hot, Peter dropped her hands, and they fell at her +sides like limp rags. +</P> + +<P> +"I—I——" he stammered, and backed away a step. "Good God!" he +exploded. "Then explain this; explain why you took the clip from my +automatic. Explain why you put up that story of a brutal husband, and +showed me scars on your breast to prove it—then washed them off. And +why—why you killed this man who would have murdered me." +</P> + +<P> +"I will explain what I am able to," she said in a small, tired voice. +"I took the clips from the revolver because—because I didn't want you +to shoot me. I know <I>their</I> methods far better than you seem to; and I +knew I could handle this coolie myself far better than you could; and I +wanted to run no risk of being shot myself in attending to him. +</P> + +<P> +"As for the 'brutal-husband story,' every word of that is the truth. +If you must know, I used rouge for the scars. Since you are so +outspoken, I will pay you back in the same cloth. There are scars on +my body, on my back and my legs." +</P> + +<P> +Her face was as red as a poppy. +</P> + +<P> +"And I killed this man because—well," she snapped, "perhaps because I +hate you." +</P> + +<P> +Had she cut him with a whip, Peter could not have felt more hurt, more +humiliated, more ashamed, for gratitude was far from being a stranger +to him. +</P> + +<P> +He half extended his arms in mute apology, and, surprised, he found her +lips caressing his, her warm arms about his neck. He kissed +her—once—and put her away from him; and that guiding star of his in +California could be thankful that Romola Borria's embrace was rather +more forgiving than insinuating. +</P> + +<P> +"We must get rid of this coolie," she said, brushing the clusters of +dark hair from her face. "I will help you, if you like. But over he +goes!" +</P> + +<P> +"But the blood." +</P> + +<P> +"Call a deck-boy. Tell him as little as you need. You are one of the +ship's officers. He will not question you." +</P> + +<P> +He hesitated. +</P> + +<P> +"Can you forgive me for this—way I have acted, my—my ingratitude?" +</P> + +<P> +"Forgiveness seems to be a woman's principal role in life," she said +with a tired smile. "Yes. I am sorry, too, that we misunderstood. +Good-night, my dear." +</P> + +<P> +And Peter was all alone, although his aloneness was modified to a +certain extent by the corpse at his feet. The dead weight he lifted +with some difficulty to the railing, pushed hard, and heard the muffled +splash. Quickly he got into his uniform, slipped his naked feet into +looped sandals, and sought the forecastle. +</P> + +<P> +The occupants of this odorous place were sawing wood in an +unsynchronous chorus. No one seemed to be about, so he seized a pail +half filled with sujee, a block of holystone, and a stiff broom. +</P> + +<P> +With these implements he occupied himself for fully a half-hour, until +the spots on the deck had faded to a satisfactory whiteness. The +revolver with Maxim silencer attached he discovered, after a long +search, some distance away in the deck-gutter. +</P> + +<P> +He meditated at length upon the advisability of consigning this grim +trophy to the China Sea. Yet it is a sad commentary upon his native +shrewdness that Peter had not yet recovered from his boyish enthusiasm +for collecting souvenirs. +</P> + +<P> +At last he decided to retain it, and he dropped it through the +port-hole upon the couch, thereupon forgetting all about it until the +weapon was called to his attention on the ensuing morning. +</P> + +<P> +With all evidences of the crime removed, he replaced the pail, the +stone, and the broom in the forecastle locker, and sneaked back to his +stateroom. He locked the door, barricaded the port-hole with the +pink-flowered curtains—those symbols which had reminded him earlier of +springtime in California—and examined his pillow. +</P> + +<P> +It had been an exceedingly neat shot. The bullet had bored clean +through, had struck the metal L-beam of the bunk, and rebounded into a +pile of bedclothes. Dented and scorched, Peter examined this little +pellet of lead, balancing it in the palm of his hand. +</P> + +<P> +"Every bullet has its billet," he quoted, and he was glad indeed that +the billet in this case had not been his vulnerable cerebrum. +</P> + +<P> +Snapping off the light, he drew the sheet up to his neck and lay there +pondering, listening to the whine of the ventilator-fan. +</P> + +<P> +The haggard, distressed face of Romola Borria swam upon the screen of +his imagination. This woman commanded his admiration and respect. +Despite all dissemblings, all evasions, all actual and evident signs of +the double-cross, he confided to his other self that he was glad he had +kissed her. What can be so deliciously harmless as a kiss? he asked +himself. +</P> + +<P> +And wiser men than Peter have answered: What can be so harmful? +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0208"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VIII +</H3> + +<P> +Night brings counsel, say the French. Only in sleep does one mine the +gold of truth, said Confucius. +</P> + +<P> +When Peter was aroused by the golden dawn streaming through the +swinging port-glass upon his eyes the cobwebs were gone from his brain, +his eyes were clear and of a bright sea-blue, and he was bubbling with +enthusiasm for the new-born day. +</P> + +<P> +His ablutions were simple: a brisk scrubbing of his gleaming, white +teeth, a dousing of his hands and face in bracing, cold water, with a +subsequent soaping and rinsing of same; followed by a hoeing process at +the mercy of a not-too-keen Japanese imitation of an American +safety-razor. +</P> + +<P> +Assured that the deck below his port-hole was spotless, he ventured to +the dining-room, half filled and buzzing with excitement. +</P> + +<P> +He was given to understand by a dozen gesticulating passengers that +some time in the course of the night a deck-passenger, a Chinese +coolie, from Buitenzorg to Hong Kong, or Macao, had fallen overboard, +leaving no trace. +</P> + +<P> +It was whispered that the helpless one had been done away with by foul +means. And Peter became conscious during the meal that his fat and +jovial little captain was looking at him and through him with a glance +that could not be denied or for long avoided. +</P> + +<P> +Wondering what his Herr Captain might know of the particulars of last +night's doings, Peter sucked a mangosteen slowly, arranging his +thoughts, card-indexing his alibis, and making cool preparations for an +official cross-questioning. Clever lying out of his difficulty was the +order, or the alternative for Peter was the irons. +</P> + +<P> +When the fat fingers of Mynheer the Captain at length dabbled in the +lacquered finger-bowl, after rounding out his fourth pomelo, Peter got +up slowly and walked thoughtfully to the foot of the staircase. Here +the captain caught up with him, touched his elbow lightly, and together +they proceeded to the promenade-deck, which was shining redly in places +where the wetness of the washing down had not yet been evaporated by +the warm, fresh wind. +</P> + +<P> +Mynheer the Captain fell into place at Peter's side, gripped his fat +Javanese cigar between his teeth, and caught his fat wrists together +stolidly behind his back, and his low, wide brow slowly beetled. +</P> + +<P> +"Mynheer," he began in a somewhat constrained voice, low and richly +guttural, "it iss known to you vat took place on der ship some dam +during der nacht? Ja?" +</P> + +<P> +"I overheard the passengers talking about a coolie falling overboard +last night, sir," replied Peter guardedly. As long as no direct +accusation came, he felt safer. He was reasonably sure, basing his +opinion of skippers on many past encounters, that this one would go +typically to his subject. In his growing cock-sureness, Peter expected +no rapier-play. It would be a case, he felt sure, of all the cards on +the table at once; a slam-bang, as it were. +</P> + +<P> +"You know nodding of dot business, young man?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing at all, Myn Captain." +</P> + +<P> +"Dot iss strange. Dot iss strange," muttered the captain as they +rounded the forward cabin and made their way in slow, measured strides +down the port side. "I haf seen you come aboard yesterday, mynheer; +und I haf seen you t'row over der side a coolie, a coolie who wass wit' +der coolie who dis'ppeared last nacht. Why did you t'row him over der +side, eh?" +</P> + +<P> +"He threatened me with his knife," replied Peter without an instant's +hesitation. "<I>Mynheer</I>, he was a bad Chink, a killer." +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Ja</I>. <I>Tot ver vlomme</I>! All of 'em are bad Chinks." +</P> + +<P> +"Why should he stab me?" intoned Peter. "I never saw him before. I am +a peaceful citizen. The only interest I have on this ship, Mynheer +Captain, is the wireless apparatus." +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Ja</I>? Dot iss gude to hear, young man. I haf liked you—how does one +say it?—immensely. Der oder man wass no gude. He is gude rittance. +You intend to stay wit' us. Ja?" +</P> + +<P> +"I hope so," said Peter heartily and with vast relief. +</P> + +<P> +"You like dis ship, eh?" +</P> + +<P> +"Very much, indeed." +</P> + +<P> +"And I vant you to stay, young man. I vant you to stay joost as long +as you feel like staying. But I vant to ask you one t'ing, joost one +t'ing." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll do anything you say, sir." +</P> + +<P> +The fat, jovial skipper of the <I>Persian Gulf</I> eyed Peter with beady, +cunning eyes, and Peter was suddenly conscious of a sinking sensation. +</P> + +<P> +"Joost one t'ing. Better, first I should say, ven you t'row overboard +der coolies you dislike, it vould be best not to keep—vat are dey +called—der soufenirs. Sooch t'ings as peestols." +</P> + +<P> +"But, <I>mynheer</I>——" +</P> + +<P> +The fat hand waved him to silence. +</P> + +<P> +"Bot' of dem vas bad Chinks. I know. I know bot' of dose coolies a +long, long time. T'ieves and blood men. <I>Tot ver vlomme</I>! It iss +gude rittance, as you say. Young man, I haf nodding but one more t'ing +to tell you. I say, I like you—immensely. I vant you very much to +stay. But der next time coolies are to be t'rown over der side, I will +be pleased to haf you ask my permission." +</P> + +<P> +Peter stared hard at the fat little man, with a quick glaze of +gratitude over his eyes. The skipper left him, doubling back in the +direction of the wheel-house. And something in the unsteadiness of the +broad, plump shoulders gave to Peter in his perplexity the not +inaccurate notion that the fat little man had enjoyed his joke and was +giggling to such an extent that it almost interfered with his dignified +strut. +</P> + +<P> +Before buckling down to the day's business he made sure of one thing. +Gone from his stateroom was the revolver with its Maxim silencer. +</P> + +<P> +Because the wireless room at sea is a sort of lounging-room for those +passengers who are bored from reading, or poker, or promenading, or +simply are incompetent to amuse themselves without external assistance, +Peter ignored the dozen pair of curious and interested eyes which were +focussed on his white uniform as he passed, with those telltale +chevrons of golden sparks at the sleeves, strode into the wireless +cabin, hastily closed the door, locked it, and thereupon gave his +attention to the void. +</P> + +<P> +He was not surprised to hear the shrill yap of the Manila station +dinning in the receivers, and having no desire to allow his fair name +to be besmirched by what might be professional inattention to duty, he +gave Manila a crackling response, and told him to shoot and shoot fast, +as he had a stack of business on hand, which was the truth. +</P> + +<P> +Steamship and commercial messages were awaiting his nimble fingers, a +half-dozen of them, in a neat little pile where the purser had left +them to attract his attention as soon as he came on duty. +</P> + +<P> +Manila's first message, with a Hong Kong dateline, and via the +Philippine cable, was a service message, directed to Peter Moore, +"probably aboard the steamer <I>Persian Gulf</I>, at sea." The context of +this greeting was that Peter should report directly upon arrival in +Hong Kong to J. B. Whalen, representative of the Marconi Company of +America, residence, Peak Hotel. +</P> + +<P> +Following this transmission the Manila operator was anxious to know +whether or not this was Peter Moore at the key; that he had been given +instructions by the night man, who claimed to be a bosom companion of +Peter Moore's, to make inquiries regarding Peter Moore's whereabouts +during the past few months. +</P> + +<P> +He further expressed a profane desire to know, provided the man at the +key was Peter Moore, how in Hades he was, <I>where</I> in Tophet he had been +keeping himself, and <I>why</I> in Gehenna he had so mysteriously vanished +from the face of this glorious earth. +</P> + +<P> +"But why all the hubbub about Peter Moore?" flashed back Peter to the +inquisitive Manila operator, who was only about two hundred miles +distant by now and rather faint with the coming up of the sun. +</P> + +<P> +"Are—you—Peter—Moore?" came the faint scream. +</P> + +<P> +"No, no, no!" shrieked the voluptuous white spark of the <I>Persian Gulf</I>. +</P> + +<P> +"Is—he—on—board?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, no, no!" rapped Peter making no effort to disguise that inimitable +sending of his. +</P> + +<P> +"You—are—a—double-barreled liar!" said the Manila spark with +vehement emphasis. "No operator on the Pacific has that fist. You +might as well try to disguise the color of your eyes!" +</P> + +<P> +Manila tapped his key, making a long series of thoughtful little double +dots, the operator's way of letting his listener know he is still on +the job, and thinking. Then: +</P> + +<P> +"Why did you leave the <I>Vandalia</I> at Shanghai?" +</P> + +<P> +"I never left the <I>Vandalia</I> anywhere," retorted Peter. "I've just +come up from Singapore and Singaraja way. I am taking the <I>Persian +Gulf</I> to Hong Kong, and back to Batavia." +</P> + +<P> +"No—you're—not," stated Manila's high-toned spark. "You're going to +be pinched as soon as you land in Hong Kong for deserting your ship at +Shanghai. That's a secret, for old friendship's sake." +</P> + +<P> +It was now Peter's turn to tap off a singularly long row of little +double dots. +</P> + +<P> +"It may be a secret, but only a thousand stations are listening in," he +said at length. "But, thanks, old-timer, just the same. If they pinch +Peter Moore in Hong Kong, they will have to extradite him from Kowloon. +In other words, they will have to go some. Besides, what Peter does in +Shanghai cannot be laid against him in Hong Kong. The law's the law." +</P> + +<P> +A savage tenor whine here broke in upon Manila's laughing answer, the +Hi! Hi! Hi! of the amused radio man; and Peter listened in some +annoyance to the peremptory summons of a United States gunboat, +probably nosing around somewhere south of Mindanao. +</P> + +<P> +"Stand by, Manila," shrilled this one. "Message for the <I>Persian +Gulf</I>." He broke off with a nimble signature. +</P> + +<P> +"Good morning, little stranger," roared Peter's stridulent machine. +"You're pretty far from home. Won't you get your feet wet? The +ocean's pretty dewy this morning. Well, what do <I>you</I> want? Shoot it, +and shoot fast. Peter Moore's at the key, and the faster you shoot +them the better Peter likes them." +</P> + +<P> +The gunboat stuttered angrily. +</P> + +<P> +"A message for Peter Moore, operator in charge, steamer <I>Persian Gulf</I>, +at sea. Report immediately upon arrival in Hong Kong to American +consul for orders. (Signed) B. P. Eckles, commanding officer, U. S. S. +<I>Buffalo</I>." +</P> + +<P> +To which Peter composed the following pertinent reply: +</P> + +<P> +"To Commander Eckles, U. S. S. <I>Buffalo</I>, somewhere south of Mindanao. +What for? (Signed) Peter Moore." +</P> + +<P> +The promptness of the reply to this indicated that the recrudescence of +Peter Moore, dead or alive, was of sufficient interest to command the +presence of the gunboat's commander in the wireless house. In effect, +Peter now realized that his confession had got him into considerable +hot water. +</P> + +<P> +Back came the <I>Buffalo's</I> nervous answer: "To Peter Moore, operator in +charge, steamer <I>Persian Gulf</I>, at sea. Orders. Obey them. (Signed) +B. P. Eckles." +</P> + +<P> +Peter cut out the formalities. "Please ask the commander what's the +trouble." +</P> + +<P> +And out of the void cracked the retort: "He says, ask the American +consul at Hong Kong." +</P> + +<P> +There seemed nothing much to do aside from attending to the accumulated +business on hand. In Hong Kong he could only decide which of the two +he would honor first, the Marconi supervisor or the American consul; +for in strange lands one falls into the custom of complying with the +requests of his countrymen. +</P> + +<P> +But Peter was beginning to feel a little of the old-time thrill. It +was fine to have the fellows recognize that lightning fist of his; fine +to have their homage. For the stumbling signals of both Manila and the +<I>Buffalo</I> were homage of the most straightforward sort. +</P> + +<P> +For Peter Moore as wireless operator was swift of the swiftest; he +despatched with a lightning lilt, and the keenness of his ears, for +which he was famous on more than one ocean, made it possible for him to +receive signals with rarely the necessity for a repeat. +</P> + +<P> +Manila, obeying orders, was standing by, and Peter, tightening a screw +to bring the silver contacts of the massive transmission-key in better +alignment, despatched his string at the highest speed of which he was +capable. As long as his listeners knew he was Peter Moore, he might as +well give them, he decided, a sample of the celebrated Peter Moore +sending. +</P> + +<P> +For five minutes the little wireless cabin roared with the +undiminishing <I>rat-tat-tat</I> of his spark explosions, and Manila, a navy +man of the old school, rattled back a series of proud O.K.'s. +</P> + +<P> +Proud? Because Peter Moore, of the old <I>Vandalia</I>, of the <I>Sierra</I>, +and a dozen other ships, was at the key. And an operator who said +"O.K." at the termination of one of Peter's inspired lightning +transmissions had every right to be proud, as any wireless operator who +has ever copied thirty-three words a minute will bear me witness. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0209"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER IX +</H3> + +<P> +When Peter emerged from the wireless room, having completed his +business for the morning, he found Romola Borria with elbows on the +rail gazing thoughtfully at a small Chinese girl who sat cross-legged +on the hatch cover immersed in her sewing. +</P> + +<P> +And Peter marveled at the freshness of Romola Borria's appearance, at +the clarity of her sparkling brown eyes, the sweet pinkness of her +complexion, and the ease and radiance of her tender smile. +</P> + +<P> +"You look troubled," she said, as her smile was replaced by a look of +tender concern. "What is it?" She lowered her voice to a confidential +undertone. "Last night's affair, <I>desu-ka</I>?" +</P> + +<P> +Peter shook his head with a grave smile. +</P> + +<P> +"I am discovered, Miss Borria. That is to say, I have just given +myself away to the Manila navy station, not to speak of the commander +of a gunboat, not far from us, off the coast of Mindanao. It +seems"—he made a wry face—"Peter Moore is not popular with the +authorities for deserting a certain ship in Shanghai." +</P> + +<P> +"The <I>Vandalia</I>!" said the girl, and suddenly bit her lip, as though +she would have liked to retract the statement. +</P> + +<P> +Peter sank down on his elbows beside her, until his face was very close +to hers, and his expression was shrewd and cunning. +</P> + +<P> +"Miss Borria," he remarked stiffly, "I told you last night you're +clever; and now you've given me just one more reason to stick to my +guns; one more reason to believe that you know more than you're +supposed to know. Now, let's be perfectly frank—for once. Let's not +erase any more rouge stripes, so to speak. Won't you please tell me +just what you do know about my activities in this neighborhood?" +</P> + +<P> +His outflung gesture indicated the whole of Asia. +</P> + +<P> +The girl pursed her lips and a hard twinkle, like that of a frosty +arc-light upon diamonds, came into her eyes. "Yes, Mr. Moore," she +said vigorously, "I will. But you must promise—promise faithfully—to +ask no questions. Will you do that?" +</P> + +<P> +Peter nodded with a willingness that was far from assumed. +</P> + +<P> +Romola Borria placed the tips of her slender, white fingers together +and looked down at them pensively. "Well," she said, looking up and +raising her voice slightly, "you escaped from the liner <I>Vandalia</I> in +the middle of the Whang-poo River, at night, in a deep fog, in a +sampan, with a young woman named Eileen Lorimer in your arms. This +occurred after you had delivered her from the hands of certain men, +whom I prefer to call, perhaps mysteriously, by the plain word <I>them</I>. +</P> + +<P> +"You sent this young lady home on the <I>Manchuria</I>, or the <I>Mongolia</I>, I +forget just which. That night on the bund near the French legation, +you met, quite by accident, another young lady who found your +companionship quite desirable. Her name was Miss Amy Vost, a bright +little thing." +</P> + +<P> +"You don't happen to know," put in Peter ironically, "what Miss Lorimer +had for breakfast this morning, by any chance?" +</P> + +<P> +"At last accounts she was studying for a doctor's degree in the +university at San Friole, Mr. Moore." +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed!" It was on the tip of Peter's tongue to tell this astounding +Romola Borria that she was nothing short of a mind-reader. Instead, he +nodded his head for her to continue. +</P> + +<P> +"As I was saying, you met Miss Vost, quite by accident, and danced with +her at a fancy dress ball at the Astor House. You wore the costume of +a Japanese merchant, I believe, thinking, a little fatuously, if you +will permit me, that those garments were a disguise. A little later in +the bar at the Palace Hotel, after you left Miss Vost, you met a sea +captain, ex-first mate of the Toyo Kisen Kaisha steamer, the <I>Sunyado +Maru</I>. He was an old friend. +</P> + +<P> +"With Captain MacLaurin and Miss Vost you made a trip on the +Yangtze-Kiang in a little river steamer, the <I>Hankow</I>, which foundered +in the rapids just below Ching-Fu. This occurred after you had stabbed +and killed one of their most trusted spies. +</P> + +<P> +"When the <I>Hankow</I> sank, you followed what now appears to be your +professional habit of a trustworthy gallant, by taking a lady in +distress into your arms, and swam the whirlpools to the little village +across the river from Ching-Fu. Then Miss Vost was met by her father, +an incurable missionary from Wenchow, and by devious routes, well known +to <I>them</I>, you joined a caravan, owned by a garrulous old thief who +calls himself a mandarin, the Mandarin Chang, who told you many lies, +to amuse himself— +</P> + +<P> +"Of course they were lies, Mr. Moore. Chang is one of <I>his</I> most +trusted henchmen. He even permitted you to kill one of his coolies. +The coolie would have died anyway; he was beginning to learn too much. +But it tickled Chang, and <I>him</I>, to let you have this chance, to see +how far you would go. And Chang had orders to help you reach Len Yang. +It gave you confidence in yourself, did it not?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't believe a word," declared Peter in a daze. He refused to +believe that Chang, kindly old Chang, was in league with that man, too. +</P> + +<P> +"Then you entered Len Yang, the City of Stolen Lives, and <I>he</I> watched +you, and when you heard a difficult wireless message on the instruments +at the mine, <I>he</I> gave you a present of money—five hundred taels, +wasn't it?—hoping, perhaps, that you would 'give up your foolishness,' +as he expressed it, and settle down to take the place of the +opium-befuddled wireless man you fooled so cleverly. <I>He</I> valued you, +Mr. Moore, you see, and he was not in the least afraid of you! +</P> + +<P> +"A dozen times, yes, a hundred times, he could have killed you. But he +preferred to sit back and stroke those long, yellow, mandarin mustaches +of his, and watch you, as a cat watches a foolish mouse. I can see him +laughing now. Yes! I have seen him, and I have heard him laugh. It +is a hideous, cackling laugh. Quite unearthly! How he did laugh at +you when you rescued Miss Vost, dear little clinging Miss Vost, from +the jaws of his white palace! +</P> + +<P> +"But he let you go; and he and his thousand sharpshooters who lined the +great, green walls, when you and Captain MacLaurin and Miss Vost +galloped bravely out, with one poor little mule! A thousand rifles, I +say, were leveled upon you in that bright moonlight, Mr. Moore. But +<I>he</I> said—<I>no</I>!" +</P> + +<P> +Peter looked up at the stolid rigging of the <I>Persian Gulf</I>, at the +sunlight dancing brightly on the blue waves, which foamed at their +crests like fresh, boiling milk; at the passengers sleeping or reading +in their deck chairs; and he refused to believe that this was not a +dream. But the level voice of Romola Borria purred on: +</P> + +<P> +"Then you joined a caravan for India, and, for a little while, they +thought your trail was lost. But you reappeared in Mandalay, attired +as a street fakir; and you limped all the way to Rangoon. Why did you +limp, Mr. Moore?" +</P> + +<P> +"A mule stamped on my foot, coming through the Merchants' Pass into +Bengal." +</P> + +<P> +"It healed rapidly, no doubt, for you were very active from that time +on. You took passage to Penang, to Singapore, doubling back to Penang, +and again to Singapore, and caught a blue-funnel steamer for Batavia." +</P> + +<P> +"But, Miss Borria," writhed Peter, "why, with all this knowledge, +hasn't he done away with me? You know. <I>He</I> knows. You've had your +chance. You could have killed me in your stateroom last night. +Please——" And Peter cast the golden robe of the adventurer +temporarily from him, becoming for the moment nothing more than a +terribly earnest, terribly concerned young man. +</P> + +<P> +"I gave you an inkling last night," replied Romola Borria composedly. +"Until you left Batavia <I>he</I> believed that you had given up your +nonsense. The coolie you threw overboard in Batavia was there, not to +stab you, but to warn you away from China. Those warnings, of which +you have had many, are now things of the past. You have thrown down +the glove to him once too often. He is through toying. +</P> + +<P> +"It was great fun for him, and he enjoyed it. He treats his enemies +that way—for a while. You have now entered upon the second stage of +enmity with him. Last night was a sample of what you may expect from +now on. Only the sheerest luck saved you from the coolie's bullet—and +my almost-too-tardy intervention." +</P> + +<P> +Peter gave her a hard, thoughtful and a thoroughly respectful stare. +</P> + +<P> +"I take it," he said, "that you are a special emissary, a sort of +minister plenipotentiary, from the Gray Dragon. As a matter of fact, +you are here simply to persuade me to correct my erring ways; to +persuade me to give you my promise for <I>him</I> that I will put China and +Len Yang forever out of my plans." +</P> + +<P> +"Express it any way you please, Mr. Moore. I have told you about all +that I am able. I know this game, if you will permit me, a little, +just a little better than you do, Mr. Moore. I know when fun stops and +downright danger begins. The moment you put your foot in China, you +are putting your foot in a trap from which you can never, never so long +as you are permitted to live, extricate yourself. And, believe me, +seriously, that will not be for long. A day? Perhaps. An hour? Very +likely not any longer than that. +</P> + +<P> +"Call me a special emissary if you choose. Perhaps I am. Perhaps I am +only a friend, who desires above everything else to help you avoid a +most certain and a most unpleasant death. I have given you your +opportunity. From my heart I gave you, and I still do give you, the +chance to leave—with me. Yes; I mean that. Your promise, backed by +your word of honor, is a passport to safety for both of us. Your +refusal, I might as well confess, means to me—death! Won't you stop +and consider? Won't you say—yes?" +</P> + +<P> +Peter's head had snapped back during this epilogue; his white-clad +shoulders were squared, and his blue eyes were lighted by a fire that +might have made a Crusader envious. +</P> + +<P> +"You may report to him," said he, "that I have listened to his +proposal; that I have considered it calmly; and that, as long as the +gauntlet is down—it is—<I>down</I>! I want but one thing: a man's chance +at that beast. You can tell him just that from me, Miss Borria. I am +sorry." +</P> + +<P> +She seemed on the point of uttering a final word, a word that might +have been of the greatest importance to Peter the Brazen; but the word +never got beyond her lips. +</P> + +<P> +Into her eyes crept a look of despair, of mute horror. She half raised +her hand; withdrew it. Her shoulders sagged. She staggered to a deck +chair, and sank into it, with her head back, her eyes closed, her long, +dark lashes lying upon cheeks that had become marble. +</P> + +<P> +Standing there with his eyes glued to the blue of the sea, Peter the +Brazen felt the confidence oozing from him as water oozes out of a +leaky pail. He felt himself in the presence of a relentless power +which was slowly settling down upon him, crushing him, and overpowering +him. +</P> + +<P> +It occurred to him as his thoughts raced willy-nilly, to flash a call +of help to the gunboat which prowled south of Luzon, a call which would +have met with a response swift and energetic. +</P> + +<P> +Yet that impulse smacked of the blunderer. It would put an end forever +to his high plan, now boiling more strongly than ever before, in the +back of his racked brain: to meet and some day put down the beast in +Len Yang. +</P> + +<P> +A bright, waving hand distracted his attention from the sea. The maid +from Macassar was endeavoring to attract him. He looked down with a +pale, haggard smile. +</P> + +<P> +"You have not forgotten—Kowloon, <I>busar satu</I>?" said her tinkling +little voice. +</P> + +<P> +"Not I, small one!" Peter called back in accents that entirely lacked +their accustomed gaiety. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0210"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER X +</H3> + +<P> +During the remainder of the voyage Romola Borria did not once, so far +as Peter was aware, leave her stateroom. Her meals were sent there, +and there she remained, sending out word in response to his inquiries +that she was ill, could see no one—not that Peter, after that latest +astounding interview, cared particularly to renew the friendship. He +was simply thoughtful. +</P> + +<P> +Yet he felt a little angry at his demonstration of frank selfishness, +and not a little uneasy at the uncanny precision of her recital of his +recent history, an uneasiness which grew, until he found himself +waiting with growing concern for the rock-bound shore-line of Hong Kong +to thrust its black-and-green shoulders above the horizon. +</P> + +<P> +The <I>Persian Gulf</I> anchored outside at night, and in the morning +steamed slowly in amidst the maze of masts, of sampans and junks, which +latter lay with their sterns pointing grotesquely upward, resembling +nothing so closely as great brown hawks which had flown down from a +Brobdingnagian heaven, to select with greater convenience and +fastidiousness what prey might fall within reach of their talons. +</P> + +<P> +Peter was aware that many of these junks were pirate ships, audacious +enough to pole into Victoria Harbor under the very guns of the forts, +under the noses of battleships of every nation. +</P> + +<P> +When the launch from quarantine swung alongside, Peter went below and +changed from the uniform to a light, fresh suit of Shantung silk, a +soft collar, a soft Bangkok hat, and comfortable, low walking shoes, +not neglecting to knot about his waist the blue sarong. +</P> + +<P> +The steerage passengers were lined up when he came above a little +later, sticking out their tongues for the eagle-eyed doctors, and +giggling at a proceeding serious enough, had they known it, to send +every mother's son and daughter of them back to the land whence they +came, if they displayed so much as a slight blemish, for Hong Kong was +then in the throes of her latest cholera scare. +</P> + +<P> +Satisfied at length that the eyes and tongues of the steerage and deck +passengers gave satisfactorily robust testimony, the doctors came up to +the first-class passengers, who stood in line on the promenade deck; +and Peter saw the change that had come over Romola Borria. +</P> + +<P> +Her face bore the pallor of the grave. Her large, lustrous eyes were +sunken, and lines seemed to have been engraved in a face that had +previously been as smooth and fair as a rose in bloom. +</P> + +<P> +He felt panic-stricken as she recognized him with an almost +imperceptible nod, and he stared at her a trifle longer than was +necessary, with his lips slightly ajar, his nails biting into his +palms, and he sensed rather than saw, that her beauty had been +transformed into one of gray melancholy. +</P> + +<P> +At that juncture, a tinkling voice shrilled up at him from the after +cargo-well, and Peter turned to see his small charge, the maid from +Macassar, smiling as she waited for him beside a small pile of silken +bundles of the rainbow's own colors. He had not forgotten the Eurasian +girl, but he desired to have a parting word with Romola Borria. +</P> + +<P> +He called over the rail, and instructed her of the black pigtail to +wait for him in a sampan, and he yelled down to one of the dozens of +struggling and babbling coolies, whose sampans swarmed like a horde of +cockroaches at the ladder's lower extremity. +</P> + +<P> +Romola Borria, alone, was awaiting him, adjusting her gloves, at the +doorway of the wireless cabin when he made his way back to that quarter +of the ship. She greeted him with a slow, grave smile; and by that +smile Peter was given to know how she had suffered. +</P> + +<P> +Her face again became a mask, a mask of death, indeed, as her lids +fluttered down and then raised; and her eyes were tired. +</P> + +<P> +He extended his hand, trying to inject some of his accustomed +cheerfulness into the gesture and into the smile which somehow would +not form naturally on his lips. +</P> + +<P> +"This—is <I>adieu</I>—or <I>au revoir</I>?" he said solemnly. +</P> + +<P> +"I hope—<I>au revoir</I>," she replied dully. "So, after all, you refuse +to take my counsel, my advice, seriously?" +</P> + +<P> +Peter shrugged. "I'm rather afraid I can't," he said. "You see, I'm +young. And you can say to yourself, or out loud without fear of +hurting my feelings, that I am—foolish. I guess it is one of the +hardships of being young—this having to be foolish. Wasn't it to-day +that I was to become immortal, with a knife through my floating ribs, +or a bullet in my heart? +</P> + +<P> +"As I grow older I will become more serious, with balance. Perish the +thought! But in the end—shucks! Confucius, wasn't it—that dear old +philosopher who could never find a king to try out his theories on—who +said: +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"The great mountain must crumble.<BR> +The strong beam must break.<BR> +The wise man must wither away like a plant."<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +She nodded. +</P> + +<P> +"I am afraid you will never become serious, Mr. Moore. And perhaps +that is one of the reasons why I've grown so—so fond of you in this +short while. If I could take life—and death—as stoically, as +happily, as you—oh, God!" +</P> + +<P> +She shut her eyes. Tears were in their rims when she opened them again. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Moore, I'll make a foolish confession, too, now. It is—I love +you. And in return——" +</P> + +<P> +"I think you're the bravest girl in the world," said Peter, taking her +hands with a movement of quick penitence. "You—you're a brick." +</P> + +<P> +"I guess I am," she sighed, looking moodily away. "A brick of clay! +Perhaps it is best to walk into the arms of your enemies the way you +do, with your head back and eyes shining and a smile of contempt on +your lips. If I only could!" +</P> + +<P> +"Why speak of death on a day like this?" said Peter lightly. "Life is +so beautiful. See those red-and-yellow blossoms on the hill, near the +governor's place, and the poor little brats on that sampan, thinking +they're the happiest kids in the world. What hurts them, hurts them; +what pleases them, pleases them. They're happy because they don't +bother to anticipate. And think of life, beautiful old life, brimming +over with excitement and the mystery of the very next moment!" +</P> + +<P> +"If I could only see that next moment!" +</P> + +<P> +"Ugh! What a dreary monotony life would become!" +</P> + +<P> +"But we could be sure. We could prepare for—for—well——" She threw +up her head defiantly. "For death, I'll say." +</P> + +<P> +"But please don't let's talk of death. Let's talk of the fine time you +and I are going to have when we see each other again." +</P> + +<P> +"Will there be another time, Peter?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, of course! You name that time; any time, any place. We'll eat +and drink and chatter like a couple of parrots. And you will forget +all this—this that is behind us." +</P> + +<P> +Her teeth clicked. +</P> + +<P> +"To-night," she said quickly. "I'll meet you. Let me see. On the +Desvoeux Road side of the Hong Kong Hotel balcony, the restaurant, +upstairs, you know." +</P> + +<P> +"Right!" agreed Peter with enthusiasm. "Will we let husband go along?" +</P> + +<P> +Her face suddenly darkened. She shook her head. +</P> + +<P> +"I will be alone. So will you, at seven o'clock. You'll be there, +without fail?" +</P> + +<P> +A coolie guarded her luggage near by impatiently. They could hear the +sobbing of the J. C. J. passenger launch as it rounded the starboard +counter. +</P> + +<P> +"I forget," said Peter, with his flashing smile. "I'll be dead in an +hour. The steel trap of China, you know." +</P> + +<P> +"Please don't jest." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll tell you what I will do. I'll put a tag on my lapel, saying, +deliver this corpse to the Desvoeux Road balcony of the Hong Kong Hotel +restaurant at seven sharp to-night! Without fail! C. O. D.!" +</P> + +<P> +These last words were addressed to the empty wireless cabin doorway. +The white skirt of Romola Borria flashed like a taunting signal as she +hastened out of his sight with the boy who carried her grips. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0211"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XI +</H3> + +<P> +Wearing a slight frown, Peter made his way through piles of +indiscriminate luggage to the port ladder, where his sampan and the +maid from Macassar were waiting. +</P> + +<P> +As he descended this contrivance he scanned the other sampans warily, +and in one of these he saw a head which protruded from a low cabin. +The sampan was a little larger than the others, and it darted in and +out on the edge of the waiting ones. +</P> + +<P> +The head vanished the instant Peter detected it, but it made a sharp +image in his memory, a face he would have difficulty in forgetting. It +was a long, chalk-white face, topped by a black fedora hat—a face +garnished at the thin gray lips by a mustache, black and spikelike, +resembling nothing more closely than the coal-black mustache affected +by the old-time melodrama villains. +</P> + +<P> +An hour of life? Did this man have concealed under his black coat the +knife which had been directed by the beast in Len Yang to seek out his +heart, to snuff out his existence, the existence of a trifling enemy? +</P> + +<P> +As Peter reached the shelving at the foot of the ladder the thought +grew and blossomed, and the picture was not a pleasant one. The man in +the sampan, as Peter could judge by his face, would probably prove to +be a tall and muscular individual. +</P> + +<P> +And then Peter caught sight of another face, but the owner of it +remained above-board. This man was stout and gray, with a face more +subtly malignant. It was a red face, cut deep at the eyes, and in the +region of the large purple nose, with lines of weather or dissipation. +Blue eyes burned out of the red face, faded blue eyes, that were, +despite their lack of lustre, sharp and cunning. +</P> + +<P> +The hand of its owner beckoned imperiously for Peter, and he shouted +his name; and Peter was assured that in the other hand was concealed +the knife or the pistol of his doom. +</P> + +<P> +With these not altogether pleasant ideas commanding his brain he jumped +into the sampan in which the maid from Macassar was smilingly waiting. +</P> + +<P> +Peter saw that his coolie was big and broad, with muscles which stood +out like ropes on his thick, sun-burned arms and legs. He gave the +coolie his instructions, as the sampan occupied by the red-faced man +was all the while endeavoring to wiggle closer. Again the man called +Peter by name, peremptorily, but Peter paid no heed. +</P> + +<P> +"To Kowloon. Chop-chop!" shouted Peter. "<I>Cumshaw</I>. Savvy?" He +displayed in his palm three silver dollars and the coolie bent his back +to the sweep, the sampan heeling out from the black ironside like a +thing alive. +</P> + +<P> +Behind them, as this manoeuvre was executed, Peter saw the two duly +accredited agents of the Gray Dragon fall in line. But Peter had +selected with wisdom. The coolie verified with the passage of every +moment the power his ropy muscles implied. Inch by inch, and yard by +yard, they drew, away from the pursuing sampans. +</P> + +<P> +Then something resembling the scream of an enraged parrot sang over +their heads, and he instinctively ducked, turning to see from which of +the sampans this greeting had come. +</P> + +<P> +A faint puff of light-blue smoke sailed down the wind between the two. +Which one? It was difficult to say. +</P> + +<P> +They were beginning to leave the pursuit decidedly in the lurch now. +Peter's coolie, with his long legs braced far apart on the +running-boards, bent his back, swaying like a mighty metronome from +port to starboard, from starboard to port, whipping the water into an +angry, milky foam. +</P> + +<P> +The pursuers crept up and fell back by fits and starts; slowly the +distance widened. +</P> + +<P> +The girl crouched down in the cabin, and Peter, with his automatic in +his hand, waited for another tell-tale puff of blue smoke. +</P> + +<P> +Finally this puff occurred, low on the deck of the larger craft. The +bullet plunked into the water not two feet from the sweep, and the +coolie, inspired by the knowledge that he, too, was inextricably +wrapped up in this race of life and death, sweated, and shouted in the +savage "Hi! Ho! Hay! Ho!" of the coolie who dearly loves his work. +</P> + +<P> +Satisfied as to the origin of both bullets, Peter took careful aim at +the yellow sampan and emptied his magazine, slipping another clip of +cartridges into the oblong hole as he watched for the result. +</P> + +<P> +The yellow sampan veered far from her course, and a sweep floated on +the surface some few yards aft. Then the sampan lay as if dead. But +the other plunged on after. +</P> + +<P> +This exciting race and the blast of Peter's automatic now attracted the +earnest attention of a gray little river gunboat, just down from +up-stream, and inured to such incidents as this. +</P> + +<P> +A one-pound shell snarled overhead, struck the water a hundred yards +further on, near the Kowloon shore, and sent up a foaming white pillar. +</P> + +<P> +The pier at Kowloon loomed close and more close. It was unlikely that +the gunboat would follow up the shot with another, and in this guess, +Peter, as the French say, "had reason." +</P> + +<P> +The fires under the gunboat's boilers were drawn, and there was no time +for the launching of a cutter. +</P> + +<P> +A great contentment settled down upon Peter's heart when he saw that +the oncoming sampan could not reach the pier until he and his charge +were out of sight, or out of reach, at least. +</P> + +<P> +He examined his watch. The gods were with him. It lacked three +minutes of train-time. +</P> + +<P> +It was only a hope that he and the girl would be safe on board the +Canton train before the red-faced man could catch up. +</P> + +<P> +The sampan rubbed the green timbers of the Kowloon landing stage. +Peter tossed up the girl's luggage in one large armful, lifted her by +the armpits to the floor of the pier, and relieved himself hastily of +four dollars (Mexican), by which the grunting coolie was gratefully, +and for some few hours, richer. +</P> + +<P> +They dashed to the first-class compartment, and Peter dragged the girl +in beside him. +</P> + +<P> +"To Canton, too?" she inquired in surprise. +</P> + +<P> +Peter nodded. He slammed the door. A whistle screamed, and the +station of Kowloon, together with the glittering waters of the blue +bay, and the white city of Hong Kong, across the bay, all began moving, +first slowly, then with acceleration, as the morning express for Canton +slid out on the best-laid pair of rails in southern China. +</P> + +<P> +Had his red-faced pursuer caught up in time? Peter prayed not. He was +tingling with the thrill of the chase; and he turned his attention to +the small maiden who sat cuddled close to his side, with hands folded +demurely before her, imprisoning between them the overlap of his +flaunting blue sarong. +</P> + +<P> +"We are safe, brave one?" she was desirous of knowing. +</P> + +<P> +He patted her hand reassuringly, and she caught at it, lowering her +green-blue eyes to the dusty floor, and sighing. +</P> + +<P> +Peter might have paused in his rapid meditations long enough to be +aware that, here he was, dropped—plump—into the center of another +ring of romance; nothing having separated him from his last love but +two misdirected revolver shots, the warning boom of a gunboat's bow +cannon, and a mad chase across Victoria Bay. +</P> + +<P> +Holding hands breaks no known law; yet Peter was not entirely aware +that he was committing this act, as his eyes, set and hard, stared out +of the window at the passing pagodas with their funny turned-up roofs. +</P> + +<P> +His mind was working on other matters. Perhaps for the first time +since the <I>Persian Gulf</I> had dropped anchor to the white sand of +Victoria Harbor's bottom, he began to realize the grim seriousness of +Romola Borria's warning. He was hemmed in. He was helpless. +</P> + +<P> +An hour to live! An hour alive! But he was willing to make the very +best of that hour. +</P> + +<P> +Absently, then by degrees not so absently, he alternately squeezed and +loosened the small, cool hands of the maid from Macassar. And she +returned the pressure with a timid confidence that made him stop and +consider for a moment something that had entirely slipped his mind +during the past few days. +</P> + +<P> +Was he playing quite squarely with Eileen Lorimer? Had he been +observing perhaps the word but not the letter of his self-assumed oath? +On the other hand, mightn't it be possible that Eileen Lorimer had +ceased to care for him? With time and the miles stretching between +them, wasn't it quite possible that she had shaken herself, recognized +her interest in him as one only of passing infatuation, and, perhaps +already, had given her love to some other? +</P> + +<P> +A silly little rhyme of years ago occurred to him: +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Love me close! Love me tight! _But_<BR> +Love me when I'm out of sight!<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +And perhaps because Peter had fallen into one of his reasoning moods, +he asked himself whether it was fair to carry the flirtation any +further with the girl snuggled beside him. He knew that the hearts of +Oriental girls open somewhat more widely to the touch of affection than +their Western sisters. And it was not in the nature of women of the +East to indulge extensively in the Western form of idle flirtation. +The lowering of the eyelids, the flickering of a smile, had meaning and +depth in this land. +</P> + +<P> +Was this girl flirting with him, or was hers a deeper interest? That +was the question! He took the latter view. +</P> + +<P> +And because he knew, from his own experience, that the hearts of lovers +sometimes break at parting, he finally relinquished the cool, small +hands and thrust his own deep into his pockets. +</P> + +<P> +There was no good reason, apart from his own selfishness, why he should +give a pang of any form to the trustful young heart which fluttered so +close at his side. +</P> + +<P> +"Where does your aged grandmother live, small one?" he asked her +briskly, in the most unsentimental tones imaginable. +</P> + +<P> +"I have the address here, <I>birahi</I>," she replied, diving into her satin +blouse and producing a slip of rice paper upon which was scrawled a +number of dead-black symbols of the Chinese written language. +</P> + +<P> +"A rickshaw man can find the place, of course," he said. "Now, look +into my eyes, small one, and listen to what I say." +</P> + +<P> +"I listen closely, <I>birahi</I>," said the small one. +</P> + +<P> +"I want you to stop calling me <I>birahi</I>. I am not your love, can never +be your love, nor can you ever be mine." +</P> + +<P> +"But why, <I>bi</I>—my brave one?" +</P> + +<P> +"Because—because, I am a wicked one, an <I>orang gila</I>, a destroyer of +good, a man of no heart, or worse, a black one." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, Allah, what lies!" giggled the maid. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, and a liar, too," declared Peter venomously, permitting his fair +features to darken with the blackest of looks. Was she flirting with +him? "A man who never told the truth in his life. A bad, bad man," he +finished lamely. +</P> + +<P> +"But why are you telling such things to me, my brave one?" came the +provocative answer. +</P> + +<P> +She <I>was</I> flirting with him. +</P> + +<P> +Nevertheless, he merely grunted and relapsed again into the form of +meditative lethargy which of late had grown habitual if not popular +with him. +</P> + +<P> +A little after noon the train thundered into the narrow, dirty streets +of China's most flourishing city, geographically, the New Orleans of +the Celestial Empire; namely, Canton, on the Pearl River. +</P> + +<P> +As Peter and his somewhat amused young charge emerged into the street +he cast a furtive glance back toward the station, and was dumfounded to +glimpse, not two yards away, the man with the red, deeply marked face. +His blue eyes were ablaze, and he advanced upon Peter threateningly. +</P> + +<P> +It was a situation demanding decisive, direct action. Peter, hastily +instructing the girl to hold two rickshaws, leaped at his pursuer with +doubled fists, even as the man delved significantly into his hip-pocket. +</P> + +<P> +Peter let him have it squarely on the blunt nub of his red jaw, aiming +as he sprang. +</P> + +<P> +His antagonist went down in a cursing heap, sprawling back with the +look in his washed-out eyes of a steer which has been hit squarely in +the center of the brow. +</P> + +<P> +He fell back on his hands and lay still, dazed, muttering, and +struggling to regain the use of his members. +</P> + +<P> +Before he could recover Peter was up and away, springing lightly into +the rickshaw. They turned and darted up one narrow, dirty alley into a +narrower and dirtier one, the two coolies shouting in blasphemous +chorus to clear the way as they advanced. +</P> + +<P> +After a quarter of an hour of twisting and splashing and turning, the +coolies stopped in front of a shop of clay-blue stone. +</P> + +<P> +Paying off the coolies, Peter entered, holding the door for the girl, +and sliding the bolt as he closed it after her. +</P> + +<P> +He found himself in the presence of a very old, very yellow, and very +wrinkled Chinese woman, who smiled upon the two of them perplexedly, +nodding and smirking, as her frizzled white pigtail flopped and +fluttered about in the clutter on the shelves behind her. +</P> + +<P> +It was a shop for an antique collector to discover, gorged with objects +of bronze, of carved sandalwood, of teak, grotesque and very old, of +shining red and blue and yellow beads, of old gold and old silver. +</P> + +<P> +On the low, narrow counter she had placed a shallow red tray filled +with pearls; imitations, no doubt, but exquisite, perfect, of all +shapes; bulbular, pear, button, and of most enticing colors. +</P> + +<P> +But the small girl was babbling, and a look of the most profound +surprise came slowly into the old woman's face. A little pearl-like +tear sparkled in either of her old eyes, and she gathered this +cherished grand-daughter from far away Macassar into her thin arms. +</P> + +<P> +At that sight Peter felt himself out of place, an intruder, an +interloper. The scene was not meant for his eyes. He was an alien in +a strange land. +</P> + +<P> +As he hesitated, conjuring up words of parting with his little friend, +he gasped. Peering through the thick window-pane in the door was the +red-faced man, and his look sent a curdle of fear into Peter's brave +heart. Would he shoot through the pane? +</P> + +<P> +The girl, too, saw. She chattered a long moment to her wrinkled +grandmother, and this latter leaped to the door and shot a second +strong bolt. She pointed excitedly to a rear door, low and green, set +deep in the blue stone. +</P> + +<P> +Peter leaped toward it. Half opening this, he saw a tiny garden +surrounded by low, gray walls. He paused. The maid from Macassar was +behind him. She followed him out and closed the door. +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Birahi</I>," she said in her tinkling voice, and with gravity far in +advance of her summers, "we must part now—forever?" +</P> + +<P> +He nodded, as he searched the wall for a likely place to jump. "It is +the penalty of friendship, <I>birahi</I>. You do not mind if I call you +<I>birahi</I> in our last moment together?" +</P> + +<P> +"No. No." +</P> + +<P> +"I am curious, so curious, my brave one, about the red-faced man, and +the one with the black coat. But we women are meant for silence. +<I>Birahi</I>, I have played no part—I have been like a dead lily—a +burden. Perhaps, if you are in great danger——" +</P> + +<P> +"I am in great danger, small one. The red toad wants my life, and you +must detain him." +</P> + +<P> +"I will talk to him! But the others, the black-coated one—what of +them? They would like the feel of your blood on their hands, too!" +</P> + +<P> +Peter nodded anxiously. He was thinking of Romola Borria. +</P> + +<P> +"I will do anything," declared the maid from Macassar patiently. +</P> + +<P> +"Has your grandmother a sampan, a trustworthy coolie?" +</P> + +<P> +"Aie, <I>birahi</I>! She is rich!" +</P> + +<P> +"Then have that coolie be at the Hong Kong landing stage with his +sampan at midnight. Have him wait until morning. If I do not come by +dawn he will return immediately to Canton. By dawn, if I am not there, +it will mean——" +</P> + +<P> +"Death?" The small voice was tremulous. +</P> + +<P> +Peter nodded. +</P> + +<P> +"If the <I>fokie</I> returns with that message, you will write a short +note——" +</P> + +<P> +"To one you love?" +</P> + +<P> +"To one I love. In America. The name is Eileen Lorimer; the address, +Pasadena, California. You will say simply, 'Peter Moore is dead.'" +</P> + +<P> +"Ah! I must not say that. It will break her heart! But you must go +now, my brave one. I will talk to the red toad!" +</P> + +<P> +The green door closed softly; and Peter was left to work out the +problem of his escape, which he did in an exceedingly short space of +time. Even as he took the fence in a single bound he fancied he could +hear the panting of the red-faced man at his heels. +</P> + +<P> +He found himself in a crooked alleyway, which forked out of sight at a +near-by bend. Speeding to this point, he came out upon a somewhat +broader thoroughfare. He looked hastily for a rickshaw but none was in +sight. +</P> + +<P> +So he ran blindly on, resorting at intervals to his old trick of +doubling back, to confuse his pursuers. He did this so well that +before long he had lost his sense of direction, and the sun having gone +from the sight of man behind a mass of dark and portentous clouds. +</P> + +<P> +At length he came to the City of the Dead, and sped on past the +ivy-covered wall, circling, doubling back, and giving what pursuit +there might have been a most tortuous trail to follow. +</P> + +<P> +He was hooted at and jeered at by coolies and shrieking children, but +he ran on, putting the miles behind him, and finally dropped into a +slow trot, breathing like a spent race-horse. +</P> + +<P> +At the pottery field he found a rickshaw, estimated that he still had +time to spare to make the Hong Kong train, and was driven to the +station. Dead or alive, he had promised to deliver himself to Romola +Borria at the Hong Kong Hotel at seven. +</P> + +<P> +Visions of the malignant face of his red-featured enemy were constantly +in his mind. +</P> + +<P> +But he breathed more easily as the train chugged out of the grim, gray +station. He sank back in the seat, letting his thoughts wander where +they would, and beginning to feel, as the miles were unspun, that he +was at least one jump ahead of the red death which had threatened him +since his departure from the friendly shelter of the <I>Persian Gulf</I>. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0212"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XII +</H3> + +<P> +The shadows were lengthening, the sky was of a deeper and vaster blue, +when the train came to a creaking stop in the Kowloon Station. +</P> + +<P> +Peter emerged, scanning the passengers warily, but catching not a +glimpse of his red-faced enemy. What did that one have in store for +him now? This chase was becoming a game of hide-and-seek. But in Hong +Kong he would feel safer. Hong Kong was a haunt of civilized men and +of able Sikh policemen, who detested the yellow men of China. +</P> + +<P> +He took the ferry-boat across the bay to the city, which rose tier upon +tier of white from the purple water; and he made his way afoot to the +American consulate. +</P> + +<P> +With auspicious celerity the sad-eyed clerk bowed him into the presence +of an elderly gentleman with white side whiskers and an inveterate +habit of stroking a long and angular nose. +</P> + +<P> +This personage permitted his shrewd, grave eyes to take in Peter from +his blond hair to his tan walking shoes, and with a respectful mien +Peter prepared his wits for a sharp and digging cross-examination. +</P> + +<P> +"I have been advised," began the American consul, giving to Peter's +blue eyes a look of curiosity in which was mingled not a little +unconcealed admiration, as he might have looked upon the person of +Pancho Villa, had that other miscreant stepped into his gloomy +office—"I have been advised," he repeated importantly, "by the +commander of the auxiliary cruiser <I>Buffalo</I> that you contemplated a +visit to Hong Kong." +</P> + +<P> +He sank back and stared, and it took Peter several moments to become +aware that the content of the remark was not nearly so important as its +pronunciation. The remark was somewhat obvious. The American consul +desired Peter to make the opening. +</P> + +<P> +Peter inclined his head as he slowly digested the statement. +</P> + +<P> +"I was told by Commander Eckles to report to you," he replied +respectfully, "for orders." +</P> + +<P> +The American consul laid his hands firmly upon the edge of the mahogany +desk. +</P> + +<P> +"My orders, Mr. Moore, are that you leave China immediately. I +trust——" +</P> + +<P> +"Why?" said Peter in a dry voice. +</P> + +<P> +"That is a matter which, unfortunately, I cannot discuss with you. The +order comes, I am permitted to inform you, from the highest of +diplomatic quarters. To be exact, from Peking, and from the American +ambassador, to be more specific." +</P> + +<P> +It was crystal clear to Peter that the American consul was not +cognizant of what might be behind those orders from the American +ambassador; yet his face, for all of its diplomatic masking, told Peter +plainly that the American consul was not entirely averse to learning. +</P> + +<P> +"Have I been interfering with the lawful pursuits of the Chinese +Empire?" he inquired ironically. +</P> + +<P> +The American consul stroked his long nose pensively. +</P> + +<P> +"Well—perhaps," he said. "On the whole, that is something you can +best explain yourself, Mr. Moore. If you should care to give me your +side of the question, ah——" +</P> + +<P> +"I haven't a thing to say," rejoined Peter. "If the United States +Government chooses to believe that my presence is inimical to its +interests in China——" +</P> + +<P> +"Pressure might have been brought to bear from another quarter." +</P> + +<P> +"Quite so," admitted Peter. +</P> + +<P> +"Now, if you should desire to make me acquainted with your pursuits +during the past—ah—few months, let us say, it is within the bounds of +possibility that I might somehow rescind this drastic—ah—order. +Suffice it to say, that I shall be glad to put my every power at your +aid. As you are an American, it is my duty and my pleasure, sir, if +you will permit me, to do all within my power, my somewhat restricted +power, if I may qualify that statement, to reinstate you in the good +graces of those—ah—good gentlemen in Peking." +</P> + +<P> +It was all too evident that, back and beyond the friendly intentions of +this official, was a hungry desire for information regarding this young +man whose dark activities had been recognized by the high powers to an +extent sufficient to set in motion the complicated and bulky wheels of +diplomacy. +</P> + +<P> +Peter shook his head respectfully, and the consul permitted his +reluctantly admiring and inquisitive gaze to travel up and down the +romantic and now international figure. +</P> + +<P> +"I am able to say nothing," he expressed himself quietly. "If the +American ambassador has decreed that I ought to go home—home I go! +I'll confess right now that I did not intend to go home when I stepped +into this office, but I do respect, and I will respect, the authority +of that order." +</P> + +<P> +"If the President, for example, should request you to +continue—ah—what you have been doing, for the good, let us say, of +humanity, you would continue without hesitation, Mr. Moore?" +</P> + +<P> +Peter gave the long, pale face a sharp scrutiny. Did this +innocent-faced man know more than he intimated, or was he merely +applying the soft, velvet screws of diplomacy, endeavoring to squeeze +out a little information? +</P> + +<P> +"I certainly would." +</P> + +<P> +The consul rose, with a bland smile, and extended his hand. +</P> + +<P> +"It has been gratifying to know one who has become such a singular, +and, permit me to add, such a trying figure, in diplomatic circles, +during the past week. Good-day, sir!" +</P> + +<P> +Peter walked down Desvoeux road in a state of mental detachment. A +week! Only a week had passed since he had sailed from Batavia, a week +since he had thrown overboard the emissary of the Gray Dragon. He +concluded that in more than one way could his presence be dismissed +from the land of darkness and distrust. +</P> + +<P> +How had the Gray Dragon brought pressure upon the American ambassador, +a man of the highest repute, of sterling and patriotic qualities? The +answer seemed to be, that the coils of the Gray Dragon extended +everywhere, like an inky fluid which had leaked into every crevice and +crack of all Asia. +</P> + +<P> +He was still under orders to pay a visit to J. B. Whalen, the Marconi +supervisor. That cross-examination he was glad to postpone. +</P> + +<P> +He called at the office of the Pacific Mail, and found that the <I>King +of Asia</I> was due to leave for the United States the following morning +at dawn. He made a deposit on a reservation. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0213"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XIII +</H3> + +<P> +The hour lacked a few minutes of seven when Peter ascended in the lift +to the second floor of the Hong-Kong Hotel and made his way between the +closely packed tables to the Desvoeux Road balcony. +</P> + +<P> +Romola Borria was not yet in evidence. +</P> + +<P> +He selected a table which commanded a view of the entrance, toyed with +the menu card, absent-mindedly ordered a Scotch highball, and slowly +scrutinized the occupants of the tables in his neighborhood. He felt +vaguely annoyed, slightly uneasy, without being able to sift out the +cause. +</P> + +<P> +For a moment he regretted his audacity in encountering the curious eyes +of Hong Kong society, a society in which there would inevitably be +present a number of his enemies. It cannot be denied that a number of +eyes studied him leisurely and at some pains, over teacups, +wine-glasses, and fans. +</P> + +<P> +But these were for the larger part women, and Peter was more or less +immune to the curious, bright-eyed glances of this sex. +</P> + +<P> +His attire was somewhat rakish for the occasion; and it appeared that +sarongs were not being sported by the more refined class of male +diners, who affected as a mass the sombre black of dinner jackets. At +all Hong Kong hotels the custom is evening dress for dinner, and Peter +felt shabby and shoddy in his silk suit, his low shoes, his soft collar. +</P> + +<P> +An orchestra of noble proportions struggled effectively in the moist, +warm atmosphere somewhere in its concealment behind a distant palm +arbor with "Un Peu d'Amour," and also out of Peter's sight, an +impassioned and metallic tenor was sobbing: +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"Jaw-s-s-st a lee-e-e-edle lof-f-ff—<BR> +A le-e-e-edle ke-e-e-e-e-e-s—"<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +And Peter in his perturbation wished that both blatant orchestra and +impassioned tenor were concealed behind a sound-proof stone wall. +</P> + +<P> +He was tossing off the dregs of the highball when there occurred a +low-voiced murmur at his side, and he arose to confront the pale, worn +face of Romola. She gave him her hand limply, and settled down across +from him, her eyes darting from table to table, and occasionally +nodding rather stiffly and impersonally as she recognized some one. +</P> + +<P> +"You see"—he smiled at her, as she settled back and fostered upon him +a look of brooding tenderness—"you see, my dear, I am here, untagged. +Nearly twelve hours have passed since you sounded that note of ominous +warning. I have yet to feel the thrill, just before I die, of that +dagger sliding between my ribs." +</P> + +<P> +She accepted this with a nod almost indifferent. +</P> + +<P> +"Simply because I have persuaded them to extend your parole to one +o'clock. If you linger in China, you have—and need I say that the +same applies to me—six more hours in which to jest, to laugh, to +love—to live!" +</P> + +<P> +"For which I am, as always in the face of favors, duly grateful," said +Peter in high humor. "None the less I have this day, since we parted +this morning, indulged in one pistol duel between sampans, with one of +your admirable confrères——" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I heard of that. But it stopped there. You winged his sampan +coolie." +</P> + +<P> +"And at the Canton station, if I may be pardoned for contradicting, I +encountered the red-faced one. To tell you what you may already know, +I punched him in the jaw, dog-gone him!" +</P> + +<P> +She seemed to be distressed. +</P> + +<P> +"You must be mistaken." +</P> + +<P> +Peter shook his head forcibly. "A choleric gentleman born with the +habit of reaching for his hip-pocket," he amplified. +</P> + +<P> +She studied him with wide, speculative eyes. "He must be from the +north. Some of them I do not know. But all of them have been +informed." +</P> + +<P> +"To permit me to live and love until one to-morrow morning?" +</P> + +<P> +She nodded. +</P> + +<P> +The aspiring and perspiring orchestra and the impassioned tenor had +again reached the chorus of "Un Peu d'Amour." +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"I could ge-e-e-eve you al-l-l my life for the-e-e-e-s—"<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +"Badly sung, but appropriate," commented Romola Borria. +</P> + +<P> +Peter's countenance became a question mark. +</P> + +<P> +"It may mean that I am giving you all my life for—this," she explained. +</P> + +<P> +"For these few minutes, when we were to chatter, and make love, and be +happy?" Peter demanded indignantly. "My dear——" He reached out for +her hand, and she let him fondle it, not reluctantly. "I'd give all my +life, too, for these few minutes with you. Do you know—you're +perfectly adorable to-night! There's something—something irresistible +about you—to me!" +</P> + +<P> +"To you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," he said in a deep voice, and sincerely. "I'd come all the way +'round the world, and lay my life at your feet—thus." And he placed +his knuckles on the white cloth, as if they were knees. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah! But you don't mean that!" +</P> + +<P> +"When I'm in love, I mean everything!" +</P> + +<P> +"I know. You are fickle. Miss Lorimer—Miss—Vost—Romola—they come, +they love, they are gone, quite as fatefully and systematically as life +follows death, and death follows life." +</P> + +<P> +"I do wish you wouldn't talk about death in that flippant manner," he +gibed, wondering how under the sun he might get her out of this gloomy +mood. +</P> + +<P> +"But death is in my mind always—Peter. When you have gone through——" +</P> + +<P> +"Romola, I refuse to be lectured." +</P> + +<P> +"Very well; I refuse to talk of anything but love and death." +</P> + +<P> +"Excellent, my own love! Tell me now how it feels when <I>you</I> are in +the heavenly condition." +</P> + +<P> +"Most hopeless, Peter; because death, you see, is so close upon the +heels of my love." +</P> + +<P> +"Meaning—me?" +</P> + +<P> +"No—my heart. The death of love and the death—of life follow my +love. Now I want to pick up the threads of a moment ago. Peter, don't +hold my hand. That woman is—staring. You said—you said, you would +come away around the world to see me, to help me, possibly, if I were +in trouble. You weren't serious." +</P> + +<P> +"Cross my heart!" +</P> + +<P> +"On the <I>Persian Gulf</I> that day—that day I told you something of your +recent adventures and your apparently miraculous escapes, I intended to +ask you——" +</P> + +<P> +"Seeress, I am all ears——" +</P> + +<P> +"I intended asking you a favor, a most important one, an +alternative——" +</P> + +<P> +"The trip to Nara?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; an alternative to that. Tell me truly how much at heart you hate +the man at Len Yang. Wait. Don't answer me yet. At heart, do you +really hate him, as you pretend, or are you simply bowing down to your +vanity, to the pride you seem to take in these quixotic deeds? For one +thing, there is very little money in what you are doing. If you should +approach these adventures a little differently, perhaps, you might put +yourself in a position to be rewarded for the troubles you take, the +dangers you risk. I mean that." +</P> + +<P> +"I admit I'm not a money hater," frowned Peter, striving without much +success to feel her trend. +</P> + +<P> +"It would be so easy for you to make all the money you need in only a +few years by—how shall I say it?—by 'being nice.' Wait! I have not +finished. You said I was a special emissary from him. You hit the +mark more squarely than you thought. Oh, I admit it! I was sent to +Batavia to meet you, to intercept you, and, to be quite frank, to ask +you your terms." +</P> + +<P> +"From <I>him</I>?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. He has observed you. He can use you, and oh!—how badly he +wants you and your boldness and that unconquerable fire of yours! He +needs you! He wants you, more than any man he has known! And he will +pay you! Name your price! A half million gold a year? Bah! It is a +drop to him!" +</P> + +<P> +"Don't," begged Peter in a whisper. "Please—don't—go on." +</P> + +<P> +His face had become almost as white as the tablecloth, and his lips +were trembling, ashen. +</P> + +<P> +"God! I put my confidence in you, time after time, and each time you +show me treachery, deeper, more hideous, than before. Please don't +continue. I'm trying, as hard as I know how, to appreciate your +position in this wretched mess—and trying to find some excuse for it. +For you! And it's hard. Damned, brutally hard. Let's part! Let's +forget! Let's be just memories to each other—Romola!" +</P> + +<P> +Her face, too, had lost its color, like life fading from a rose when +the stem is snapped. Her hand sought her throat and groped there, as +it always did in her moments of nervousness, and she drummed on the +cloth with a silver knife. She stared curiously at him, with the other +light dying hard. +</P> + +<P> +"Then I can only hope—a slender hope—to bring you back to the favor I +asked you originally, and I place that before you now, my request for +that favor—my final hope. You cannot refuse that. You cannot! You +profess to be chivalrous. Now, let me—test you!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0214"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XIV +</H3> + +<P> +"Romola, I said no to Nara long ago." +</P> + +<P> +She threw up her head. +</P> + +<P> +"A woman should need to be informed but once that her love is not +wanted. This is not what I meant." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah! Another scheme! Your little brain is nothing short of an idea +machine. Remarkable! Go on." +</P> + +<P> +"No," she said, rather sullenly, at this flow of bitterness, "a +variation of my plan. If you will not accompany me to Nara, then I +must go alone. I must have money. Do you understand? I am penniless. +The <I>King of Asia</I> leaves for Japan to-morrow, at dawn. I will never +return to China. Will you—help me?" +</P> + +<P> +"What do you mean by that? Will I break into the house and help you +rob?" +</P> + +<P> +"There is no other way. The money is in a desk, locked. I am not +strong enough to break the lock. You can. Then, too, there are some +papers of mine——" +</P> + +<P> +"Romola, will this give you the contentment you desire?" he said +sternly. +</P> + +<P> +"I—I think so. I hope so." +</P> + +<P> +"Then I will help you." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, Peter, how can I——" +</P> + +<P> +He lifted his hand. "You see, my dear, you can't frighten me—easily. +You can't bribe me, Romola. But you can appeal to my weakness——" +</P> + +<P> +"A woman in distress—your weakness!" But there was no mockery in +either her voice or her eyes. It was more like a whisper of regret. +</P> + +<P> +"Romola, will you answer a question?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'll try!" +</P> + +<P> +"Why are beautiful women—girls—from all parts of the world stolen—to +work in that mine?" +</P> + +<P> +Romola looked at him queerly. "I do not know, Peter." +</P> + +<P> +They attacked the dinner, and by deft stages Peter led the conversation +to a lighter vein. It was nearly ten when they left, the dining-room +was all but deserted and they departed in high spirits, her arm within +his, her smile happy and apparently genuine. +</P> + +<P> +"We must wait until midnight," she informed him. "He will be asleep; +the servants will have retired." +</P> + +<P> +Peter suggested a rickshaw ride through the Chinese city to while away +the hours in between, but the girl demurred, and amended the suggestion +to a street-car ride to Causeway Bay. He consented, and they caught a +car in front of the hotel, and climbed to seats on the roof. +</P> + +<P> +He felt gay, excited by the thrill of their impending danger. She was +moody. In the bright moonlight on the crystal beach at Causeway Bay he +tried to make her dance with him. But she pushed his arms away, and +Peter, suddenly feeling the weight of some dark influence, he knew not +what, fell silent, and they rode back to the base of the peak road +having very little to say. +</P> + +<P> +At a few minutes past midnight they alighted from sedan chairs in the +hairpin trail beside the incline railway station at the peak, and as +they faced each other, the moon, white and gaunt, slipped from sight +behind a billowing black cloud, and the heavens were black and the +night was dark around them. +</P> + +<P> +She took his arm, leading him past the murky walls of the old fort, and +on up and up the sloping, rocky road, dimly revealed at intervals by +points of mysterious light. +</P> + +<P> +They came at length to a high, black hedge, and, groping cautiously +along this for a number of yards, found a ragged cleft. He held the +branches aside while she climbed through with a faint rustle of silken +underskirts. He followed after. +</P> + +<P> +By the dim, ghostly glow of the clouds behind which the moon was +floating he made out ominous shapes, scrawny trees and low, stunted +bushes. +</P> + +<P> +Hand in hand, with his heart beating very loudly and his breath burning +dry in his throat, they approached the desolate, gloomy house—her home! +</P> + +<P> +A low veranda, perhaps a sun-parlor, extended along the wing, and +toward this slight elevation the girl stealthily led him, without so +much as the cracking of a dry twig underfoot, peering from left to +right for indications that their visit was betrayed. +</P> + +<P> +But the house was still, and large and gloomy, and as silent as the +halls of death. +</P> + +<P> +They climbed upon the low veranda. The girl ran her fingers along the +French window which gave upon the hedged enclosure, and drew back upon +greased hinges the window, slowly, inch by inch, until it yawned, wide +open. +</P> + +<P> +He followed her into a room, dark as black velvet, weighted with the +indescribable, musty odors of an Oriental abode, and possessed of an +almost sensuous gloom, a mystic dreariness, a largeness which knew no +dimensions. +</P> + +<P> +As Peter cautiously advanced he was impressed, almost startled, by the +sense of vastness, and he was aware of great, looming proportions. +</P> + +<P> +Close at hand a clock ticked, slowly, drearily, as if the release of +each metallic click of the ancient cogs were to be the last, beating +like the rattling heart of a man in the arms of death. This noise, +like a great clatter, seemed to fill all space. +</P> + +<P> +And he was alone. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly a yellow light glowed in the dark recesses of the high +ceiling, and Peter sprang back with his hand on the instant inside his +coat, where depended in its leather shoulder-sling the automatic. +</P> + +<P> +Across the great room the girl raised a steady hand, indicating a desk +of gigantic size, of ironwood or lignum-vitae. +</P> + +<P> +He found himself occupying the center of an enormous mandarin rug, with +letterings and grotesque designs in rich blood-reds, and blues and +yellows and browns. He gave the room a moment's survey before falling +to the task. +</P> + +<P> +The walls of this cavern were of satin, priceless rugs, which hung +without a quiver in the breathless gloom. Massive furniture, chairs, +tables, settees, of teak, of ebony and dark mahogany, with deep +carvings, glaring gargoyles and hideous masks, were arranged with an +apparent lack of plan. +</P> + +<P> +And against the far wall, with a face like the gibbous moon, stood a +massive clock of carved rosewood, clacking ponderously, almost +painfully, as if each tick were to be its last. +</P> + +<P> +Peter crouched before the desk, examining the heavy lock on the drawer, +and accepted from the girl's hand a tool, a thick, short, blunt chisel. +He inserted the blunt edge of this instrument in the narrow crack, +and—— +</P> + +<P> +A muffled sob, a moan, a stifled cry! +</P> + +<P> +He sprang to his feet, with his hand diving into his coat, and the +fingers he wrapped about the butt of the automatic were as cold as ice. +</P> + +<P> +Romola Borria was cringing, shrinking as if to efface herself from a +terrible scene, against the French window, and staring at him with a +look of wild imploration, of horror, of—death! +</P> + +<P> +From three unwavering spots along the wall to his left glittered the +blue muzzles of revolvers! +</P> + +<P> +Peter dropped to his knees, leaped backward, pointed by instinct, and +fired at the lone yellow light in the ceiling. +</P> + +<P> +Darkness. An unseen body moved. Metal rattled distantly upon wood. +And metal clanked upon metal. Darkness, black as the grave, and as +ominous. +</P> + +<P> +A white, round spot remained fixed upon his retina, slowly fading. The +face of the clock. The hands, like black daggers, had pointed to ten +minutes of one. Ten minutes of life! Ten minutes to live! Or—less? +</P> + +<P> +Silence, broken only by the reluctant <I>click-clack, click-clack</I> of the +rosewood clock. +</P> + +<P> +If he could reach the window! Then a low, convulsed sobbing occurred +close to his ear. The girl groped for his arm. She was shaking, +shaking so that his arm trembled under it. +</P> + +<P> +"Your final card!" he whispered. "The final trick! God! Now, damn +you, get me out of this!" +</P> + +<P> +"I can't. I—I—— Oh, God! Kill me! I gave you every chance. They +forced me—forced me to bring you here. They would have strangled me, +just as they strangled the other!" She seemed to steady herself while +he listened in growing horror. +</P> + +<P> +"Safe!" he groaned. "Safety for you. Death—for me! You—you led me +into their hands, and I—I trusted you. I trusted you!" +</P> + +<P> +She laid a cold, moist hand over his lips, this devil-woman. +</P> + +<P> +"Hush! If they, if he, so much as guessed that I cared for you, that I +loved you, it would mean my death. I was forced—forced to bring you +here. Don't you understand? And if he even guessed. But you had your +chance. You had your chance!" +</P> + +<P> +Almost hysterically she was endeavoring to extenuate her crime, her +treason. +</P> + +<P> +"Stand up and face them. Meet your death! Escape is—impossible! +Impossible! They are watching you like a rat. In a moment they know +you can stand this strain no longer! Face them, I say! Show them +that——" +</P> + +<P> +Peter pushed her away from him in loathing, and she lay still, only +whimpering. +</P> + +<P> +Yet the devils of darkness—where were they? And slowly, yet more +slowly, the rosewood clock ticked off its seconds. It should be nearly +one. At one—— +</P> + +<P> +A fighting chance? +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0215"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XV +</H3> + +<P> +On his hands and knees he crouched, and began crawling, an inch at a +time, toward the French window, dragging the automatic over the thick +satin carpet. He reached the window. It was still ajar. Far, far +below twinkled the lights of Hong Kong, of ships anchored in the bay, +and the glitter of Kowloon across the bay. Out there was life! +</P> + +<P> +A board creaked near him, toward the heart of that darkened vault. He +spun about, aimed blindly, fired! +</P> + +<P> +The floor shook as an unseen shape collapsed and writhed within reach +of his hand. In his grasp, was the oily, thick queue of a coolie. +</P> + +<P> +And suddenly, as he groped, the wall spat out angry tongues of +corrosive red flame. +</P> + +<P> +A white-hot iron seemed to shoot through the flesh of his left arm. +The pain reached his shoulder. His left arm was useless—the bone +cracked! +</P> + +<P> +Groaning, he pushed himself back. His knees struck the sill, slid +over, and he felt the coarse, peeled paint of the veranda. He reached +the ledge—dropped to the ground, and in dropping, the revolver spilled +from his hand as it caught on a projecting ledge of the floor, bounded +off into the darkness. +</P> + +<P> +He groveled to retrieve it, muttering as his hands probed through the +tufted grass. +</P> + +<P> +Light glimmered in the room above. There occurred sounds of a +struggle, of feet scraping, a muffled oath, a short scream. +</P> + +<P> +Peter leaped back, looking up, prepared to dash for the road. +</P> + +<P> +A yellow light within the room silhouetted the slender figure of Romola +Borria against the French window. Her arms went out in frantic appeal +to the darkness, to him. +</P> + +<P> +"Wait!" she cried in an awful voice. "I love you! Wait!" +</P> + +<P> +At that confession, a hand seemingly suspended in space was elevated +slowly behind her. The hand paused high above her head. A face +appeared in the luminous space above her head, an evil face, carved +with a hideous brutality, wearing an ominous snarl; and above the +writhing lips of this one was a black growth, a mustache, pointed, like +twin black daggers. +</P> + +<P> +Emiguel Borria, ardent tool of the Gray Dragon? Emiguel Borria, +husband of the girl Romola? +</P> + +<P> +Emiguel Borria, in whose lifting hand Peter now caught the glint of a +revolver, attempted to crowd the girl to one side. But she held her +ground, and then this woman who had on a half-dozen successive +occasions tricked and deceived Peter, who had deliberately and on her +own confession lured him into this trap, upset, womanlike, the +elaborate plan of her master. +</P> + +<P> +In a frenzy she spun upon Emiguel Borria, seized the white barrel of +the revolver in her two hands and forced it against his side. Tiny red +flames spurted out on either side of the cylinder and smeared in a +smoky circle where the muzzle was momentarily buried in the tangled +black coat. And Emiguel Borria seemed to sink into the great room and +entirely out of Peter's sight. +</P> + +<P> +Romola leaned far into the darkness. +</P> + +<P> +"Run! Run! For your life!" +</P> + +<P> +And as Peter started to run, out of the compound for the dubious safety +of the cloistered road, other men of the Gray Dragon, posted for such a +contingency, let loose a shower of bullets from adjoining windows. +</P> + +<P> +But the gods were for the time being on the side of Peter. These shots +all went wild. +</P> + +<P> +Shuddering, with teeth chattering and eyes popping, Peter dove through +the matted hedge, dashed into the street, and down the street, lighted +at intervals with its pin-points of mysterious light. +</P> + +<P> +He came to the incline station, and his footsteps seemed weighted, +dragging. And the clock in the station, as he dashed past, showed one +o'clock. +</P> + +<P> +He plunged down the first sharp twist of the hair-pin trail, fell, +picked himself up dusty and dizzy, with his left arm swinging +grotesquely as he ran. +</P> + +<P> +And behind him, riding like the dawn wind, he seemed to feel the +presence of a companion, of a silent rickshaw which rattled with a +grisly occupant; and a voice, the voice of Romola Borria, shrill and +terrible in his ear, cried: "Wait! Oh, wait!" +</P> + +<P> +But the spectre was more real than Peter could imagine. +</P> + +<P> +It was quite awful, quite absurd, the way Peter stumbled and plunged +and fell and stumbled on down the hill; past the reservoirs which +glittered greenly under their guardian lights. +</P> + +<P> +How he managed to reach Queen's Road in that dreadful state I cannot +describe. He dashed down the center of the deserted road, with rudely +awakened Sikhs calling excitedly upon Allah, to stop, to stop! +</P> + +<P> +But on he sped, straight down the center of the mud roadway, past the +Hong Kong Hotel, now darkened for the night, and past the bund. +</P> + +<P> +Would the sampan be waiting? Otherwise he was now bolting headlong +upon the waiting knives of the Gray Dragon's men. No sampan in the +whole of Victoria Harbor was safe to-night, but one. Would the one be +waiting? Upon that single hope he was staking his safety, his dash for +life. +</P> + +<P> +He sped out upon the jetty. +</P> + +<P> +Where could he seek refuge? The <I>Persian Gulf</I>? The <I>King of Asia</I>? +The transpacific liner lay far out in a pool of great black, glittering +under sharp, white arc-lights forward and aft as cargo was lifted from +obscure lighters and stowed into her capacious hold. +</P> + +<P> +Yet he must go quickly, for in all China there was no safety for him +this night. +</P> + +<P> +A shadow leaped out upon the jetty close upon his heels. But Peter did +not see this ghost. +</P> + +<P> +The sampan coolie, asleep upon the small foredeck of his home, shivered +and muttered in his strange dreams. By his garb and by the richness of +the large sampan's upholsterings Peter guessed this to be the craft +sent to him by the small Chinese girl. +</P> + +<P> +Peter leaped aboard, awakening the <I>fokie</I> with a cry. +</P> + +<P> +Dark knobs arose from the low cabin hatchway, and by the yellow lamps +of the jetty Peter made these out to be the heads of the maid from +Macassar and her old grandmother. +</P> + +<P> +A <I>dong</I> was burning in the cabin, and Peter followed the girl into the +small cabin of scrubbed and polished teak, while the old woman gibbered +in sharp command to the <I>fokie</I>. +</P> + +<P> +Crouching like a beast at last cornered, Peter, by the shooting rays of +the <I>dong</I>, glared dazedly into an angry red face, a face that was +limned and pounded by the elements, from which stared two blue, +bloodshot eyes. +</P> + +<P> +The girl said nothing as she nestled at his side, and Peter permitted +his head to sink between his hands. +</P> + +<P> +Yet, strange to say, the red-faced man did not fire, made no motion of +stabbing him. +</P> + +<P> +Peter looked up, snarling defiance. +</P> + +<P> +"You've got me cornered," he whispered harshly. "It's after one +o'clock. The parole is up. Why prolong the agony? Damn you, I'm +unarmed!" He shut his eyes again. +</P> + +<P> +Again there was no premonitory click, no seep of steel upon scabbard. +</P> + +<P> +The red-faced man seized his shoulder, shook him. +</P> + +<P> +"Say, you young prize-fighter," he sputtered, "you drunk? Crazy? Or +just temporarily off your nut? Who in thunder said anything about +prolonging the agony? What agony are you talking about? Why the devil +'ve you been dodging me all over South China to-day? You dog-gone +young wildcat, you! I've got an assignment for you. The <I>King of +Asia's</I> wireless man is laid up in the Peak Hospital with typhoid. I +want you to take her back to Frisco! Blast your young hide, anyhow!" +</P> + +<P> +The wizen face of the girl's grandmother appeared in the hatchway. She +seemed annoyed, angry. She said something in the Cantonese dialect, +which Peter did not understand. +</P> + +<P> +"A sampan is following," translated the girl in her tiny voice, "but we +are nearly there. In a moment you will be safe." +</P> + +<P> +"Where?" demanded Peter, staring over the red-faced man's shoulder for +a glimpse of the other sampan. +</P> + +<P> +"The <I>King of Asia</I>," she told him. "In a moment, <I>birahi</I>, in a +moment." +</P> + +<P> +Her tones were those of a little mother. +</P> + +<P> +But Peter was staring anxiously into the red face, trying to decipher +an explanation. +</P> + +<P> +"I told the red-faced one to be here, too, at midnight," the girl was +whispering in his ear. "He came. He is a friend. Your fears were +wrong, <I>birahi</I>." +</P> + +<P> +The sampan lurched, scraping and tapping along a surface rough and +metallic. +</P> + +<P> +The yellow face of the old woman again appeared in the hatchway. A bar +of keen, white light thrust its way into the cabin. It came from +somewhere above. No longer could Peter hear the groan and swish of the +sweep, and the cabin no longer keeled from side to side. He guessed +that the sampan was alongside. +</P> + +<P> +The old woman motioned for him to come out. +</P> + +<P> +"I am not coming aboard; I am going back to my hotel," said the +red-faced man. "You will not leave this ship? You will promise me +that?" +</P> + +<P> +"I will promise," said Peter gravely. "You, I presume, are Mr. J. B. +Whalen, the Marconi supervisor?" +</P> + +<P> +The red-faced man nodded. As if by some prearranged plan, Whalen, +after slight hesitation, climbed out of the cabin, leaving Peter alone +with this very small, very gentle benefactor of his. He wanted to +thank her, and he tried. But she put her fingers over his lips. +</P> + +<P> +"You are going to the one you love, <I>birahi</I>," she said in her tinkling +little voice. "Before we part, I want you—I want you to——" and she +hesitated. "Come now, my brave one," she added with an attempt at +briskness. "You must go. Hurry!" +</P> + +<P> +Peter found the side ladder of the <I>King of Asia</I> dangling from the +upper glow of the liner's high deck. He put his foot on the lower rung +and paused. A vast number of apologies, of thanks and good-byes +demanded utterance, but he felt confused. The slight relaxation of the +past few minutes had left him exhausted, and his brain was encased in +fog. +</P> + +<P> +He remembered that the little maid from Macassar had wanted him to do +something, possibly some favor. The glow high above him seemed to +swim. His injured arm was beginning to throb with a low and persistent +pain. And the climb to the deck seemed a tremendous undertaking. +</P> + +<P> +"You were saying," he began huskily, as she reached out to steady the +ladder. "You wanted me——" +</P> + +<P> +"Just this, my brave one." And she reached up on tiptoes and kissed +him ever so lightly upon his lips. "When you think of me, <I>birahi</I>, +close your eyes and dream. For I—I might have loved you!" +</P> + +<P> +Half-way up the black precipice, Peter stopped and looked down. For a +moment his befuddled senses refused to register what now occupied the +space at the ladder's end. +</P> + +<P> +The sampan was no longer there; another had taken its place, a sampan +long and as black as the night which encompassed it. +</P> + +<P> +Wide, dark eyes stared up across the space into his, and these were set +in a chalky-white face, grim, fearful—startling! +</P> + +<P> +It was Romola Borria. Her white arms were upheld in a gesture of +entreaty. Her lips were moving. +</P> + +<P> +Peter descended a step, and stopped, swaying slightly. +</P> + +<P> +"What—what——" he began. +</P> + +<P> +"He is dead!" came the whisper from the small deck. "I killed him! I +killed him! Do you hear me? I am free! Free! Why do you stare at me +so? I am ready to go. But you must ask me! I will not follow you. I +will not!" +</P> + +<P> +And Peter, clutching with a sick and sinking feeling at the hard rope, +found that his lips and tongue were working, but that no sound other +than a dull muttering issued from his mouth. Momentarily he was +dumb—paralyzed. +</P> + +<P> +"I am not a tool of the Gray Dragon," went on the vehement whisper. "I +am not!" +</P> + +<P> +And to Peter came full realization that Romola Borria was lying, or +endeavoring to trick him, for the last time. +</P> + +<P> +"Go back—there," he managed to stammer at last. "Go back! I won't +have you! I'm through with this damned place." +</P> + +<P> +Painfully he climbed up a few rungs. +</P> + +<P> +Then the voice of Romola, no longer a whisper, but loud, broken, +despairing, came to him for the last time: +</P> + +<P> +"You are leaving me—leaving me—for her—for Eileen!" +</P> + +<P> +Peter made no reply. He continued his laborious climb; first one foot, +then a groping few inches upward along the hard rope with his right +hand, and then the other foot. Nor did he once again look down. +</P> + +<P> +He finally gained the deck. It was blazing with incandescent and +arc-lights. Under-officers and deckhands were pacing about, giving +attention to the loading. Donkey engines hissed, coughed, and rattled, +as the yellow booms creaked out, up and in with their snares of bales +and crates which vanished like swooping birds of prey into the noisy +hatchways. +</P> + +<P> +Peter took in the bustling scene with a long sigh of relief. He still +heard that lonely, anguished voice; the black sampan still rested on +his eyes, heaving on the flood tide upon which the great ship strained, +as if eager to be gone. And out there—out there—beyond the black +heart of mystery and the night, was the clean dawn—the rain-washed +spaces of the shimmering sea. +</P> + +<P> +But he could not look down again. He would not. For a while—or +forever—he had had his fill of China. Before him now lay the freedom +of the open sea, the sunshine of life—and his homeland! +</P> + +<P> +Peter the Brazen had drunk all too indulgently at the bitter fountain. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0216"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XVI +</H3> + +<P> +In the months which had passed since their romantic parting on the bund +at Shanghai, Peter the Brazen had founded all of his roseate notions of +Eileen Lorimer upon the one-sided data furnished by those spirited few +hours. +</P> + +<P> +He had thought of her as a lonely little creature, sole inhabitant of a +world apart, to which he would some time go and claim her. +</P> + +<P> +He had not taken into his calculations at any time such prosaic objects +as parents, brothers, sisters, and, more vital than all, other young +men who might have found the same qualities in Eileen to adore as had +attracted and bound him. +</P> + +<P> +When, from a long-distance telephone-booth in the Hotel St. Francis, he +finally was connected with the Lorimer residence in Pasadena, it was to +hear the gruff, masculine accents of a person who claimed to be her +father, and who was brusque and impulsive in his inquiries regarding +Peter's identity. +</P> + +<P> +Peter did not know, or realize, that Mr. Lorimer would have willingly +cut off his right hand for the young man who had restored his daughter +to him nearly a year before. He was simply struck more or less dumb, +with a schoolboy sort of feeling, when he was aware that, five hundred +miles overland, a gruff father wanted righteously to know his business. +</P> + +<P> +By adroit parrying, without giving out his identity, Peter at length +secured the information he wanted. Romola Borria had been truthful; +Eileen was attending the university at San Friole. +</P> + +<P> +With her San Friole address jotted down in the back of his red +note-book, Peter endeavored to be connected with Miss Lorimer by +telephone. After a trying pause the long-distance operator advised him +that the residence in question did not possess a telephone. +</P> + +<P> +Quartering what remained of his capital by the costly Pasadena call, +Peter resorted to the telegraph stand, and waited in the lobby for an +answer. +</P> + +<P> +The first of the several bits of unpalatable news he was to be given +during the day was delivered to him as he waited, when, unnoticed at +first, a Chinese gentleman, a Mr. San Toy Fong, a passenger from +Shanghai on the <I>King of Asia</I>, came out of the dining-room and +occupied a chair at his side, cordially and candidly revealing an +identity which Peter had suspected during the entire voyage. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Moore," the emissary began in a low, confident voice, "I am +returning to China to-night on the <I>Chenyo Maru</I>. Before I sail, if +there is some message——" +</P> + +<P> +Peter shook a slow decision. "I'm through with China, through with Len +Yang, through with wireless. I intend settling down on my little ranch +near Santa Cruz. That may save your trailers annoyance." +</P> + +<P> +The polished Chinese gentleman smiled. "Evidently you are not aware +that your little ranch is no longer in your possession. You see, Mr. +Moore, when we are interested in a person, we take pains to exhaust the +tiniest details. Your ranch was sold about three months ago; in a +moment of absent-mindedness, perhaps, you neglected to pay the taxes. +However, if you but say the word——" +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you," Peter headed him off in a tired and indifferent voice. +"You've saved me a trip for nothing. After all, the property is +probably better off in other hands. Now I have nothing in the world to +worry about but myself. <I>Bon voyage</I>, Mr. Fong! And my respects +to——" +</P> + +<P> +But San Toy Fong had departed. +</P> + +<P> +After an exasperating wait, a bell-boy brought to Peter a telegraphic +reply to his San Friole message, which read: +</P> + +<P> +"Take the twelve-thirty train. Will meet you at station." +</P> + +<P> +And it was signed by Eileen Lorimer. +</P> + +<P> +Peter was again conscious of his diminishing funds when he peeled off a +bill at the railroad ticket-window and paid the round-trip fare. But +any thoughts upon his possible financial embarrassment were set aside +as the train rolled out into the open country, and his mind pictured +his reception at the hands of the young woman who meant quite as much +to him as life. +</P> + +<P> +He pictured a dozen greetings, each different and each the same, with +Eileen in every case weeping with joy at beholding him, and wrapping +her slim, warm arms about his neck. +</P> + +<P> +He became more nervous and excited as the villages passed by, and +presently the trim concrete structure lettered in gold and black as San +Friole came into sight around a curve. +</P> + +<P> +Alighting, he gave his grips to a boy with instructions to have them +checked; and he looked eagerly among the crowd of students for the +lovely face of Eileen. +</P> + +<P> +At length he discovered her, and simultaneously she must have +discovered him; for she elbowed her way through the mob, flushed and +breathless, and seized his hands, looking at him with eyes that seemed +to glow. +</P> + +<P> +And to Peter the Brazen she was quite the same Eileen as the girl of a +year ago; no older, and quite as lovely, with the same pretty flush in +her cheeks, the same rosebud mouth, the same sweet and lovable +expression. +</P> + +<P> +The little speech he had prepared on the train would not leave his +lips; and he could only look, with the color heating his cheeks, as +Eileen smiled tenderly and a little meekly, as she had smiled when they +parted at the consulate in Shanghai over a year before. +</P> + +<P> +He began to realize, even as he considered and reconsidered his motive, +that she was mutely begging him not to kiss her at this time. Perhaps +the pressure of her fingers, a subtle pressure away from her instead of +toward her, gave him this understanding. +</P> + +<P> +He became aware gradually of another presence, as he was jostled from +this side to that by other new arrivals, conscious of the sidelong look +that Eileen was giving another man. +</P> + +<P> +With a slight feeling of resentment, Peter examined this interloper, +finding himself gazing into the unfriendly, tanned face of a man of +about his own age, with keen, sharp, brown eyes, a dimple in his chin, +and a thick, blue book under his arm. Through a maze Peter heard his +name spoken, then the words "Professor Hodgson;" and he found himself +shaking hands briskly with the invader. +</P> + +<P> +Then Peter excused himself, returning with the baggage-checks, and he +discovered both Eileen and Professor Hodgson examining him with the +frank curiosity that one might bestow upon some wandering minstrel, a +foreigner, an alien. He felt, as the odd member of any triangle is +sure to feel, that he was a lone bird; that Eileen and her glowering +professor were drawn together by some bond unknown to him, but whose +nature he warmly resented. +</P> + +<P> +And thus began the crumbling of the rosy crystalline little world that +Peter had created for the sole occupation of Eileen Lorimer. +</P> + +<P> +As the three walked slowly down the station platform, he felt the +tension, the exaggerated repugnance, which any outdone suitor is bound +to feel toward his successful rival. He felt sick and useless, and +somehow he wished he was back aboard the train again. He had blown his +dream-bubble, rapturously contemplating the shining, dancing, +multicolored surface as it expanded and became of size. And this +bubble had been rudely pricked. +</P> + +<P> +He felt Eileen's light hand upon his arm, and he heard her voice +suddenly become weighted with feminine importance. She was saying: +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Moore and I have a great deal to talk over. You will excuse me, +won't you, until to-night?" +</P> + +<P> +Professor Hodgson, frowning, nodded courteously. "Perhaps Mr. Moore +would like to go, if he cares to stag it. I'm afraid every girl in +town has been invited by now." +</P> + +<P> +"Stag what?" queried Peter in a dry voice. +</P> + +<P> +"There's to be a St. Valentine's ball to-night," enthused the girl. +"St. Valentine's Day is the fourteenth, you know. I'm sure you'd enjoy +it! You'll go, won't you?" +</P> + +<P> +"But—but——" stammered Peter. "I had hoped that you and I could +spend the evening by ourselves." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, but I couldn't do that!" cried Eileen, with reproach in her big, +gray eyes. "Professor Hodgson invited me ages ago! Can't we talk this +afternoon and to-morrow. I'll cut classes all day. Please go! I'll +give you every other dance! The professor won't mind. He's an old +dear!" +</P> + +<P> +The old dear frowned a shade more darkly, and Peter derived some +encouragement from the sign. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll go on that condition," said Peter gaily. "Every other dance with +Miss Lorimer!" +</P> + +<P> +"That's fine!" Professor Hodgson rejoined. "Have you a costume?" +</P> + +<P> +"Your wireless uniform!" cried Eileen. "You look wonderful in that!" +</P> + +<P> +Professor Hodgson was preparing to remove his dour look from their +vicinity. "I'll be around at eight," he said. "See you later, Mr. +Moore." +</P> + +<P> +"So-long!" Peter retorted affably, and Eileen squeezed his arm ever so +lightly. +</P> + +<P> +"I want to talk to you all afternoon!" she declared with her adorable +smile, when the professor was out of earshot. "Shall we take a +car-ride?" +</P> + +<P> +They climbed into the front seat of an open car, and Peter was glad +when the girl linked her arm through his and snuggled close to his side. +</P> + +<P> +"I want you to tell me everything from the very beginning," she said +with a bright smile. "I want to know why you left me so suddenly in +Shanghai. I had a hundred questions to ask. You were mean!" +</P> + +<P> +"You can begin wherever you please," said Peter amiably. +</P> + +<P> +"Then, why," demanded Eileen, giving him a hungry little look, "didn't +you let me stay in Shanghai?" +</P> + +<P> +"Because I was in love with you," Peter replied abruptly. "You were in +danger. So was I. I wanted to get you out of China as quickly as +possible, because, you see, my dear, the man who had his agents kidnap +you, and who was having you transported to China on the <I>Vandalia</I>, +would have recaptured you without difficulty. Do you mind if I tell +you, Eileen, that it broke my heart when I realized that we wouldn't +see one another for goodness knows how long a time?" +</P> + +<P> +Eileen glanced pensively at the green lawns and the flower-gardens +which flowed past the car, and her eyes returned to his face with a +question in them. Her hand snuggled into his. +</P> + +<P> +"Tell me the truth, Peter. You thought I was just an innocent, +helpless little thing, now didn't you? You said to yourself, 'I'll get +myself into all sorts of trouble with her on my hands.' Didn't you say +that to yourself, Peter?" +</P> + +<P> +"I did. You're right. You were not made for that place. If you'll +let me, I'll tell you what you were made for." +</P> + +<P> +"You needn't," said Eileen with a sigh. "Because I know. You are +going to tell me that I am just the right size for a bungalow for two, +of which you are the second, and that I need some big man like yourself +to have around, to shield and protect me, to smooth and round off the +sharp corners of this harsh old life." +</P> + +<P> +"How did you guess?" gasped Peter. +</P> + +<P> +"Maybe your eyes said that when you told me to go home that day, and +maybe other men have told me the same thing! Anyway, that is what you +have come here to tell me—or haven't you?—that you are all ready now +to leave behind the terribly wicked and adventurous life you've been +leading, and settle down, and live respectably forever after! Isn't +that the truth?" +</P> + +<P> +"You're something of a mind-reader." +</P> + +<P> +"No, I'm not. But I have sense. Peter, I still think, just as I +thought that terrible night when you slid down the rope from the +<I>Vandalia</I> with me dangling from your neck, that dreadful night on the +Whang-poo in the fog, that you're the finest and bravest man on earth. +That's why I let you make love to me on the bund; because—well, +because I wanted you to come back!" +</P> + +<P> +"In return," Peter responded with enthusiasm, "I have kept you next to +my heart all of that time, thinking of you every time I felt +discouraged, looking upon you always as a refuge, exactly as you say, +when China got the best of me." +</P> + +<P> +"Has China got the best of you, Peter?" +</P> + +<P> +"It has! I was chased out of the Yellow Empire with a broken arm, by +agents of the same man who tried to kidnap you. I removed the splints +only this morning. Since I saw you, I have paid a visit to the +dreadful red city where you were being taken, escaped, and made my way +through India and the Straits Settlements and back to Hong Kong." +</P> + +<P> +"And they shot you!" +</P> + +<P> +He nodded, and she shivered again, while the fingers against his palm +stirred. +</P> + +<P> +"I've put China behind me forever, I hope, and now, a little older, a +little wiser, and very weary, I've come to lay the same worthless old +heart at your dear little feet!" +</P> + +<P> +"And the worthless old feet will have to kick the dear, big heart +aside," said Eileen sadly. "Oh, Peter," she exclaimed, suddenly +contrite as she saw the look of pain that came into his face, "you know +I wouldn't hurt you for anything in the world! But I am in earnest, +deadly in earnest, Peter! I refuse positively to have you consider me +any longer as a poor, helpless, clinging little thing, made only to be +petted and protected! I'm not like that, Peter! If you'd only +written, I would have told you. You're not afraid of anything in the +world; nor am I! I love adventure quite as much as you do, Peter, and +the moment you told me, back there in Shanghai, that I must hurry home +because it wasn't safe, I made up my mind that I would equip myself to +go into some of those wonderful adventures with you! Professor +Hodgson, the Chinese language professor, is an expert shot with a +revolver, and I've wheedled him into giving me lessons. That's for +self-protection. Then the Japanese woman who is general chambermaid in +my rooming-house is teaching me jiu-jitsu. +</P> + +<P> +"In addition to that, I'm studying for a doctor's degree. When the +course is finished I am going to join you in China. We'll invade that +dreadful mining city alone, just you and I, and we'll make it the most +wonderful place in China! You see, Peter, I intend to be a medical +missionary; and you won't have to worry your dear old brain about me +the least bit. If you won't take me, I'll go by myself!" +</P> + +<P> +"Sweetheart," Peter declared with difficulty, "you are talking through +your hat!" +</P> + +<P> +She shrugged and smiled. "Won't you take me?" +</P> + +<P> +"You know I'd fetch you the man in the moon if you wanted him badly +enough!" +</P> + +<P> +"And you'll get that silly old notion of a bungalow for two out of your +head?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'll try. It will be a hard job. And, Eileen——" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, Peter?" +</P> + +<P> +"You don't care about this Professor Hodgson, do you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, no, Peter! Once or twice he's tried to make love, and you could +see, couldn't you, how furious he was when we left him?" +</P> + +<P> +"I thought my goose was cooked," sighed Peter. +</P> + +<P> +"Silly old goose!" said Eileen, squeezing his thumb. +</P> + +<P> +With shaken but immeasurably higher notions of this girl, whose +appealing gray eyes suffocated him with longing, Peter helped his +charge to alight when the end of the car line was reached, and at her +suggestion they tramped through the blossoming California fields, back +to the village, talking seriously most of the way upon that ardent +subject which lay warmly upon both of their young hearts. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0217"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XVII +</H3> + +<P> +There was a noticeable ripple when Eileen Lorimer walked into the +ballroom that evening in the winsome attire of a Quaker maid, with +Professor Hodgson, as Pierrot, on one side, and the tall, commanding +figure of Peter the Brazen, in a spick-and-span white-and-gold uniform +of the Pacific Mail Line, on the other. +</P> + +<P> +For Peter the Brazen, in any garb, was that type of man at whom any +normal woman would have looked twice—or, if only once, just twice as +long. +</P> + +<P> +Knotted about his lean waist was a flaunting blue sarong. The sarong +gave to his straight, white figure the deft touch of romance. It +verified the adventurous blue of his deep-set eyes, and the stubborn +outward thrust of his tanned, smooth-shaven jaw. +</P> + +<P> +When the young women of Eileen's acquaintance, to whom had been +whispered some of the details of this man's thrilling past, crowded +about for introductions, Peter had little difficulty in filling the +remaining half of his program. +</P> + +<P> +And when the music started for the second event Peter recovered his +flushed and glowing Quaker maiden from the reluctant arms of Professor +Hodgson, upon whom had fallen, like a dark shroud, a gloom heavy and +profound, and the man who had that morning said good-by forever to +China and the wireless game and to ships and the sea, found himself +floating in and out upon a sea of gold, with a sprite from elf-land +dazzling him with her rosebud smile. +</P> + +<P> +He would have liked to shock their beholders then and there by kissing +her squarely upon that smile! And all the while, from the side line, +Professor Hodgson, the professor of Chinese, watched their every +movement with a face as long and as gray as an alley in the fog. +</P> + +<P> +A little later in the evening, when Peter looked for his partner, a +Miss Somebody or Other, whose penciled name had been smudged on his +program so that it had become an unintelligible blue, he looked in vain. +</P> + +<P> +He looked then among the dancers for the face of his Quaker maiden, +and, unable to see her in the syncopating throng, elected to hunt for +her, despite the known fact that she was in the company of his defeated +rival, the professor. +</P> + +<P> +Peter searched the refreshment room futilely, and decided that the pair +had probably retired to the palm garden, where Eileen was possibly +engaged to the best of her ability in soothing the ruffled feelings of +her revolver and Chinese instructor. +</P> + +<P> +As Peter parted the golden velvet hangings which shrouded the entrance +to the dimly lighted conservatory, he espied a half-dozen couples +disposed on as many small benches under the drooping fronds in varied +attitudes of tête-à -tête. +</P> + +<P> +The curtains fell in alignment behind him; he caught the angry glare of +two brown eyes from a bench, and realized that Eileen's versatile +professor was not yet pacified. At Professor Hodgson's side, with her +back toward Peter, was a young woman attired in Quaker costume. Her +head was not intimately close to that of the young professor; but it +was close. +</P> + +<P> +As Peter started to cross the waxed floor to her side, he saw Hodgson's +head dip low; saw the girl apparently yield herself into his arms; and +as Peter stopped, stock-still, he saw the long arms of the professor +wrap themselves about the slim shoulders, drawing the hidden face +toward him until the lips met his. +</P> + +<P> +In that dreadful instant the heart of Peter the Brazen deliberately +skipped a beat. Black swam into his eyes, and he trembled, then became +stiff, as his gaze was glued to that ghastly pantomime. He hesitated, +then leaped across the intervening distance. +</P> + +<P> +Both Eileen and her professor leaped up. +</P> + +<P> +Her face was white, and her fingers clutched in convulsion at her +throat; but Peter's face was equally as white and strained as hers. +</P> + +<P> +He stared in pain and utter disbelief, while a smile slowly crept over +the features of Eileen's professor. She seemed about to faint, and +sank back, with eyes tightly closed, against Hodgson's breast. +</P> + +<P> +Peter tried to speak, but a moment passed before he could find words. +</P> + +<P> +"Eileen—Eileen," he muttered, "you said—you told me—oh, God!" +</P> + +<P> +He wheeled and dashed out of the hall, as he proposed to dash out of +her life, with terrible, sinking thoughts in his brain, and his heart +pounding dismally against his ribs. He recovered his coat and hat in +the cloak-room. +</P> + +<P> +Hardly had he vanished than Eileen, recovering slowly from her daze, +sprang after. But Hodgson detained her, gripping her arm. +</P> + +<P> +She seemed to realize for the first time what had been done, and to the +profound astonishment of the several round-eyed couples, she wiped her +hand fiercely across her mouth, the recent repository of the +professor's sudden and unexpected kiss. +</P> + +<P> +"You—beast!" she stammered. "You—you saw him come in! How dared +you! How dared you! I thought you were a—gentleman—you—you beast!" +</P> + +<P> +Her professor merely grinned, as though the tragedy were a comedy of +the most amusing order. +</P> + +<P> +"One stolen kiss——" he chuckled. +</P> + +<P> +And Eileen slapped him smartly across the mouth. She started to bolt +for the door, but he dragged her back, clinging to her struggling hand. +"You—one of that band!" she cried. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, let me apologize," he laughed, rubbing the red mark about his +mouth with his free hand. "If your hero resents my robbing him of one +stingy, little kiss—— Band? What band?" But there was no question +in his eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Stop him!" cried Eileen shrilly. "Oh, please, somebody call him back!" +</P> + +<P> +A sophomore, always willing to aid a lady in distress, sprang to the +chase, and Eileen, breaking loose, stumbled after him out upon the +dance floor. A waltz was under way, and the floor was jammed. +</P> + +<P> +They tried to break through, but were thrust aside by laughing dancers, +who seemed to take this to be a new and diverting game. +</P> + +<P> +They tried again, and now Professor Hodgson, smiling blandly, came upon +the scene and interposed further interference. Dodging past him and +narrowly avoiding collision with a whirling couple close to the wall, +Eileen scurried down the side in the direction of the cloakroom, with +big, hot tears burning down her flushed cheeks. +</P> + +<P> +When she reached the cloak-room she searched it in anxious haste for +the Marconi cap, the light-blue overcoat. Both were missing. +</P> + +<P> +With the sophomore atow, and conscious of the romantic nature of his +errand, she ran into the moonlit street, looking up and down the +black-shadowed sidewalk for signs of the straight, tall figure. +</P> + +<P> +Down the street, perhaps a quarter of a mile distant, she made out the +motionless streamer of lights of a train, the San Francisco train. +</P> + +<P> +With her gray Quaker dress flapping, and the clutter of white +petticoats hindering the rhythm of her knees and ankles, Eileen sped +down the middle of the road with the excited sophomore bringing up a +mad rear. +</P> + +<P> +The fate of her life lay in the train's waiting. She knew what Peter +Moore would do. And if she could not stop him, she would be nothing +less than his murderer. Had the evidences of her apparent infidelity +been less damning she knew that Peter Moore would have waited, would +have listened to her explanation, and believed her. +</P> + +<P> +If she could only reach the train, she could tell him, could compel him +to wait, and thereupon have it out with that cad Hodgson. It would be +folly to pursue by later train, because Peter, as was customary with +that young philanderer, had neglected to leave his forwarding address. +</P> + +<P> +But Eileen never reached the train. The engine screamed scornfully +when she was less than a block distant. The red and green tail-lights +were dwindling away along the throbbing rails when she arrived at the +station. +</P> + +<P> +The night had swallowed up her love and her high hopes. Before long, +miles, and thousands of miles, would soon stretch between her and her +lover. +</P> + +<P> +With a broken sob she wilted upon the station steps, while the +sophomore stood awkwardly above her, bursting with questions, +misty-eyed with youthful sympathy and fidgeting in acute discomfort. +</P> + +<P> +And thus was Peter the Brazen swept out of her life and into his next +adventure. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0218"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XVIII +</H3> + +<P> +At about five o'clock the next afternoon Peter, in his hotel bedroom, +called for a pitcher of ice-water, the major portion of which he +disposed of before considering the next move. +</P> + +<P> +Afternoon sunlight, entering by the single large window, mapped out a +radiant oblong of red on the heavy carpet. The long, insolent shriek +of a taxicab arose from the square. The bedroom was redolent of the +sour odor of last night's cigarette smoke. He had forgotten, for +perhaps the first time in his memory, to throw open the window upon +retiring. As he arose stiffly from the bed an empty brown bottle +bounded to the floor with a thump, and the latter riotous portion of +last evening came slowly back to him. He had decided to do something. +What had he made up his mind to do? He sat down on the edge of the bed +with his head in his hands and frowned. He remembered now. +</P> + +<P> +He was going back to China! +</P> + +<P> +With a throbbing head and a recurrence of the sticky feeling in his +mouth, he stripped off his pajamas, went into the bath-room, and +shivered and grunted under an icy shower for five minutes, by which +time some of the despondency which last night's affair had brought over +him was shaken, his headache was loosened a bit, his wits were more +clearly in hand, and the warm blood was shooting through him. +</P> + +<P> +After a brisk rub-down he dressed quickly—he had barely had time +enough to recover his suit-cases from the San Friole baggage-room when +he had fled—and put in a call for the Marconi office. +</P> + +<P> +Shortly he had the chief operator on the wire, and he explained briefly +that out-of-town business had interfered with his calling the day +before, but that he would drop around for a conference bright and early +the next morning. He added that he intended to take the <I>King of Asia</I> +back to China. +</P> + +<P> +When he entered the chief operator's cubicle, the chief operator looked +into the face of a man who had aged, a white, sad face, the face of a +man who had found the sample of life he had tasted to be a bitter +mouthful. +</P> + +<P> +"Back again, as I live!" he chirruped, pumping Peter's hand +exuberantly. "Where now, Peter?" +</P> + +<P> +"China," said Peter; "my old love, the <I>King of Asia</I>, sails to-morrow. +Can I have her?" +</P> + +<P> +"Sure thing! By the way, here's a special delivery letter for you in +the mail that hasn't been assorted—a nice square envelope. Looks to +me like a wedding invitation!" +</P> + +<P> +Peter examined the square, white envelope. +</P> + +<P> +A wedding invitation with a San Friole canceling stamp. +</P> + +<P> +Absently he dropped it into his pocket. +</P> + +<P> +Making his way to the St. Francis he found that San Toy Fong had +departed for parts unknown. So he sat down at a desk in the +writing-room, and penned a brief note, addressing it in care of Ah Sih +King. He knew that the letter would reach San Toy Fong as rapidly as a +grape-vine telegraph could deliver it to him. He knew that it would be +opened, coded and transmitted to the second coil of the vast, hidden +government, wherever he might be—from Singapore to Singapore. +</P> + +<P> +The import of that note was simply that he, Peter Moore, was returning +to China, and promised to interfere in no way with the band's +activities. If he should change his mind, he added, he would file +notice of such decision with the duly accredited agents of Len Yang's +monarch at the Jen Kee Road place, in Shanghai. +</P> + +<P> +The purple shoulders of the Golden Gate were sinking into the +silver-tipped waves when Peter, having despatched his clearance +message, left the tireless cabin for a look at the glorious red sunset +and a breath of the fresh Pacific air. +</P> + +<P> +A room steward, who had just ascended the iron ladder, approached, +touching his cap with a deferential forefinger. "A letter addressed to +you, sir. Found it in the corridor outside your stateroom. Must have +fallen from your pocket." +</P> + +<P> +The wedding invitation with a San Friole date-mark! +</P> + +<P> +With nerveless fingers Peter drew out, not an envelope, but a stiff +card. And he stared at the card in the red twilight, and groaned in +pain and astonishment. +</P> + +<P> +Have I said that this was St. Valentine's Day? In the color of the +dying sun, and painted carefully by hand, was a tiny heart, bleeding. +</P> + +<P> +And that was the only message. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="part3"></A> +<A NAME="chap0301"></A> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +PART III +</H2> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +THE GREEN DEATH +</H2> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER I +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"Oh! Chiang Nan's a hundred li, yet in a moment's space<BR> +I've flown away to Chiang Nan and touched a dreaming face."<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 4em">—TS'EN-TS'AN.</SPAN><BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +A young man can get himself into trouble in China. He may refuse to +eat the food that is pushed into his mouth at a Chinese banquet by the +perfectly well-intentioned man sitting beside him. In that case he +will hardly do more than arouse the contempt of his beneficiary and his +host. He simply shows that he lacks good Chinese table manners, for at +a Chinese banquet it is proper to stuff food into your companion's +mouth, no matter how full his stomach may be. +</P> + +<P> +Another way to offend the Chinese is to refuse a gift. +</P> + +<P> +But these are minor things. The surest method to arouse the suspicion, +dislike and animosity of China is deliberately to keep your affairs +shrouded in mystery. Discuss your important business secrets in loud +shouts; no one will pay the slightest attention. But whisper +mysteriously in your friend's ear, and spies will attend you! Leave a +note-book filled with precious data plainly in view upon your +dressing-table, and your room-boy won't for the life of him peek into +it. Lock that same note-book away in a dressing-table drawer, and your +room-boy will move heaven and earth to find out what it's all about! +</P> + +<P> +The time of the day was mid-forenoon; the time of the year was spring. +The low, mournful voice of a temple gong floated across the race of +brown water. River <I>fokies</I>, on sampans and junks, were singing their +old work song, the Yo-ho—hi-ho! of the ancient river, as their naked, +broad backs bent to the sweeps. A pleasant breath of perspiring new +earth was drifting down the great stretch of yellow water on a light, +warm wind. +</P> + +<P> +Peter had taken his favorite stand on the upper-boat deck, where the +wireless shack was situated, with one hand wrapped loosely about a +davit guy, the other thoughtfully rattling a cluster of keys in his +pocket. +</P> + +<P> +Spring is for youth, and Peter was young; yet he did not reflect in any +way the mood of the new season. He felt gloomy and depressed. Life +seemed an empty, a dreary thing to Peter, because he could see himself +getting nowhere. +</P> + +<P> +In spite of the sweet candor of the young spring day, one of the first +sounds that came to his ears as he stood there, in the shadow of the +life-boat, was the brazen clamor of a death cymbal. One of China's +four hundred millions had died in the night; now his spirit was being +escorted to the seventh heaven of his blessed forefathers, by the death +cymbal, clashing with a sober din to drive the devils away from his +late abode. +</P> + +<P> +The shadow of the life-boat was rather unaccountably attenuated; Peter +turned around and looked into the bland, unsmiling face of Jen, a +Chinese deck-boy. Pig-tails were coming back in style again. About +six inches of wispy, purple-black braid extended downward from Jen's +white cap. His face was quite yellow, and his eyes were green. An +understandable light came and flickered across their satiny surface as +Peter looked inquiringly into them. +</P> + +<P> +"Wanchee my?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +The deck-boy took a cautious and all inclusive look of the broad, gray +deck, bending head to look past the giant funnels, the first of which +stood about twenty feet forward of them. +</P> + +<P> +"Stay allatime on <I>King Asia</I>?" inquired the Chinese, moiling his hands +together and bowing slightly. +</P> + +<P> +Peter gave him a blue-eyed, indolent stare. +</P> + +<P> +"Maybe. Maybe not," he said. "What's on your mind, Jen?" +</P> + +<P> +"You tell me what going do," replied the yellow one meaningly. "Can +do?" +</P> + +<P> +"Mebbe can do," replied Peter, folding his hands. "You run up to the +place on Jen Kee Road as soon as you catchee sampan. Tell man-man if I +decide to do anything I will drop in and tell him. You don't know, +Jen, but he knows that my word is good. If I decide to go up-river +I'll tell man-man. If I decide to do nothing, I'll say nothing to +man-man." +</P> + +<P> +"Allee light, allee light," said Jen, backing away a few steps. "You +tell man-man, eh?" +</P> + +<P> +As Peter watched the retreating skinny shoulders bob up and down as +they went away from him toward the after ladder, he felt just a little +more undecided than he had five minutes earlier. He went into the +wireless-room, to straighten up the apparatus before locking the door +for the visit in Shanghai. +</P> + +<P> +As he was locking the tool-box—the Chinese river thieves would steal +anything they could lay hands on—he heard his name called in a silvery +voice accompanied by a man's pleasant laugh, and he went out on deck to +find that Mr. Andover, with the twins in tow, was all dressed up for a +trip ashore. +</P> + +<P> +The twins and Anthony Andover were passengers, bound on a sight-seeing +trip through the East, and as Peter Moore was a very impressionable +young man, it is only natural that the twins be discussed first, in +virtue of their loveliness. +</P> + +<P> +Peter had first contemplated Peggy and Helen Whipple in the <I>King of +Asia's</I> dining-room. It would have been a rather impossible thing not +to see Peggy and Helen Whipple, if you were young, and with fair +eyesight. +</P> + +<P> +At the first dinner after leaving the Golden Gate Peter had gone into +the dining-room rather early, as he skipped tiffin (by reason of an +empty pocket) and was ravenously hungry. +</P> + +<P> +He had looked up over his first spoonful of mulligatawny à la Capron to +meet the clear, undistilled, brown-eyed gaze of Peggy Whipple, who had +seated herself at the captain's table. In that liquid, brown-eyed gaze +had lurked a sparkle of mischief, a slightly arrogant look of +inquisitive scrutiny, and perhaps a playful invitation. +</P> + +<P> +As Peggy Whipple gave him that mischievous, liquid-brown glance when he +was in the act of lifting a level soupspoonful to his lips, he did not, +as a man might do under the circumstances, spill the soup upon the +tablecloth, or back into the dish; nor did he pause in the work of +lifting the liquid to his mouth. +</P> + +<P> +He did not have to look at the spoon to guide its passage to his mouth. +Without spilling a drop, he captained the spoon to its destination, +maintaining his clear, deep-blue eyes upon the beautiful brown ones of +the young passenger. And, without lowering his eyes once, he lifted +the loaded spoon up twice in succession. +</P> + +<P> +This skillful management brought a smile to the pretty face of the +girl. Perhaps she had expected him to spill the soup under her glance; +it was to be expected; more than probably the thing had happened in +past episodes of Peggy, for she was distractingly fair to look upon, +and her turned-up nose should have disarmed any man. +</P> + +<P> +Her hair was golden and sleek and drawn back straight from her low, +white forehead and knotted together in the back, calling attention to a +neck that was slim and beautifully proportioned. Pink and white and +gold described her. She seemed to bristle with a sort of fidgety +energy, as if she had so much youth and loveliness stored up in her +that she had a tremendous time keeping it all within bounds. +</P> + +<P> +After Peter had slowly, but not at all insolently or impudently, taken +all of this in, in the time required to stow away three heaping +spoonfuls of mulligatawny à la Capron, by dead reckoning, she looked +away from him with a little pout. +</P> + +<P> +Peter followed her glance. He had not noticed the other girl before. +It was evident that they were of the same blood, but the other girl +seemed older. She, too, had sprung from a brown-eyed ancestry, and +she, too, was blond and pink and lovely, with the prettiest fingers and +finger-nails Peter had seen for some time. +</P> + +<P> +Her glance, arising to meet his, was brown and very calm; unlike her +sister, she appeared to be grave, more of the deliberate, thoughtful +type. +</P> + +<P> +It was in the shop of a Japanese silk merchant on Motomatchi Chome that +he had met them for the first time. Several times on the trip across +he had passed them on the deck, always escorted by proud young men. +</P> + +<P> +They were the most popular girls on shipboard. Beauty rarely travels +in pairs; these were unusual twins. +</P> + +<P> +Once, as Peter was swinging down the ladder from topside, he came upon +Peggy alone, looking rather blue. It may have been that she was simply +in repose; and the contrast gave him that impression. Her eyes +dreamingly encountered his, and the mischievous light flickered in them +and instantly went out. +</P> + +<P> +She ran her eyes down the white uniform with the gold emblems of his +profession at the lapels, dropped her eyelids demurely, and seemed to +wait. He hesitated, and she stood still; but he passed on, leaving her +staring after him with a little pout. Obviously the twins had traveled +much! +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0302"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER II +</H3> + +<P> +It was on the night that the <I>King of Asia</I> cleared Nagasaki for the +short run across the Yellow Sea into the flow of the Yangtze-Kiang that +Peter was sought out by that pleasant young man, Anthony Andover. +</P> + +<P> +Ordinarily passengers were not allowed in the sacred quarters of the +wireless house. However, those who possessed daring spirits came up +anyway. Peggy Whipple came up there soon after that meeting on deck, +with permission from nobody, and Peter gave her about fifteen minutes +of his extremely important time on the average of nine times a day, +permitting her to adorn the extra chair in the wireless shack, where +she unconsciously revealed in her sudden and unexpected shiftings of +posture, several inches of adorable silken ankle. I think Peggy was +sadly in need of an elderly chaperone, and I am somehow under the +impression that Peggy very badly wanted Peter to make love to her. How +he resisted her speaks volumes for his quaint, mid-Victorian views +regarding woman. +</P> + +<P> +And at the end of the fifteen minutes, after regaling her with tales of +the lands she was about to visit, he dismissed her, kindly but with +great firmness, and she was as obedient as a lamb. +</P> + +<P> +Anthony Andover, who knew more about plows perhaps than the Egyptians, +gave him something else to think about. He looked up from his +instruments that evening to see a young man of medium height, slim of +build, and rather pale and sharp of mien. +</P> + +<P> +"My name is Anthony Andover," he said in a brisk and business-like +voice. "I wonder if I could have a talk with you." +</P> + +<P> +Peter told him to sit down, and he removed the heavy nickeled +head-pieces from his ears. He expected an important radio from the +Shanghai Station; but that could wait. He wondered what Anthony +Andover might have on his mind. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Moore, I'm in something of a devil of a fix, and I think you're +the man who can get me out of it." +</P> + +<P> +"Shoot," said Peter, lighting a yellow cigarette and passing the box. +"Chinks?" Trouble to Peter always meant Chinks; they were his symbol +of danger. +</P> + +<P> +"No, no! You see, all of my life I've been—well, a city man. The +biggest adventure I ever had was a fist fight with my foreman. Now——" +</P> + +<P> +"Did you lick him?" asked Peter with concern. +</P> + +<P> +Anthony nodded reminiscently. "Blacked his eyes and busted his nose!" +</P> + +<P> +"Good for you! Go ahead with your story." +</P> + +<P> +"I've met a girl on the steamer, and according to her way of looking at +things, I lack about five thousand different parts of being a hero. +You know the girl. That's why I'm bothering you like this." +</P> + +<P> +"Not bothering me a bit. Who's the girl?" +</P> + +<P> +"Peggy." Anthony caressed the word as if it were honey. "Peggy +Whipple. Of course, the first thing I want to make sure of is, am I +stepping on anybody's toes? If I am, I'll just go ahead, and play my +own game my own way. If it's to be a case of a fight——" +</P> + +<P> +"Hold on a moment," interrupted Peter. "I don't quite follow you. +Whose toes do you think you're stepping on?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, Peggy comes up here to the wireless shack so much, that I—I——" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, not a bit of it, old man. Peggy's a nice girl. I like her. +That's all." +</P> + +<P> +"I—I'm mighty glad," said Anthony earnestly. "You know, she's pretty +mad about you, but as long as you're not interested the way I am, +well——" He bit his lip nervously, and went on: "I think you'd agree +with me that it would be rather foolish of her, and very disappointing +and disillusioning later on for her to marry the kind of a man she +thinks she wants to marry. She has a notion that the man she marries +must be a cross between Adonis, and—and Diamond Dick! She wants a man +who carries six-shooters in all his pockets, and who fears neither God, +man, nor the devil!" +</P> + +<P> +"A regular hell buster!" +</P> + +<P> +"That's it! Down in her heart I think she cares for me a little bit. +But I'm nothing but a plain, ordinary business man. I never did +anything devilish in my life. There's nothing romantic about me. Look +at this necktie! Did you ever see a hero wearing a plain black +four-in-hand? Never! Did you ever see a hero wearing nice tan oxfords +without a spot of mud on them? If I can somehow manage to make her +think for a few minutes that I've got heroic stuff in me, she may +listen to a little sense. She tells me—rather she threw it in my +face—that you are going to take Helen and her on a sight-seeing trip +into some of the darkest holes in Shanghai. You know the ropes, and +there's no danger, of course." +</P> + +<P> +"None at all," said Peter. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I want to know if you'll let me go along. I'll stand every +expense; I've got money to burn! Let me in on it, and——" +</P> + +<P> +"But there isn't going to be a chance for anybody to be a hero. I'm +going to take those girls to the safest place in Shanghai. A New +England church would be a cavern of iniquity alongside of it!" +</P> + +<P> +Anthony laid his fingers along his knees. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, couldn't you stir up something? That's my idea. I'll leave it +to you to crack up some danger, not real danger, of course—we can't +let those girls get near any real danger. But we can start a fake +fight—or something—and give me a chance to play the hero, to rescue +Peggy in my arms; that sort of stuff, you know." He looked at Peter +foolishly. +</P> + +<P> +Peter stroked his nose. "It might be done," he said. "I'll see what I +can do." +</P> + +<P> +Anthony arose, extended his hand, and said: "Of course, I'll need a +revolver." +</P> + +<P> +"Load it with blanks," advised Peter. "You know, some people think +it's bad luck to kill a Chink." +</P> + +<P> +Anthony was eyeing him curiously. "Do you?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +Peter nodded his head slowly. "Sometimes," he said. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0303"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER III +</H3> + +<P> +Anthony and the twins called for Peter as soon as they could tear +themselves away from the many fascinating incidents attendant upon +coming to an anchorage in the Whang-poo-Kiang. +</P> + +<P> +It was late in the afternoon when the first company tug came down-river +from Shanghai for passengers. And it was nearly dusk, the golden-brown +evening of China, when they were decanted upon the public landing stage +at the International Concession. +</P> + +<P> +Anthony was for going directly to the Hotel Astor for dinner, but at +Peter's suggestion he and the twins boarded a street-car for the ride +to Bubbling Wells. +</P> + +<P> +Peter stood for a number of moments in indecision as the Bubbling Wells +tram went up the bund with the slow flood of victorias, rickshaws, and +wheelbarrows. It was now about seven o'clock, with the sun hidden +under a horizon of dull bronze. Street lights were coming on, +twinkling in a long silver serpent along the broad thoroughfare, rising +in a grotesque hump over the Soochow bridge, and becoming lost in the +American quarter. +</P> + +<P> +He would meet Anthony and the twins in the dining-room. Whoever got +there first would wait. He expected to be there long before his three +friends came back from Bubbling Wells. +</P> + +<P> +A rickshaw coolie was wheedling him at his elbow but he paid no +attention. His eyes were searching the street. It took him several +seconds to reconcile himself to the fleeting apparition. What was this +girl doing in Shanghai? +</P> + +<P> +The rickshaw had passed, proceeding at unabated speed in the direction +of Native City. +</P> + +<P> +The rickshaw boy was still making guttural sounds, softly plucking at +his sleeve. The shafts of the rickshaw were close to his feet. But +Peter was still undecided. +</P> + +<P> +"Allee right," said Peter, briskly. "French concession." +</P> + +<P> +That was the direction in which the other rickshaw was headed. +</P> + +<P> +He climbed aboard, and they veered out into the north-bound traffic. +The girl in the rickshaw was about one block in the lead, and had no +intention evidently of accelerating her coolie's pace or of turning +back. She had left all decision to him, and his decision was to ask +her a few questions. +</P> + +<P> +His coolie trotted heavily, looking neither to the right nor left, with +his pigtail snapping from side to side, as his head bent low. +</P> + +<P> +"Follow <I>lan-sî</I> veil—savvy?" +</P> + +<P> +"My savvy," returned the coolie, heading toward the narrow alley of +filth and sputtering oil <I>dongs</I>, breathing the odor of refuse, of +cooking food. +</P> + +<P> +Peter's heart was beginning to respond to the excitement. Did she have +some message to convey to him that she could not trust to the openness +of the bund at the jetty? +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly the rickshaw ahead swerved sharply to the right into an alley +that was perfectly dark. Its single illumination was a pale-blue light +which burned before a low building set apart from the others at the far +end. +</P> + +<P> +Here the first rickshaw stopped. A ghostly figure seemed to float to +the ground. There was a clink of coins. A door opened, letting out a +wide shaft of orange light which spattered across the paving, +flattening itself against the grim wall of the building across the way. +</P> + +<P> +Peter caught the bronze glint of wires on the roof under a pale moon. +</P> + +<P> +He knocked sharply on the door, and stood to one side. It was a habit +he had learned from long experience—that trick of stepping to one side +when he knocked at a suspicious door. The door moved outward a few +inches. A long, yellow face, with a thick, projecting under lip, +peered out. Peter pushed the man aside and entered. +</P> + +<P> +He found himself in a low corridor of smoked wood, with fat candles +disposed along the walls at intervals of several yards, on a narrow, +lacquered rail. One of three doors was open. +</P> + +<P> +A match was struck, the head glowing in a semi-circle of sputtering +iridescence before the wood itself kindled. The hand holding the match +was trembling; the weak flame fluttered to such an extent that he was +denied momentarily a glimpse of the owner of the hand. +</P> + +<P> +A whisper was conveying an order to him. "Please shut the door, Mr. +Moore." +</P> + +<P> +He reached for the door and closed it firmly in the face of the man who +had let him into this place. +</P> + +<P> +When he turned, the trembling hand was applying the match flame to the +wick of an open lamp, a rather ornate <I>dong</I>. As the flame rose +higher, casting its steady, mild luminance, he caught a glitter of +metal, of polished rubber; one end of the room was almost filled with +machinery. +</P> + +<P> +"Romola Borria!" +</P> + +<P> +She seemed to have undergone a great change. The beautiful face that +had lured him once into the jaws of death was dominated now by a +wistful and tender sadness, as though this girl had gone through an +epoch of self-torture since they had last been together. +</P> + +<P> +Yet she was still beautiful; it was as if her beauty had been refined +in an intense fire. Her mouth was sad, her great brown eyes glowed +with an inexpressible sadness, and her face, once oval and proud, +seemed narrower, whiter, and, by many degrees, of a finer mold. +</P> + +<P> +She was examining him broodingly; there was a reluctant timidity in her +eyes; it was such a look as you may see years afterward in the woman +you once have cast aside for some other, perhaps not quite so worthy. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, you have found me, Peter," she said in a faint and tired voice, +coming slowly toward him. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," he admitted, lamely: "I saw you passing the jetty. I +followed—naturally. I have just come from America." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh." Her voice expressed no surprise. "You came for me, Peter?" +</P> + +<P> +"I thought you were dead," he confessed. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I am a hard one to kill!" A tiny smile flickered across her +fine lips. "You are not married—to Eileen?" +</P> + +<P> +"No—and never!" he said dully. +</P> + +<P> +"But you must be in love! You are always in love—with some one." +</P> + +<P> +"I am in love with no one." +</P> + +<P> +"Not even——" +</P> + +<P> +"I am in love with no one." +</P> + +<P> +"Nor am I," said Romola Borria quietly. It seemed to come from her as +a vast and reluctant confession. "I loved only one man, and my love +for him is quite dead. If I should rake over the embers—oh, but I +have raked them over, Peter, many, many times—and I have found not one +single small ember glowing! When love dies, you know, it requires a +great fire to rekindle it. Oh, I have suffered!" +</P> + +<P> +"He—is dead?" +</P> + +<P> +She smiled again, rather ironically. "Can a man live with a bullet in +his heart?" +</P> + +<P> +"I—I saw. I thought—but what does it matter what I thought?" He was +trying to inject some of his old spirit into his voice. It was rather +difficult, this business of laughing at the funeral of love. "Romola, +you are more beautiful!" +</P> + +<P> +"I have suffered," she said, in the same restrained voice. +</P> + +<P> +He turned away with a shrug. He, too, had suffered, but in a somewhat +different light. He was examining with a professional eye the heap of +apparatus which was arranged in splendid order along the back of the +small room. +</P> + +<P> +"I am studying. You see, Peter," she explained, in the same rather +recriminatory tones, "I was rather fond of you at one time——" +</P> + +<P> +"Romola, please——" +</P> + +<P> +"And because it was your profession I became interested in it. I heard +the message you sent last night—to—to the place on Jen Kee Road. I +was quite worried for a while." +</P> + +<P> +"That was why you happened along the bund about the time the boat came +up-river?" +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps." She smiled vaguely. +</P> + +<P> +"You wanted to find out if I still cared enough for you to——" +</P> + +<P> +"Follow me? Yes, Peter; I think that was why." +</P> + +<P> +"Then you didn't know I was on my way to China?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, Peter, I knew nothing." +</P> + +<P> +"Aren't you connected with my good friend, the man with the sea-lion +mustaches, in Len Yang?" +</P> + +<P> +Romola gave a short gasp. "I never was connected with him." +</P> + +<P> +"But you told me you were—back there on the <I>Persian Gulf</I>!" +</P> + +<P> +She shook her head slowly, with a gentle firmness. +</P> + +<P> +"No. I did not tell you that. I have seen him; yes. But I was never +in his employ. It was Emiguel Borria, my late and—may I say?—my +unlamented husband, who made me do those things. Peter——" +</P> + +<P> +Her attitude seemed to undergo some sort of subtle change, as if she +were bitterly amused. "You say you are not in love. Then what of the +little golden-haired girl—the two little golden-haired girls—you left +this afternoon on the bund?" +</P> + +<P> +"They and the young man are passengers on the <I>King of Asia</I>. I +brought them ashore to give them an insight into China-as-it-really-is." +</P> + +<P> +"They are in very capable hands, then, Peter. Aren't you running some +risk, though? Isn't there some chance that the men in the Jen Kee Road +place may take it into their heads——" +</P> + +<P> +"I am on my word of honor, Romola. I have come back to China, not to +start trouble, but simply because—well, why are you in China?" +</P> + +<P> +"Because I haven't the will to leave, perhaps. I stay here in the same +spirit that a man or a woman lingers before a dreadful oil painting, +like the shark picture of Sorolla; it is terrible, but it is +fascinating. I cannot leave. If I did, I would come back, as you come +back, time after time. Is that why you've come back?" +</P> + +<P> +"Exactly." +</P> + +<P> +"And you imagine you're running no risk with the two golden-haired +maids in tow?" +</P> + +<P> +Peter shook his head thoughtfully. "Perhaps I shouldn't have exposed +them to danger. But they were determined, and it's partly to help the +young man. Anthony is a plain American business man. He's in love +with the youngest. And she, a hero worshipper. He wants to +demonstrate himself." +</P> + +<P> +She interrupted in a whisper. "Peter, tell me, why is it? What have +you ever done? What do you say? Why—why is it?" +</P> + +<P> +Peter the Brazen was looking at her blankly. +</P> + +<P> +She made a gesture of resignation with her beautiful white hands. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, never mind. Tell me more about Anthony." +</P> + +<P> +"Anthony believes that if he can demonstrate his valor to Peggy, she +will come to his arms. He really is a fine, upstanding fellow. I had +intended bringing them to Ching Tong's place out Bubbling Wells way, +harmless enough and watched by the police of nine nations. Ching Tong, +being a friend who will put himself out for me, will play the part of a +very bad villain. Anthony's revolver is loaded with blanks. Mine +isn't, but that's just my cowardly nature. You can never tell what +might turn up, you know." +</P> + +<P> +"Naturally. Go on." +</P> + +<P> +"I intend to have Ching Tong stage a very realistic fight down in his +cellar, in which Anthony can overpower eight or ten Chink giants, +escape out of the window with the fainting Peggy in his arms, +and—and——" +</P> + +<P> +"Simple enough," admitted Romola, with a mild frown. She drew him to a +broad, low bench. "Somehow," she went on, "your idea rather appeals to +me, too. I liked Anthony's looks—what I saw of him. And I rather +liked the two little girls—twins, aren't they?" +</P> + +<P> +Peter nodded. "The heavenly twins!" +</P> + +<P> +"I think I'd quite agree with that plan, Peter, if you didn't happen to +be in such disrepute in this neighborhood. You must realize that the +Gray Dragon's men are watching you. Of course, you didn't recognize +your rickshaw coolie. He is one of the Gray Dragon's men—naturally. +Don't you think you are exposing those two nice girls unnecessarily to +danger?" +</P> + +<P> +Peter lighted two cigarettes, and passed one of them to Romola. She +accepted it with an air of abstraction and puffed slowly, blowing out a +thin stream of pale smoke. +</P> + +<P> +"But circumstances are changed now. You see, I am on the +fence—perfectly safe." +</P> + +<P> +"They are still anxious for you to come with them?" +</P> + +<P> +"That's it. They sent a representative last trip all the way to San +Francisco." +</P> + +<P> +"Of course you refused? Peter——" Her soft, white hand was resting +on his; her red lips were very close to his face. "Why don't you join +them? You and I!" +</P> + +<P> +"You and I?" +</P> + +<P> +She nodded earnestly. +</P> + +<P> +Peter drew back a few inches. "I said 'no' when you asked me that +before. No, I'll have nothing to do with that band—never! Going out +into the wilderness, up into the mountains on some of their risky +errands—with you—might have appealed to me. Not now!" +</P> + +<P> +"Peter, I am afraid I still love you!" +</P> + +<P> +"And yet, Romola, I'm not afraid of falling in love with you—again! +But let's not speak of joining that man in Len Yang. What you're +offering is—too tempting. I might give in! You are altogether too +fascinating!" +</P> + +<P> +"Am I?" +</P> + +<P> +"I've told you that before." +</P> + +<P> +"Then you will go up-river with me?" +</P> + +<P> +"No—never! Why, you almost make me suspect that you're still in that +beast's employ." +</P> + +<P> +"I never was. I told you that." +</P> + +<P> +"You've said many things that didn't stand the acid, Romola." +</P> + +<P> +He stood up, looking down at her with whimsical tenderness. She was +very beautiful, and when she took on that forlorn air she had the +appearance of a helpless, small girl. He wondered if he would ever +regret his refusal. +</P> + +<P> +"Ching Tong must have time to make arrangements, and I have a dinner +engagement at the Astor House with Anthony and the heavenly twins. +Can't you and I have tea to-morrow afternoon?" +</P> + +<P> +Romola came to him and put her two hands on his shoulders. "No," she +said. "We must not be seen together. It may mean danger for you. +I've been thinking over your plan to convert Anthony into an +adventurer. Why not bring them all here. I have seven servants, all +Chinese, and they would give their lives for me. Let me see——" She +bit her upper lip thoughtfully. +</P> + +<P> +"You can tell them that this place is—well, the heart of the Chinese +smuggling trade. It's ridiculous, but it will appeal to them. I will +dress up as a Chinese woman—oh, I've done it dozens of times in the +past—and I shall be very mysterious. That will seem much more +romantic to Peggy than a mere opium den. And it will be safer. I know +Ching Tong's shop. It might do, if you were an ordinary person, Peter, +but such an adventure should be provided with at least five times as +many exits! I have them here." +</P> + +<P> +Peter looked at her doubtingly, although the idea appealed to him. +Outriding his admiration of the idea, however, was a recurrence of his +old impression of Romola Borria. He knew that he never had been a +match for her cunning, her esoteric knowledge of China. +</P> + +<P> +"I have plenty of make-up pots. I'll paint up these <I>fokies</I> to look +like bandits! I'll have knives in their belts. And I'll plan the +rehearsal before you come. Everything will be arranged." She seemed +to hesitate. "You—you won't bring that dreadful automatic revolver of +yours loaded—will you?" +</P> + +<P> +Peter smiled faintly. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0304"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER IV +</H3> + +<P> +A light spring rain was drizzling down when Peter ordered four +rickshaws of the proud Sikh who stood guard over the porte cochère of +the Astor House. Long bright knives of light slithered across the wet +pavement from the sharp arc lights on the Soochow bridge. The ghostly +superstructure of a large and silent junk was thrown in silhouette +against the yellow glow of a watchman's shanty across the dark canal, +as it moved slowly in the current toward the Yellow Sea. +</P> + +<P> +It was a desolate night. The streets were deserted except for an +occasional rickshaw with some mysterious bundled passenger, the +footfalls of the coolies sounding with a faint squashing as of drenched +sandals, slimy with the heavy sludge of the back-village streets. The +world was lonely and awash. +</P> + +<P> +Peter busied himself with Peggy's comfort when the first rickshaw, +dripping and wet, rattled up. He drew the waterproof robe up under her +chin and fastened the loops, then tucked it in under her feet. Her +cheeks were glowing with the pink of her excitement. +</P> + +<P> +Anthony meanwhile gave similar attention to the other twin. +</P> + +<P> +Peter glanced at his watch as they climbed in. He wondered how Anthony +might be taking his first and relatively unimportant lap of their +adventure, and he instructed his coolie, in "pidgin," to drop behind. +</P> + +<P> +Clear gray eyes shone with a confident reassurance. +</P> + +<P> +"You mustn't hit too hard, and be careful if you shoot your revolver to +discharge it in the air. At close range even the wads from the blank +cartridges are rather deadly." +</P> + +<P> +Anthony's clear voice came across to him: "Of course." +</P> + +<P> +They stopped at length before the rambling structure which was the +abode of Romola Borria. The lamp was extinguished, probably beaten out +long before by the pelting rain. Only a pale glow emanated from the +place, this from a tiny upstairs window, covered over with oiled paper, +and the only sounds were the ceaseless drip of the rain and the low +gibberings of the coolies as they examined the coins given them in the +greasy light of the rickshaw lanterns. +</P> + +<P> +Peggy, slipping her arm through Peter's and hugging him close to her, +trembled with the excitement of anticipation. +</P> + +<P> +"We must not be separated," he warned them in a whisper. "Whatever +happens—Peggy and Helen—stand close to us. In case of trouble, each +of you stand behind whichever of us is nearest. Don't scream. Don't +show any money. Peggy, put your pocketbook in your shirt-waist. +Now—ready?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes!" came the threefold whispering chorus. +</P> + +<P> +He raised his knuckles, and brought them down sharply—three times +rapidly, twice slowly. Silence followed, the bristling silence of an +aroused house. +</P> + +<P> +Slowly the door gave way, and a villainous-looking old Chinese in black +beckoned with a long snake-like finger for them to enter. +</P> + +<P> +Only two candles now were burning on the lacquered rail in the smoky +corridor. Curtains at the rear parted; there was a sweep of heavy +silken garments, and a white-faced and beautiful woman made her way +toward them. +</P> + +<P> +Deft employment of the make-up pot and painstaking searchings through a +great number of trunks had blended a picture that was all but +melodramatic. +</P> + +<P> +Romola Borria's wonderful dark hair was arranged in a great heap which +sloped backward from her head. Her face was chalk white, from a bath +in rice powder; her fine lips were curled in the most sinister of +smiles; and her eyes glowed with a splendid abandon. She looked +wicked; she radiated cruelty. +</P> + +<P> +And the twins gasped in sweet horror. It is probable that twin +trickles of icy excitement chased up and down their twin spines. +Anthony gaped, and his gray eyes expressed an unbounded infatuation. +</P> + +<P> +With a gracious stealth she moved beyond them, not once lowering her +magnificent eyes, and shot a huge brass bolt in the door. +</P> + +<P> +They formed an expectant, a worshipful semicircle. In a low voice +Peter made the introductions, dwelling at fastidious length upon the +tremendous villainy of this slender sorceress, who swept him all the +time with a proud and disdainful fire. She nodded stiffly at intervals. +</P> + +<P> +"The Princess Meng Da Tlang has a word to say to you." He bowed +profoundly. +</P> + +<P> +"It is only this," said Romola Borria in tones as rich as the Kyoto +temple gong, "what you have thus far seen, and what you are about to +gaze upon, must always—forever—remain a secret within your hearts. +Follow me." Romola, or the Princess Meng Da Tlang, floated down the +dim corridor with a further silken rustle of skirts, and drew back the +curtain at the far end. +</P> + +<P> +The quartette filed into a large and lofty room, flickering under the +pallid flames of candles. The wax dripping from some of these hung +like icicles or stalactites from the shallow bronze cups, and they +illuminated a scene that was bizarre. +</P> + +<P> +The walls were burdened with heavy rugs which responded with a waxen +sheen to the mystic light of the candles, and they were of the sombre +hues of the China that passed its zenith many centuries ago. They +served to give this place a solemn air of vast dignity and richness. +</P> + +<P> +Along the inner wall, placed so that it squarely commanded the doorway, +grinned a huge green image of Buddha, surrounded by a clutter of brass +candlesticks and mounted on a splendid throne of brass filigree +underneath which red flames were burning. +</P> + +<P> +The odor of costly incense was heavy and sweet, the smoke from a +brazier arising in a thin, motionless blue spar which, when it had +climbed up through the air for a distance of about four feet, broke +into a sort of turquoise fan and this drifted on up to the ceiling in +heavy wisps. The incense pot was very old, of black lacquer and brass, +greened with blotches of erosion. +</P> + +<P> +And above the green image of Buddha, before which the Princess Meng Da +Tlang was now kneeling and moaning in a faint voice, reposed a very +realistic skull and cross-bones. Across the forehead of this hideous +reminder of the hereafter was a deep green notch, attesting in all +probability to the cause of the luckless owner's death. +</P> + +<P> +"Please be seated—there," Romola requested. +</P> + +<P> +Her graceful, ivory-white arm indicated with a queenly gesture a +heavily carved ebony bench, and her guests filed expectantly to this +seat. +</P> + +<P> +Peggy, with a long sigh, dragged Peter into the corner. "I'm almost +scared. Oh, oh, isn't this simply romantic!" she whispered. +</P> + +<P> +Helen and Anthony gravely occupied the space on the other side of them. +The Princess Meng Da Tlang was moving gracefully toward the doorway +through which they had entered. +</P> + +<P> +"I—I'm really a little afraid!" whispered Peggy, with her lips so +close to Peter's ear that he could feel her warm breath against his +neck. "Put your arms around me—please!" Peter slipped his arm behind +her and around her. He squeezed her. "Oh," sighed Peggy, "this is +grand!" +</P> + +<P> +Helen gave her a sidelong look of surprise. "Peggy, I think you're +hardly discreet." +</P> + +<P> +"Let me die while I'm happy!" grinned Peggy. She turned a wistful face +to Peter. "Did you ever put your arm around another woman before?" she +whispered. +</P> + +<P> +"Heaven forbid!" groaned Peter. "Don't I act like an amateur?" +</P> + +<P> +"No; you don't!" +</P> + +<P> +Romola was holding back the curtains while a troop of four men, muddy +and wet, as if from long travel, moved silently into the large room. +</P> + +<P> +"Mongolian smugglers," Peter whispered. +</P> + +<P> +The four large men crossed the room with dignified tread, depositing +four small bundles wrapped in blue silk at the altar of Buddha. Then +they removed straw-matting rainproofs which dangled from their broad +shoulders to their muddy sandals. They were garbed in black silk and +fastened at the belt of each was a kris, curved and flashing where the +golden candle light skimmed along the whetted steel. +</P> + +<P> +After depositing their slight burdens they bowed low before the altar, +muttered deep in their throats, arose and salaamed gravely, until the +four pigtails flapped on the heavy blue rug at Romola's bare feet. She +wore no sandals, which was probably the custom among pirate princesses. +When the men were gone, Romola drew back a rug which hung close to the +altar, revealing a small cupboard flush with the wall. Even Anthony +looked at the black door and the brass hasp with his gray eyes round in +wonder and interest. +</P> + +<P> +After disposing of the four silken parcels, Romola addressed them in a +mysterious voice: "Those packages contain gems; diamonds, rubies, +pearls from the Punjab, from Bengali, from Burma." +</P> + +<P> +"Can we see them?" pleaded Helen in rapt tones. +</P> + +<P> +"Aw, please!" inserted Peggy in an angelic whisper. +</P> + +<P> +Romola raised both of her hands as if in horror. "They would tempt +even a saint," she muttered. +</P> + +<P> +"Be careful," warned Peter, laying his lips to Peggy's pink ear, "the +princess has a terrible temper. She has been known to strangle a man +for less than that!" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't believe it!" retorted Peggy. "I think the princess is just +too sweet for anything." +</P> + +<P> +Romola gave Peter a look of indolent inquiry. She arose abruptly. +</P> + +<P> +"You must have some of my spiced wine. It is really delicious. +<I>P'êng-yu</I> Moore, we won't bother the servants; won't you help me?" +</P> + +<P> +Peggy folded her hands demurely in her lap. "I hope it isn't +intoxicating," she murmured. +</P> + +<P> +Romola had moved graciously across the room, where in a bronze +jardinière protruded the dusty, slender necks of tall bottles. She +knelt before this. "Nearer," she whispered, as he followed suit. +"Peter, tell me——" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, Romola?" +</P> + +<P> +"What does this little girl mean to you?" +</P> + +<P> +Peggy's clear voice sounded: "Peter, my throat is dusty!" +</P> + +<P> +"In a minute, Peggy," he called back. Lowering his voice again: "She's +merely a child. But why——" +</P> + +<P> +"Peter, I've gone to more trouble to-night than you realize, +perhaps——" +</P> + +<P> +"What do you want me to do?" +</P> + +<P> +"I want you to stop making love to that innocent child." +</P> + +<P> +The innocent child's sweet voice was clamoring again. "Peter, the +Sahara Desert is a flowing river compared with my throat!" +</P> + +<P> +"All right, Peggy; in a minute." +</P> + +<P> +"You said once that you—loved me." +</P> + +<P> +"I still stand by my guns. But I don't love any one now. You're a +temptress, Romola. Why, you are a princess! I never saw you more +beautiful than to-night!" +</P> + +<P> +"Peter, can't you realize what a dreary life I've led since that night +you ran away from me in Hong Kong? Won't you—for me—because I want +it—because I want <I>you</I>—reconsider, won't you stop, and think, +and——" +</P> + +<P> +"We're getting back to forbidden grounds, Romola." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, God! I know, I know! But what is there left in my life? Why, +what is there left in yours? Perhaps you are the best operator on the +whole Pacific Ocean; you've had that reputation now—how long—five +years? But it is aimless! Where are you drifting? What will become +of you as the years pass? You must be nearly thirty now, Peter. I? I +am younger, but I have suffered more. The only happiness I have known +has been with you." +</P> + +<P> +Peggy's voice became petulant. "Peter, is that cork <I>awfully</I> +obstinate?" +</P> + +<P> +"In a minute," he said absently. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you remember those wonderful days and evenings we spent together on +the Java Sea, on the old <I>Persian Gulf</I>? Do you remember those +evenings, Peter, under the moon and the Southern Cross?" +</P> + +<P> +"I remember a great deal of treachery!" +</P> + +<P> +"But there is to be no more treachery," she said passionately. "Think, +Peter, think! You are penniless—I have only a little money; it will +not last long. What follows? Do you know what happens to white women +when they are stranded, penniless, friendless, in this country?" She +shivered. "And it would be such a simple thing to do—-to go with +me—to him. We would be together forever then—you and I! Tibet! The +Punjab! The merchant's trail into Bengal! You and I with our +caravan—in the blue foot-hills!" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm sorry," confessed Peter sadly. +</P> + +<P> +Romola hung her head with a bitter sigh. +</P> + +<P> +Peggy pitched her voice: "Smash the neck, Peter; I don't mind a little +broken glass!" +</P> + +<P> +Romola was pushing two silver cups along the floor to him. +</P> + +<P> +He spilled an amount of the sparkling golden liquid on the carpet, +where it formed a dark, round stain. With slightly unsteady hands he +conveyed the cups across the room, and Peggy, without another word, +following a rather vexed: "Thank you, m'lord," emptied the cup in a +single swallow. She licked her lips daintily, and her eyes were +sparkling. +</P> + +<P> +As Peter moved into the seat beside her, he saw the curtain over the +doorway slowly drawn back by an unseen hand. He looked smilingly +toward Romola, and her eyes were fixed on the moving curtain, her face +rigid in surprise and concern. The thing seemed to puzzle her. +</P> + +<P> +White metal flashed coldly. A lean hand and arm appeared, and a short, +fat knife, the haft sparkling with drops that resembled blood, was +projected into the room, point down, quivering, in the wood, not five +feet from Romola's lacquered bench! +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0305"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER V +</H3> + +<P> +"Is this a part——" began Peter. +</P> + +<P> +"No, it is not." +</P> + +<P> +Romola's face seemed thin with her growing anxiety. Obviously the +tossed knife was not a part of the evening's performance. +</P> + +<P> +"A part of what?" Peggy was inquiring. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, another joke of the Mongolian smugglers," he explained. +</P> + +<P> +There was a sudden and astounding explosion in the midst of them. The +flame of a revolver bathed the whole room in reddish-yellow for an +instant. Smoke was rising, the pungent, pale-blue, nitrous smoke of +so-called smokeless powder. Anthony Andover had arisen, had delivered +his shot at the waving curtain. +</P> + +<P> +Peter gave a grunt of disapproval. "Why did you do that——" +</P> + +<P> +"Look!" +</P> + +<P> +The candle directly above the curtains had flickered out; in fact, on +closer examination Peter discovered that the candle had been split in +crude halves, one of the white fragments lying on the rug not far from +the incense burner. This proved one point conclusively. Anthony +Andover had put real bullets, not blank cartridges, into the six +chambers of his revolver. He had reseated himself calmly beside Helen, +who was staring at him with eyes like pools. +</P> + +<P> +Peggy found her voice first. "Gracious! Why did you do that? It was +only in fun—that dagger, I mean. Why, you might have killed somebody!" +</P> + +<P> +Anthony shrugged his shoulders. "I'm not so sure about that." +</P> + +<P> +"This is really a most dangerous spot," added the Princess Meng Da +Tlang in a mysterious voice. But she was looking at Peter with +deliberate meaning. +</P> + +<P> +He accepted what he supposed was intended to be a cue, crossed to the +far side of the room, and approached the curtains prudently. He drew +the nearest one back inch by inch until the wall of the corridor was +given back to them blankly. So far it was quite empty. +</P> + +<P> +Dropping his hand leisurely into his coat-pocket, he sauntered into the +hall. As he dropped the curtains behind him, glancing swiftly up and +down the apparently deserted hallway, he heard the familiar sound again +of a gently closed door. +</P> + +<P> +The sound seemed to originate from the direction of the street. He +looked about for the old watchman, and he nearly stumbled over him in +the half-darkness as he approached. +</P> + +<P> +Peter struck a match, and a gasp of horror came from his lips. The man +was dead—stabbed! +</P> + +<P> +Was this killing a part of an elaborate plan? He would not have +permitted himself to walk with such apparent innocence into a snare if +he had not relied upon the word of that band. His experience had been +that their code was a peculiar one whose foundation was the word of +honor. For the first time that evening he began to regret a little his +arrogance in defying the request of their messenger to report his +intentions immediately upon landing to the men in the place on Jen Kee +Road. +</P> + +<P> +He dragged the body into the darkest corner, where he covered it with a +mat. +</P> + +<P> +Laboring above his keen anxiety regarding the intention of the band was +an eagerness to keep away from the two girls the sense of death, of +danger, which seemed to pervade this house. +</P> + +<P> +A way would have to be found to break through the line outside; perhaps +they would be compelled to wait for daylight. Again sliding the bolt +which had been pushed back by the last trespasser, Peter slowly paced +the length of the hall in the meditation of active and acute worry. He +was still undecided when he pulled back the rug which cloaked the +entrance into the large room. +</P> + +<P> +The room was in total darkness! +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0306"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VI +</H3> + +<P> +An eye, red like the play of fire about a distant volcano crater, +glowed a number of paces in front of him. But not a candle, of the +dozens that had been burning when he last went out of this room, was +now lighted. +</P> + +<P> +The scarlet glow he took to be the illumination under the altar of +Buddha. He heard a long sigh, a vague murmur of voices. +</P> + +<P> +"Light the candles," he ordered angrily. +</P> + +<P> +"What is the matter?" This was Anthony's voice; it sounded very drowsy. +</P> + +<P> +A tiny flame appeared as if suspended by an unseen cord and moved to +the candle rail. One wick glowed; another; then another. +</P> + +<P> +"Moore—Moore——" This was again the sleepy voice of Anthony. +</P> + +<P> +A garish, gray figure arose and stumbled into the candle-light. It was +Anthony. His eyes were half shut. He seemed desperately sleepy, and +gibbering as if in a dream. +</P> + +<P> +Peter turned savagely upon the girl. She seemed to cower away from +him, half lifting her hands as though in fear that he would strike her. +</P> + +<P> +"Romola! Damn you——" +</P> + +<P> +"Peter, I—I——" Her faint voice trickled off into a sigh of anguish. +</P> + +<P> +"Drugs?" he demanded. +</P> + +<P> +She shook her head anxiously. +</P> + +<P> +"No, no. I—I——" +</P> + +<P> +"What have you done to these people? What have you——" +</P> + +<P> +She lifted up her head imperiously. "You are forgetting——" she began. +</P> + +<P> +He had the fingers of her left hand between his, crushing them. She +dropped her head. Her fine lips were quivering. "What am I +forgetting?" +</P> + +<P> +Anthony had grasped his elbow. "It's not right, Moore; not right to +talk to the princess like this. She's really noble. She's fine!" +</P> + +<P> +"You're drunk, Anthony!" +</P> + +<P> +"No, no, no," he babbled. "Sleepy; that's all. Oh, that wine! +Perfectly fine! Makes you feel like climbing a moonbeam!" +</P> + +<P> +"So it appears. Where are the girls?" +</P> + +<P> +"Over here. Say—say, Moore, when does the fight start? I—I'm just +itching to get at somebody!" +</P> + +<P> +"You'll have your chance in a moment. And it isn't in fun. +Understand?" +</P> + +<P> +"Of course I understand! Isn't my gun loaded with bullets? Are we in +a trap?" +</P> + +<P> +"We are! And according to my calculations there's exactly one way out. +I think you and the girls will have no difficulty in breaking through. +Make a dash for it. Run for all you're worth!" +</P> + +<P> +"Hold on there," remonstrated Anthony, as his eyes lost a trifle of +their sleepy look. "What's to become of you? Going to make a break +for it, too?" +</P> + +<P> +Peter shook his head. "It's me they're after. I can look out for +myself, Anthony; this business isn't quite a novelty in my line. You +must get out—and get quick!" +</P> + +<P> +"And leave you behind? Not Anthony! I stick!" +</P> + +<P> +Anthony was flashing a length of highly polished gunmetal in his fist. +</P> + +<P> +Romola with a trembling hand was applying a taper to the other candles. +Peter, observing that the twins were, to all appearances, sound asleep, +approached her. +</P> + +<P> +She paused in her work, holding the taper above her head, so that its +gaunt rays flickered on his face. "Because you loved me so?" +</P> + +<P> +Her shoulders drooped, and her head rolled backward slightly, as though +she were very tired. She nipped her lower lip between pearl-white +teeth. +</P> + +<P> +"Because I love you so?" she repeated dully. +</P> + +<P> +"In some respects," he said bitterly, "you are like a certain snake in +India. You can't lock those damned snakes up! They can always find a +tiny hole, a slit in the cage, and—out they slip!" +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, Peter——" Romola dropped the taper to the bronze altar, where it +flickered a moment and went out. She fondled his reluctant hand +between cold fingers. Her face became utterly miserable, and there +were sparkling tears in her eyes. "My heart is your heart. I have +given my love to you. I would give my life for you!" +</P> + +<P> +He drew away from her slowly, turning his head to avoid the anguish in +her eyes. +</P> + +<P> +He went on briskly: "If my death is arranged for to-night——" +</P> + +<P> +He stopped to watch her. She was fumbling at her waist. A little +silver of light appeared. The thing was a slim stiletto. Her teeth +were clicking as she extended the handle toward him. Their eyes met. +In hers was shining a brute command. In his slowly came shock, +amazement. She placed her fingers slowly over her heart; her hand +slipped down and fell again at her side. +</P> + +<P> +"There!" she murmured. +</P> + +<P> +"Is—is my end so close?" he whispered. +</P> + +<P> +She nodded slowly. "You are in great danger. This may be your final +opportunity. See? I am offering no resistance. Why—why do you +hesitate?" +</P> + +<P> +With the tiny blade lying like a flame of pure silver across the palm +of his hand, Peter experienced a moment troubled and exceedingly +awkward. That threat, perhaps, was hardly more than the spilling out +of bitterness which she had created in him. +</P> + +<P> +In silence he handed the thing back to her almost furtively; and she +accepted it without removing her shining gaze from his. Somehow she +seemed to have come out victorious in a conflict that had had nothing +to do with knives, with broken promises. And with the restoration of +the dagger the spell seemed to be swept aside. +</P> + +<P> +Turning abruptly, with a slight straightening of his shoulders, he +walked away from her. +</P> + +<P> +Anthony was like a guardian angel, a statue gravely symbolic of +protection, standing over the golden heads, with the revolver dangling +from his hand and shooting out metallic gleams. Their eyes were +tightly closed; the twins were sleeping as if drugged. +</P> + +<P> +They heard a low, hushed scream. +</P> + +<P> +"Peter—<I>ni kan</I>!" +</P> + +<P> +Peter turned quickly, searching both entrances. At first he was +conscious of no intrusion. Then a yellow face, long, narrow, with a +stub of purple-black hair protruding behind, and which for a moment he +took to be a part of the curtain, slowly withdrew, arising +upward—vanishing! +</P> + +<P> +The phantom was not unlike the wisps of yellow smoke from a green-wood +fire, despatched by a lazy dawn wind. The face of Jen, the deck +steward! +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0307"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VII +</H3> + +<P> +Apparently Anthony had not observed this specter. +</P> + +<P> +Peter seized his arm, the left one. "We must start. Wake them up." +</P> + +<P> +Anthony shook a nervous negative. "I've tried. That wine!" +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Arracka</I>. Comes from Java. Tastes like May wine, and is stronger +than cognac." He was tilting Peggy's chin, shaking her head. No +response. He tried the same experiment with Helen, and begot identical +results. +</P> + +<P> +Romola Borria had vanished. +</P> + +<P> +Peter stepped out first, supporting his limp freight with his left arm, +and in his right brandishing a revolver. He hoped it wouldn't be +necessary and he was sure that underneath the splendid varnish of +Anthony's fine bravado larked the belief that this entire evening was +nothing more than an exciting romantic game. +</P> + +<P> +In the pinch, would Anthony react after the fashion of +heroes-to-the-manner-born, or would the sight and smell of blood, if it +Was written that blood be shed, unnerve him, make him out to be what he +was at heart, the secretary of a prosperous and peaceful plow company? +</P> + +<P> +On his part, Anthony was still babbling incoherently but earnestly, +impressing upon Peter the undeniable virtues of the golden wine. He +was not prepared, although the nickeled revolver still flashed in his +unoccupied hand, for the tumultuous event which was being shaped for +the two of them around the corner. +</P> + +<P> +They did not attain the outer door. Out of the drab recesses leaped +dusky shadows. There seemed to be a large number of jostling men; +perhaps only three or four were at hand by actual count; the +insufficient lighting and their shocking and determined appearance lent +them plurality. +</P> + +<P> +A sparkling flame roared from the hand of the foremost of these before +Peter could bring his hand out of his pocket. +</P> + +<P> +Anthony's nickeled revolver went off twice, from his hip, and the giant +faltered, going back shapelessly among the shadows from which he had +emerged. +</P> + +<P> +Peter's original scheme to hack a way through the line underwent hasty +revision. Escape would have to be made by different channels, and his +only choice was the device nearest at hand. It was a long chance, an +aimless one, perhaps, fraught with new, dangers and complications. But +he did not hesitate. +</P> + +<P> +Beating off a hand that pawed for his shoulder, he flung open the door +which faced the dwelling's entrance, and pushed the reluctant Anthony +inside. +</P> + +<P> +Peter locked the door, throwing a bench across it for temporary +barricade, then lit candles, wondering if any one would have had enough +foresight to disconnect the aerial wires. He dropped his burden to the +divan against the side wall, and examined Anthony, who had gone very +pale. He was shaking, and his gray eyes seemed to have climbed half +way out of his head. He propped Peggy tenderly beside her sister, and +laid an unsteady hand upon Peter's shoulder. He seemed to be fighting +down a very definite fear. +</P> + +<P> +Peter was backing toward the apparatus. "Watch the door. If any one +tries to break in, shoot straight at the sound! You're not hurt, are +you? Did that fellow get you?" +</P> + +<P> +Anthony shivered all over. "Christ!" he muttered. His lips were +white. "That man! I shot him! He's dead! Dead!" +</P> + +<P> +"And we are still alive," said Peter quietly. +</P> + +<P> +He sat down at the instrument table, fixed silvery disks to his ears, +twanged the detector wire and made a few quick alterations in +connections. Fortunately his inspection of the equipment earlier in +the day had given him a grasp of its arrangement. In an instant he had +the tuner adjusted, was listening, with those keen ears of his focussed +for the ethereal voices which might be abroad at this untimely hour. +Distant splashes of heat lightning occurred faintly, like the quivering +of sensitive metal. +</P> + +<P> +Casting a glance over his shoulder, to make sure that Anthony was +following instructions, he rearranged levers and lowered the heavy +switch which drew upon the storage batteries underneath the table. +</P> + +<P> +He tapped the large brass key experimentally. A hissing blue spark +lighted up the walls and his features in a ghostly glow. Tightening +the vibrator at the terminus of the rubber-covered coil, he spelled out +an inquiry in the International Code. Any station within hearing would +answer that call. +</P> + +<P> +He wondered if the Shanghai station was closed up for the night, or if +by any chance his assistant on the <I>King of Asia</I> would be on the job. +</P> + +<P> +Peter waited for several anxious moments, with no sound in the +telephones other than the faint spattering of the lightning down the +coast. Then his inquiry was given a response, startlingly harsh and +close. +</P> + +<P> +The station might have been across the street, the signals were beating +in his ears so loudly. The operator was having some difficulty +adjusting his spark; it was rough, ragged, like the drumming of +hailstones on a metal roof. +</P> + +<P> +A series of test letters followed, exasperatingly slow. +"V—V—V—V—— What station is that? This is the <I>Madrusa</I>." +</P> + +<P> +Peter hesitated, although interference was unlikely. He felt +tremendously relieved. The <I>Madrusa's</I> rough spark meant more to him +than help close by. He knew the <I>Madrusa</I> well; a gray, swift gunboat, +lying close to the water, whose purpose was to sweep the lower +Whang-poo and Yangtze clear of pirates. She could spit streams of +bullets for hours without let-up. And the knowledge of her closeness +to this death-trap keyed him up, not entirely because she was manned by +British sailors who would rather fight than eat. His hand reached out +for the key. +</P> + +<P> +"Who is on watch? This is Peter Moore. That you, Johnny Driggs?" +</P> + +<P> +If the man at the <I>Madrusa's</I> key did happen to be Jonathan Driggs, he +could afford to breathe more easily. Driggs was another man who had +found in China the irresistible attraction, and who for some years had +sat behind the radio machines of many ships that plied these yellow +waters. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes! Yes! Yes!" roared the <I>Madrusa's</I> spark. "Where are you? What +are you doing up at this time of night playing with a baby coil?" +</P> + +<P> +For the next three minutes the spitting blue spark flared and jumped as +Peter spelled out his plight. He sketched their predicament by +abbreviated code, and he impressed upon his friend the necessity for +utter secrecy, hoping that the night had no other ears. +</P> + +<P> +"Damn it!" replied the quick fingers of the gunboat's operator. "Damn +it! But I can't get shore leave! Impossible—you can guess why! Our +gunnery officer, Lieutenant Milton Raynard, is jumping to go! He'll +fetch you five or six sailors. He knows the lay of the land, and I've +sketched him a map of the locality from your description. Cinch! +They'll be off at once, soon as they can get the engine started in the +launch. Don't give up the ship, old boy! Don't——" +</P> + +<P> +Peter dropped the receiver, walked over to the divan and endeavored to +awaken the girls, slapping their hands, shaking them. They did not +appear to be drugged. Evidently they had underestimated the power of +the smooth, yellow <I>arracka</I>. Faint color glowed in their cheeks, and +under the treatment Peggy slowly opened one very sleepy brown eye. +</P> + +<P> +It drooped again. She muttered something that was not intelligible. +It had something to do with a princess, and even that word was +indistinct. +</P> + +<P> +Anthony lifted a cautioning hand. "Some one's outside," he whispered. +Slowly, as they watched it, the knob described a single revolution. +Anthony lifted his revolver. "Who is there?" +</P> + +<P> +"Let me in!" It was Romola Borria. +</P> + +<P> +"Open the door," said Peter quietly, stepping aside. +</P> + +<P> +Anthony removed the bench, twisted the key. +</P> + +<P> +"You must not go with them," Romola whispered. +</P> + +<P> +"Shut the door—put the bench back," directed Peter. He followed +Romola across the room. +</P> + +<P> +Evidently she had read the spark. "Let these people go—yes! But you +remain. You will—or won't you?" +</P> + +<P> +Peter looked skeptical. "Why should I? I've decided that life is +pretty sweet, after all! Why haven't Jen and his gang broken in here? +Why is he waiting? Have you told him help is coming?" +</P> + +<P> +She shrugged impatiently. "I have not seen Jen. I have talked with no +one." +</P> + +<P> +"Then you will stay in this room until we leave?" +</P> + +<P> +"But why did you send for them? It was foolish! How will you explain?" +</P> + +<P> +"They are friends. Such men ask no questions." +</P> + +<P> +"But there was no need!" She made a despairing gesture with her hands. +"Your friends could have gone safely. Jen has no interest in—<I>them</I>!" +</P> + +<P> +Peter nodded indifferently. "But my ship sails." +</P> + +<P> +"Very good. But you must not leave this house until sunrise." +</P> + +<P> +"When the sailors come from the <I>Madrusa</I> I shall walk out of here——" +</P> + +<P> +"And into the arms of death, Peter!" +</P> + +<P> +Peter lighted a cigarette and puffed thoughtfully in silence. Romola's +gaze was upon his lips, as though the next words he would utter meant +to her the difference between life and death. +</P> + +<P> +And what he might have said was forestalled by a heavy battering at the +outer door. These deep vibrations seemed on the sudden to stir Peggy +out of her sleep. She sat upright, digging fists into tired eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Gracious! Where's everybody?" +</P> + +<P> +The hammering ceased, and a high-pitched crash followed an instant of +hush. +</P> + +<P> +"The men from the <I>Madrusa</I>!" cried Anthony. He dragged the bench +away; flung the door open with a grand gesture. +</P> + +<P> +And into the room strode a blandly smiling Chinese, magnificent in gold +and blue and red. He was flanked by three large and watchful coolies, +armed with clubs. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Moore; I am the man from the Jen Kee Road place!" He radiated a +splendid calm. +</P> + +<P> +Peggy cowered against her sister, with a look of sleepy mystification, +while Anthony, glancing to Peter for command, was fingering his +revolver in anxious indecision. Already one of the coolies was sidling +toward him. +</P> + +<P> +"You were a deck coolie this morning," Peter replied. +</P> + +<P> +The Chinese took a step toward him. Peter felt Romola cringe at his +side. He wondered at this. +</P> + +<P> +"Shall we wait until sunrise, or——" +</P> + +<P> +A sudden babble of men's voices on the other side of the partition +checked the Chinese, while a look of misunderstanding came over his +bland countenance. +</P> + +<P> +"Moore! Moore! Where are you?" These were the rich tones of a man +accustomed to command. +</P> + +<P> +And instantly the small room seemed to be overflowing with the white +and blue of uniforms. +</P> + +<P> +Peggy stood straight up with a wondering gasp. Confronting her was a +tall and handsome youth with the gold-and-black epaulets of his +majesty's service at the shoulder-straps of his splendid white uniform. +A cutlass in a nickeled case hung from a polished leather belt, and +depending from it also was an empty leather holster. Gripped +threateningly in his right hand was a blue revolver. +</P> + +<P> +The shrill voice of the man from the Jen Kee Road place rose sharply +above the momentary tumult. +</P> + +<P> +In this quick confusion a pale, obnoxious odor, like opium fresh from +the poppy, yet with the savor of almonds, flooded Peter's throat. He +was vaguely aware of a fumbling in his coat-pocket. Explosions sounded +as from afar and a vast redness settled down and encompassed the world. +</P> + +<P> +The interval of dark was surprisingly short-lived. Swimming in and out +of his distorted vision was a face. He was conscious for a while of no +other impression. The face reeled, came closer—danced away from him! +Bright eyes sparkled, leaped, and hung motionless. +</P> + +<P> +He inhaled a new perfume, deliciously like flowers in a summer meadow. +It injected fresh life into him. His hands found power, and he +clutched at a soft wrist. The owner of this face was talking eagerly. +</P> + +<P> +"We are alone—alone!" +</P> + +<P> +With great effort he found he could incline his head a little. He was +struggling. Hot vapors clogged his brain. Where were the girls, +Anthony, the young lieutenant from the <I>Madrusa</I>? +</P> + +<P> +"Where are they?" +</P> + +<P> +"Safe." +</P> + +<P> +He could recognize the features now distinctly; yet they stirred up in +him no longer a feeling of repugnance, but a vague longing. +</P> + +<P> +"Romola!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, Peter. You are feeling stronger?" +</P> + +<P> +"What am I doing here? What is this place?" +</P> + +<P> +"We are in the cellar." +</P> + +<P> +It was very dim, with an odor of moldy dampness. The rock foundation, +the walls, and floor were perspiring whitely. +</P> + +<P> +Peter's brain became clogged again. The voice came to him softly but +quite distinctly, with each word clear and emphatic: +</P> + +<P> +"He is waiting outside. They will not dare come into my house again!" +</P> + +<P> +"I am dizzy. Who will not dare? Who is outside?" he demanded feebly. +</P> + +<P> +"The man from the Jen Kee Road place. He is waiting outside that +window. No, No! He cannot see. It is covered with silk." +</P> + +<P> +Peter fell back against the arm. "What does he want?" +</P> + +<P> +"Your answer. I told him to wait. I promised him; I will hold the +candle to the window." +</P> + +<P> +"But I am dizzy," he groaned. "I do not understand." +</P> + +<P> +"Once—means 'yes.' Twice—means 'no.'" +</P> + +<P> +He delivered every ounce of his mental energy against the drug in his +brain; it was like struggling against the tide. "Once—means 'yes?' +Twice—means 'no?'" The meaning suddenly became clear to him. "The +up-river trip?" +</P> + +<P> +She nodded slowly, anxiously. "And twice—means death, also, Peter!" +</P> + +<P> +He tried to drag himself erect, tried to twist his head, and he sank +back with a bitter groan. "You drugged me!" +</P> + +<P> +"There was no other way. I could not let you go into the night—into +death!" +</P> + +<P> +A bitter smile came to his white lips. "I am quite powerless?" +</P> + +<P> +"I—I am afraid you are, Peter." +</P> + +<P> +"If I decide yes—or if I decide no—how can I defend myself?" +</P> + +<P> +"You are quite helpless," she confessed in a whisper. "No. You cannot +defend yourself." Her expression showed an inward struggle. "You are +in my hands. You are in my arms! Yes! What have you to say?" +</P> + +<P> +The smile of bitterness came and flickered again over his pale lips. +He tried to throw back his head, but the redness was settling down upon +him again. "What shall I say?" he muttered. "I say—two lights! I +say—no! <I>No</I>!" +</P> + +<P> +The fingers at his neck were icy. Gently he was lowered to the +pavement. +</P> + +<P> +Romola had taken the candle down from the rafter, and she went swiftly +to the tiny window. She raised her hand, once, then pinched out the +flame between her fingers. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0308"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VIII +</H3> + +<P> +Foggy consciousness. A roaring like that of the ocean on a rockbound +coast. He seemed to be floating in a medium of ice. Once his dragging +arm scraped a wet, slippery timber. The journey seemed to be taking +him down—down—into the earth, and slowly he began to rise. +</P> + +<P> +Gradually he became aware of innumerable pinpoints of light in a shield +of purple darkness. These might have been stars, or the lights of a +great city. Next he heard the low gurgle of water, as of a stream +splashing through wilderness. +</P> + +<P> +He felt very faint, but the vapor clouds in his brain were beginning to +clear away. Next he was badly shaken up, yet he was conscious of no +pain. Remorseful eyes stared into his from the face of a candle-white +spectre, and in the background a tall, half-naked giant swayed from +side to side in a pink glow. +</P> + +<P> +Where, then, were Jen and his Chinese? +</P> + +<P> +He vaguely sensed the dawn; it came to him as an old experience, a sort +of groping memory out of a gloriously romantic past. And the swaying +giant he decided in a moment of rare clarity to be a sampan coolie. +</P> + +<P> +The pink glow increased, became pale yellow, while a deep blueness +figured in it. A swollen sun came and paved a bloody path across a +lake of roiled brown, and the water hissed with a white foam. +</P> + +<P> +His jaws were aching; a queer emptiness in his chest caused him long +and perplexing speculation. There were shouting voices aloft, and a +gleaming black wall slowly took form above him. He made out the +pointed heads of rivets. +</P> + +<P> +"Are you awake?" The voice, low and sibilant, emerged from the +candle-white face. +</P> + +<P> +He had been dreaming, too, during this fantastic journey. Once he had +plainly distinguished a field of waving corn. He seemed to be back in +California. +</P> + +<P> +"Eileen," he murmured, surprised at the feebleness of his voice. +</P> + +<P> +"No, no," came the reply. "It is Romola. I—I am leaving you!" +</P> + +<P> +"Ah! Where is Jen?" +</P> + +<P> +Bellowing inquiry came down to them: "Who is that? What do you want?" +</P> + +<P> +The girl called back: "The wireless operator. He is sick. Drop the +ladder. Send down some one to carry him." +</P> + +<P> +The sampan was swinging about, and the coolie was paddling like mad. +</P> + +<P> +"River boat—for Ching-Fu?" Peter gasped. +</P> + +<P> +"No. The <I>King of Asia</I>. Peter—can you understand? I am leaving +you! This is good-by! I—I—we will never see each other again. I—I +couldn't turn you over to that man!" +</P> + +<P> +"But the candle——" Peter was miserably confused. "You raised +it—once! I said no!" +</P> + +<P> +Romola seemed to become rather hysterical. "I tricked them, Peter! +Oh, won't you understand? I do love you, Peter! I couldn't give you +to them!" +</P> + +<P> +"No," he muttered; "I don't understand. I—I'm dizzy." +</P> + +<P> +The voice was bellowing again. +</P> + +<P> +"Is that Peter Moore? What's happened to him?" +</P> + +<P> +"He's sick—sick! Send down a watchman. Hurry! This tide is carrying +us away!" +</P> + +<P> +Something bounded into the sampan. A brown coil was flattened against +the gleaming black wall. +</P> + +<P> +But Peter could not understand. He was back again in the cellar under +Romola's house, mumbling insanely about a candle-light. Perhaps he +dreamed that hot lips were pressed lingeringly against his own. Over +and over he heard a fading voice; it was saying: "Good-by!—<I>Ch'ing</I>!" +</P> + +<P> +The glaring sun was in his face. He shut his eyes. The lips seemed to +be torn from his in a cry of anguish. Strong arms encircled his waist, +and he was no longer aware of the motion of the sampan. +</P> + +<P> +</P> + +<P> +It was late in the day when Peter opened his eyes again, closed them, +and stared at the mattress and springs of a bunk over his head. He was +lying on his back in his stateroom. Smoky afternoon sunlight, +reflected from a shimmering surface, sparkled and bubbled against the +white enameled wall. +</P> + +<P> +His head was aching a little, and there were numerous jumping pains in +various parts of his body. He had been dreaming. All of these things +that had come and gone with the fading of the night were figments of a +slumbering brain. The last portion of the dream which he could +visualize distinctly was his act of arising from a wireless machine in +a house that had gone mad, to confront a tall Chinese who wore a +ridiculously stubby pigtail, like that of Jen, the deck-steward. +</P> + +<P> +He sat up, governed by a sudden worry. Where were the Whipple girls +and Anthony? What had become of that dashing British lieutenant, +Milton Raynard? +</P> + +<P> +Peter arose hastily from bed, and examined a pale and gaunt countenance +in the small mirror above the wash-stand. Dark lines had come under +his eyes, and the deep-blue pupils seemed to kindle with a peculiar +brilliancy. He had seen that look in other eyes, and another fragment +of the dream came back to him. He licked his dry lips, tasting a +flavor not unlike that of opium fresh from the poppy, and of almonds. +</P> + +<P> +He filled the wash-basin with cold water, took a long breath, and +immersed his face for a half minute. Gasping, he came out of it with +pink starting into his cheeks, and his mental faculties somewhat better +organized. +</P> + +<P> +When he emerged from his stateroom, attired in a fresh white uniform, +with his gold-and-white cap set at a jaunty angle on his head, he +looked like a different man. His skin was glowing, and a youthful +heart was sending recuperative tingles all over his body. +</P> + +<P> +Peter took a turn about the promenade deck in search of Anthony, and +was hailed by his room-boy, who had some mail for him. +</P> + +<P> +He dropped these missives absently into his pocket, made further +inquiries, and learned that Anthony and the Misses Whipple had come to +the steamer shortly before sunrise in the launch belonging to the river +gunboat <I>Madrusa</I>. +</P> + +<P> +Then he knocked at Anthony's door. A tired snore, emanating from the +transom, broke into a sleepy complaint. +</P> + +<P> +The door opened; Anthony stared at him as if in the presence of a +ghost. "Great Scott! I thought you were dead!" He rubbed his eyes to +accelerate wakefulness. +</P> + +<P> +Peter chuckled. "What happened? Both girls safe?" +</P> + +<P> +"How did you get here alive?" +</P> + +<P> +"I came down by sampan. The princess detained me." +</P> + +<P> +Anthony shivered. "We thought you were with us. Somebody put out all +the lights!" He shivered again. "Raynard wanted to go back—so did I. +We didn't dare! The girls, you know." He dropped his head, as if +ashamed. +</P> + +<P> +"How is Peggy?" +</P> + +<P> +Anthony frowned, hesitated. "Peter, she—she thinks you're a quitter! +She thinks you ran away at the big moment!" +</P> + +<P> +Peter grinned. "That can be cleared up. Did you enjoy—the game? Did +you succeed? That's all I'm worrying about." +</P> + +<P> +Anthony looked at him suspiciously. "That was not a put-up job. +Why—I shot a man!" He became anxious. "Will there be a row?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not a bit—if you keep your mouth shut." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I'll do that! But that dead Chink! Ugh!" +</P> + +<P> +"Forget him," advised Peter cheerfully. "I still don't know what Peggy +had to say." +</P> + +<P> +"What do you mean?" Anthony gave him a blank stare. +</P> + +<P> +"Does she think——" +</P> + +<P> +A light of understanding came into Anthony's clear gray eyes. "Oh, I +made a little mistake," he confessed weakly. "It—it isn't Peggy; it's +Helen! We're engaged! You see, Helen is such a—a quiet and reserved +sort of girl. Just my kind! Peggy—well, you know, I decided she was +a little too—too wild!" +</P> + +<P> +A long, low gray launch was chugging alongside when Peter made his way +back to the promenade-deck. At the upper extremity of the +companion-ladder which reached down to the river's surface was standing +a slim and youthful figure in blue, with wisps of golden hair flying +about in the soft spring breeze. +</P> + +<P> +She leaned anxiously and expectantly over the rail as a tall and +commanding young man in the white uniform of his majesty's naval +service climbed up eagerly toward her. The young officer leaped +gracefully over the rail, seized both hands of the girl, and his eyes +were shining. +</P> + +<P> +Peter's deep-blue eyes unaccountably took on an expression of moist +sadness; yet he was grinning. +</P> + +<P> +He climbed up to the boat-deck, unlocked the wireless room, and for the +first time recalled the mail in his hip-pocket. Leisurely he scanned +the post-cards first, highly colored ones, which had been forwarded +from the San Francisco Marconi office, emanating from friends scattered +in many parts of the world. One was from Alaska; another from +Calcutta, India, from that splendid fellow, Captain Bobbie MacLaurin. +</P> + +<P> +He opened the letter, and his eyes fell upon familiar handwriting. He +suddenly felt shocked; the sentences began swimming. The letter was +from Eileen, dated Nanking. Words stood out whimsically, like thoughts +assailing a tired brain, clamoring for recognition. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +... You are the stubbornest man! ... Do you imagine I ever cared for +that puppy? Why, Peter—why didn't you wait? I'd have scratched his +eyes out! Of course, he kissed me! But the point is, my dear, I +didn't realize until it was all over.... I suppose I should have +jumped into the ocean when you left me so angrily. But I didn't. I +came to China on the <I>Empress of Japan</I>. I am now at the Bridge Hotel, +in Nanking, on my way to Ching-Fu, where you may find me. Just to show +you that I can have adventures, too! +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +"Great guns!" said Peter. He wondered if he could catch the Nanking +express; there was a Chinese steamer leaving Nanking for up-river +to-morrow noon. +</P> + +<P> +There was a humble voice at his elbow. A deck-boy was grinning +dreamily at him; a queer flicker darted across his green eyes, vanished. +</P> + +<P> +"Jen!" exclaimed Peter, glimpsing an abbreviated pigtail. +</P> + +<P> +"Aie!" said the deck-boy. +</P> + +<P> +"The man from the Jen Kee Road place!" +</P> + +<P> +The deck-steward seemed puzzled. "My no savvy," he said. His look +became dreamy again, reminiscent. +</P> + +<P> +"But you can speak English as well as 'pidgin,'" declared Peter, +frowning. "You did last night!" +</P> + +<P> +"My savvy 'pidgin,'" said Jen brightly. "China allatime funny place! +China no can savvy allatime funny people! Funny!" +</P> + +<P> +"What's that?" snapped Peter. He was baffled and angry. Had Jen +played the leading part in the mysterious and grim comedy of last +night, or was he only a work coolie, a deck-steward, harmless, +innocuous, babbling happily in his limited knowledge of a strange +language? +</P> + +<P> +The deck-boy was pointing up-river with a long, yellow finger. +</P> + +<P> +Peter stared. And he saw nothing, nothing but a great red sun with its +lower half enveloped in a glowing pool of green and red smoke into +which arose the black spars of ships from all over the world. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0309"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER IX +</H3> + +<P> +The sky was clearing. Rain had ceased dripping from the bulging black +clouds, and a slender rod of golden sunlight pierced through and marked +a path upon the red bricks of the inn courtyard. Hazy in the +green-and-purple distance could be glimpsed the yellow withers of the +western range. Cooking smells, the sour odor of fish-and-rice chow, +were wafted from the braziers of village housewives. +</P> + +<P> +Peter loafed against a spruce post, and moodily contemplated the +stamping animals in the enclosure. His hat was in his hand, and the +mountain breeze assailed his blond hair, which, rumpled and curly, gave +him something of the appearance of a satyr at ease. He was worried. +He had, an hour before, come to Ching-Fu from the boat; and Eileen had +left Ching-Fu for a trip to Kialang-Hien, a village of the third order +some fifty <I>li</I> distant, the morning before. Whether to follow or wait +was the question. +</P> + +<P> +Somewhere afield a valiant bronze gong called infidels to the feet of +an insufferable clay god. +</P> + +<P> +Peter's flow of thought was interrupted. Unnoticed a girl—at first +glance the virtuous daughter of a mandarin—was approaching. Her +abruptness and her appearance caught him so completely off guard that +he held his breath and stared at her rather wildly. And she in turn, +as if fascinated, stared back as wildly at him. +</P> + +<P> +His first guess was inaccurate. She was no mandarin's daughter, this +one. She was young and exquisitely slim, with wisdom and sadness +written upon her colorless face, and he was informed by a single glance +at her exploring bright eyes and the straightness of her fine black +brows, that she was half-breed, Eurasian. +</P> + +<P> +Those shining eyes, not unlike twin jade beads, were sparkling. Her +lips were thin and as red as betel. Her garb was satin, bright with +gold filigree and flashing gems; and her dainty feet were disfigured +rather than adorned by bright-red sandals. Her feet, however, were not +the "feet of the lily," for the lithe grace of her stride was ample +proof that they had not been bound. +</P> + +<P> +The dying sun outlined through the folds of her bizarre garment ankles +straight, slender, and probably naked. +</P> + +<P> +Rosy color moved swiftly into her satiny complexion while, with a +pretty, inquisitive frown, she scrutinized him; and then, with a flick +of her black eyelashes, she ran toward the arched doorway, leaving +Peter to ponder, and scratch his blond head, and demand amazing +explanations of himself. +</P> + +<P> +It was a dominating trait in Peter never to lose time securing +information that was interesting to him; but the old proprietor, with +his wise and varnished smile, could vouchsafe very little of +consequence. +</P> + +<P> +The young woman, he admitted, was named Naradia. She was accompanied +by her husband, a young Chinese of high birth, who manifested no more +signs of activity to an outward world than a baffling secretness. +</P> + +<P> +The two of them had arrived from down-river on a sailing junk the week +before. The husband's name was Meng, he believed, and since he had +come, the old man declared, many strange and warlike faces had +mysteriously appeared in Ching-Fu. +</P> + +<P> +Such visitors were not uncommon in the villages which bordered the +merchants' trail, from the Yangtze to the Irriwaddi, but Peter's +interest was kindled. As he made off in the direction of the most +reliable village mule-seller, he decided that the secretive young +bridegroom, Meng, might be worth cultivating. +</P> + +<P> +From a soft-tongued and hardened swindler Peter procured a mule, and +arranged to have the animal in the caravansary at daybreak. It was his +intention to start for Kialang in search of Eileen with the first +tender glow of dawn. +</P> + +<P> +After dining he waited in the compound for a glimpse of the mysterious +Meng, or his ravishing bride, Naradia. Unsuccessful, he returned to +his room. His Chinese valet was brewing jasmin-tea when Peter opened +and shut the bedroom door. His pajamas were neatly laid out upon his +couch, and the rugs were neatly furled back. He detected the acrid and +pleasing odor of incense as he crossed the room. +</P> + +<P> +The boy glanced up meekly from the charcoal brazier. "Wanchee tea now?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." Peter slipped out of his tunic. +</P> + +<P> +The boy dropped on his knees to unlace Peter's boots. +</P> + +<P> +Peter lighted a cigarette, stretched himself out upon the rugs, and the +boy brought him a steaming cup. +</P> + +<P> +"Wake me—daylight—sure," cautioned Peter, lifting the cup. +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Tsao</I>," murmured the boy. +</P> + +<P> +When the boy was gone Peter removed the automatic from his raincoat +pocket. The metal glittered pleasantly in the yellow light from the +suspended lamp. The cup of tea had served to waken him. He released +the cartridge clip from the automatic's handle and stared thoughtfully +at the glowing lead balls. +</P> + +<P> +He became conscious of a sound, alien and untimely. The door was +rattling softly. He studied it with interest; the wooden handle was +turning slowly, first to the right, then to the left. +</P> + +<P> +The phenomenon puzzled him. His eyes were sparkling a little as he +quietly restored the clip of cartridges. +</P> + +<P> +Creeping to the hinged side of the door, he waited, breathing silently. +</P> + +<P> +With a squeak the door swung in quickly. A lean, yellow hand, gripping +a nickel-plated pistol, was thrust inside. +</P> + +<P> +Peter shot three times directly through the wood panel. +</P> + +<P> +The white pistol thudded to the planks, while the yellow hand seemed to +be jerked backward by an electric force. Soft footsteps retreated. +Peter jerked open the door and stepped out. +</P> + +<P> +The corridor was empty. Some few feet toward the stairway an oiled +wick, jutting from a tiny bronze cup which was bracketed to a +scantling, burned and sputtered. +</P> + +<P> +Under the door across the way a thin streak of yellow light indicated +that the mysterious young Chinese and his bride had not yet retired. +</P> + +<P> +As Peter was examining the floor for blood stains the door budged +inward sufficiently to panel the terrified face of the Eurasian girl he +had seen earlier in the evening. At sight of him she shut the door +hastily. +</P> + +<P> +Perplexed, he went to the stairway and peered into the stark blankness +which swam up to the third step below him. He was at a loss to account +for the air of serenity which still dwelt in the inn. Surely the three +revolver shots had been overheard; yet the place was as silent as the +grave, and quite as ominous. Where were the servants, the caravan +boys, the muleteers, the traders and merchants? He dismissed as absurd +the theory that the walls of his room were stout enough to muffle the +short-barreled blasts. +</P> + +<P> +An isolated sound, a swish of discreet garments, a prudent grating +sound, as of a window lifted or a chair moved, then came to him, and +unquestionably it came from his own room. +</P> + +<P> +Peter left the staircase to its gloomy shadows. +</P> + +<P> +The room was unoccupied. Basing his next action upon sound and tried +experience, Peter put out the lamp and hazarded a glimpse out of the +window. +</P> + +<P> +A sharp, round moon was perched high in a star-studded heaven, fairly +illuminating a muddy street and the low-thatched roofs of nearby +dwellings. A horse whinnied and stamped in the enclosure, and from a +distance rose the moody growl of the rapids. +</P> + +<P> +Irritated and nervous, Peter felt for the couch and sank down in the +blackness, with the revolver dangling idly across one knee. +</P> + +<P> +At that instant he was thrilled to the roots of his hair by a scream, +strangely muffled. +</P> + +<P> +Peter indulged in a shiver as he stole to the door on tiptoe, opened it +quietly, and looked out. There was terror in that scream; it was the +outcry of a human in the clutch of real horror. +</P> + +<P> +The door across the way was slightly ajar, letting out an orange +effulgence which lighted the boards, the opposite wall, and the grimy +ceiling. Indistinctly he discerned a motionless clump, and, catching +the white flicker of steel he sprang across, wrapping his fingers about +a struggling wrist. +</P> + +<P> +Immediately the orange light was broadened, then darkened by a tall +figure, but Peter's back was turned. +</P> + +<P> +An eager sigh, as if heartfelt relief, was given out by the second +shadow. +</P> + +<P> +The knife, under Peter's pressure, dropped to his feet, and, quite sure +that the time was now past to ask polite questions, Peter brought down +the butt of the revolver with a smart slap where the long black pigtail +joined a fat little head. With a throaty gurgle his victim joined the +shadows of the floor. +</P> + +<P> +A soft, white hand was laid upon Peter's right arm, and he found +himself glaring into the blanched face of the girl Naradia. Her small +fingers hardened upon the flesh of his hand, and he was aware that she +was staring imploringly across his shoulder. +</P> + +<P> +Peter spun about and for the first time was aware of the presence of +the indolent figure in the doorway. The glow of a cigarette was at the +man's lips, but the darkness prevented scrutiny. +</P> + +<P> +The rapid procession of mysterious events had unnerved Peter. The +silent and indolent presence of the stranger in the doorway put the +spark to his long-withheld indignation. He lifted the revolver's nose +menacingly. +</P> + +<P> +The cigarette glowed a bright red, as if in amazement. +</P> + +<P> +"You," he snapped, "whoever you are—pick this man up. Carry him into +my room. And you," he added sharply to the girl, "follow him!" +</P> + +<P> +The cigarette fell to the planks, and the tall man put his heel upon +it. The careless movement gave Peter his first glimpse of the man's +profile. The man smiled faintly. He took the unconscious assailant of +Naradia by the heels and dragged him into Peter's room. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0310"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER X +</H3> + +<P> +A match hissed; the flame of the lamp rose up slowly. +</P> + +<P> +With a flutter of skirts the girl followed, her head inclined, as +though she was humiliated or greatly embarrassed. She went to the +couch and faced him, while an attempt at calmness and a determined fear +struggled to control her expression. Her attire was negligee, of pink +Japanese silk, open at the throat, and revealing a neck and shoulders +as white and smooth as bleached ivory. +</P> + +<P> +Peter closed the door and shot the bolt. +</P> + +<P> +The man who smiled so confidently had rolled the knife carrier with his +face to the wall. Then he crossed to the couch and took a stand beside +the girl, seemingly at ease under Peter's sharp and thorough inspection. +</P> + +<P> +As Peter examined the slender, colorless face he imagined for an +instant that the man, also, was Eurasian. But that impression he +quickly realized was incorrect. The man simply was of a high order of +Chinese intelligence, with smooth, dusky skin, thin, stubborn lips, a +straight forehead, and eyes which were dark, watchful and sad. +</P> + +<P> +Yet these eyes seemed to twinkle now, shifting without a trace of fear +from the unwavering gun-barrel in Peter's hand to the unwavering glint +in Peter's blue eyes. +</P> + +<P> +And there was something undeniably imperial in the young Oriental's +bearing. Perhaps this was caused by his attitude, or the Oriental +richness of his garb. He might have been an Asiatic prince, or a sheik +fresh from the desert, or a maharaja, from a jungle throne. A +glittering cluster of gems—diamonds and rubies—hung from a fine gold +chain which encircled his bronzed neck. His tunic was of satin, the +color of the tropical sea; his breeches were spotlessly white, and his +slippers were Arabian, with up-curled toes. +</P> + +<P> +"Well?" asked the young Asiatic, when Peter's gaze finally descended to +the scarlet slippers. +</P> + +<P> +"I am waiting," said Peter, impatiently. +</P> + +<P> +Black eyebrows went up inquiringly. "I am a merchant—from Shanghai." +</P> + +<P> +"What you are or who you are is of no importance," returned Peter in a +voice of cordial doubt. "Perhaps you've aroused my idle curiosity; at +all events, I want you to tell me why you were late in coming to your +wife's assistance." +</P> + +<P> +"His life is more precious," she interceded, hastily. +</P> + +<P> +The Oriental waved his hand, as if the answer were absurd. "You +anticipated me by three seconds," he replied. "I was drowsing. I +thought I had dreamed the scream. May I say—I am very grateful?" +</P> + +<P> +Peter's expression was dubious, but he nodded at length as though +partly satisfied. "Perhaps you can tell me what became of the man who +opened my door?" +</P> + +<P> +The man's face was frankly bewildered. "I am at a loss to account for +any man entering your room—unless by mistake," he said with genuine +concern. "I think you are crediting me with an interest in an affair +that I know nothing of. Unless—unless——" He hesitated and paused, +searching Peter's eyes with a glance suddenly startled. "Can it be +possible——?" he muttered. "I judge by your accent that you are an +American. I have spent the past four years myself in America—at +Harvard. Somehow——" He paused again, and smiled faintly. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly the smile departed, was displaced by the most murderous of +grimaces. He was looking beyond Peter. His right hand flashed into +his blue tunic. And before Peter could turn or dodge, he sprang past +him, colliding with an object which grunted and instantly cried out in +agony. +</P> + +<P> +Peter turned in time to see a thin knife plunge into the throat of a +swarthy Chinese, whose face was round as the Mongolian moon, and as +yellow. +</P> + +<P> +The Chinese wiped his knife coolly on the fallen man's black jacket. +"Why, my good friend, should he attack you, unless——" He paused +again, and searched Peter's face with those keen brown eyes, no longer +sad. +</P> + +<P> +"Unless what?" he asked, bluntly. "This man is from Len Yang." +</P> + +<P> +He heard the girl utter a sharp gasp, and a queer light was dawning in +the other's face. +</P> + +<P> +"Unless you are"—he hesitated—"unless you are the one man in the +world I wish you might be." He laughed. "Are you—Peter Moore, known +in some parts of China as—Peter the Brazen?" +</P> + +<P> +Peter nodded slowly. +</P> + +<P> +With a delighted cry the young Oriental sprang to him and seized his +hand. "Do you hear, Naradia?" he exclaimed. "This is <I>Peter Moore</I>!" +</P> + +<P> +And Peter permitted his suspicions to drift, as he thought of the dead +man on the floor, and of the reason why he died. He was compelled to +admit that the stranger had saved his life. +</P> + +<P> +"We must talk this over," the young Chinese was muttering. "Why, I +could not have arranged it more suitably!" He seemed to collect +himself then. "Before we talk, let us get rid of this man." +</P> + +<P> +He picked up the dead coolie by the waist, lifted him easily to the +window, and dropped him, as if he were a sack of rice, into the mud. +He whistled twice. Immediately three shadows were given up by the +caravansary. These gathered up the dead man and vanished. +</P> + +<P> +"They will dispose of him," said the stranger, helping himself to a +cigarette. He paused with the flaring match in his fingers and looked +at Peter quizzically. "My name is Kahn Meng. And I am <I>not</I> from +Shanghai." +</P> + +<P> +Peter nodded agreeably, although the explanation explained nothing. +</P> + +<P> +"I have returned to China to attack and capture the city of Len Yang. +I came from there originally. Exactly five years ago I galloped over +the great drawbridge to study the classics in Peking. Fortunately I +met a man. He was an American missionary. He said to me: 'Kahn Meng, +the classics are dead. Betake yourself to America, where you will find +the fountain of modern knowledge.' Of course, the missionary was a +Harvard man." +</P> + +<P> +Peter frowned slightly. +</P> + +<P> +"What you don't understand probably, Mr. Moore, is why I can leave Len +Yang and return at will. I can't. I escaped from Len Yang at night. +I am returning with a thousand men at my back. Those men have occupied +this village. My conscience forbids my confessing to you how many of +the spies of Len Yang have been fed to the hungry river since my +arrival. +</P> + +<P> +"You understand, the monster of Len Yang, as I affectionately call him, +must not know of my return. Otherwise he would make me prisoner. This +fat-faced one slipped through the guard lines. There may be others." +He grunted. "They do not dare kill me. For I——" He threw up his +handsome head proudly. +</P> + +<P> +"For you——" encouraged Peter. +</P> + +<P> +"Must hide my identity," finished Kahn Meng with a little laugh. "But +Naradia—they object to her. They have attempted to kill her, so many +times. Naradia, how many?" +</P> + +<P> +"A score of times," she said darkly. "To-night they nearly succeeded. +I am not wanted. I am a half-caste—a Chinese father, a poor French +mother. They desired him to marry of the——" +</P> + +<P> +"Hush!" cautioned her husband, for Naradia was almost hysterical and +was willing to prattle on. Kahn Meng smiled tenderly. "Naradia," he +continued, lowering his voice gently, "now that Peter Moore and I are +at last together, will you excuse us? You must be exhausted, my +dear—after this unpleasant affair. Will you retire? Remember, little +Chaya, in another week this terror will be at an end. Mr. Moore and I +will begin planning instantly." +</P> + +<P> +Naradia laid her hands upon his and smiled sweetly. "Good-night!" she +said, obediently. "Good-night,"—she lifted her brows archly—"Peter +the Brazen! I do hope that you are not a dream!" +</P> + +<P> +They watched the pink silk of her gown flit into the corridor, +whereupon Kahn Meng took Peter's arm companionably and guided him to +the window. +</P> + +<P> +A keen, soft wind, tempered with the fragrance of ripening pepper +trees, came in to them in delicate puffs. A mysterious light twinkled +distantly upon the river. The moon was sinking into a void, and the +night was becoming black. +</P> + +<P> +Kahn Meng was extracting from his satin blouse a gold-and-black +cigarette case. Peter accepted one of the white cylinders and struck a +match. In the flare he found that Kahn Meng was studying him shrewdly, +dispassionately. +</P> + +<P> +"In the first place," began Kahn Meng, "let us settle the important +matter of price. I will promise you whatever you desire. I want you." +He spat into the darkness. "Why are you in Ching-Fu? I believed you +to be in America, but I could not find you. What brings you here? +Surely you were not planning to enter Len Yang again alone?" +</P> + +<P> +Peter shook his head. "I came on another errand, which has nothing to +do with Len Yang. But"—he threw away the half consumed +cigarette—"you have made a mistake, Kahn Meng. The first matter to +settle is the more important one of identity." +</P> + +<P> +"Take me just as I am," pleaded Kahn Meng earnestly. "We have one +desire, I know, in common—to clean up that horrible city! You have +visited Len Yang. You know the wretched condition of the +miners—slaves, poor devils. Perhaps you have seen them at nightfall +coming from the shaft, dripping with the blood-red of the cinnabar, +starving—blind!" +</P> + +<P> +"I have seen all that," agreed Peter, grimly. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah! But are you acquainted with that man's methods? Do you know that +his corrupt influence has extended into every nation of Asia? His +organization is more perfect than any eastern government. His system +of espionage puts those of Japan and Germany to shame! You must know! +You have encountered his underlings. Oh, I have heard of the Romola +Borria affair. Your escape was masterly! I believe you astounded him." +</P> + +<P> +Kahn Meng paused and puffed long at his cigarette. +</P> + +<P> +"Think, Kahn Meng, what might be accomplished," said Peter fervently, +"if the power he wields, that tremendous human machine—hundreds and +thousands of men—were devoted to the proper ends! Think what could be +done for China!" +</P> + +<P> +Kahn Meng turned quickly. His eyes seemed to shine above the ruby glow +of his cigarette. +</P> + +<P> +"I wanted you to say that!" he exclaimed, enthusiastically. "The thing +has been in my mind for years—ever since I was a child! We can do it! +We can!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yet one thousand men cannot enter Len Yang. It is a fortress." +</P> + +<P> +"There is another way into Len Yang—by the mines. It cuts off three +days of the journey. I remember it as a child. Tremendous black +ravines lead to the entrance from the merchants' trail, and the opening +is so small that you could pass it a thousand times without suspecting. +Will you accompany us, Peter Moore—Naradia and I and our followers? +We leave at dawn." He waited anxiously. +</P> + +<P> +Peter shook his head regretfully. The song of adventure was musical to +his ears, but he could not leave with Kahn Meng in the morning. There +was Miss Lorimer—in Kialang. +</P> + +<P> +"I cannot leave Ching-Fu until to-morrow night." +</P> + +<P> +"That will be as well, perhaps," assented Kahn Meng after a moment's +thought. "We will rest for the night in the Lenchuen Pass. It is to +the right of the black road. My sentries will be watching for you." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0311"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XI +</H3> + +<P> +Peter shot the bolt and listened to the sad grumble of the river as he +endeavored to adjust this strange incident to the stranger events of +the very full evening. +</P> + +<P> +Not until the mysterious Kahn Meng had said his good-night did Peter +realize how exhausted he was. +</P> + +<P> +He looked at his watch, a thin gold affair, which had ticked faithfully +during all of his adventures, and was exceedingly astonished that the +night had already flown to the hour of four-thirty. +</P> + +<P> +Dawn would come very soon, and with the first peep of the sun he was to +start for Kialang and Eileen. +</P> + +<P> +The lamp smoked sleepily overhead; far away the great river sang its +bass song. +</P> + +<P> +He must be up at dawn. What a question-mark was Kahn Meng! A Harvard +graduate—and a native of the red city! And what an adorable creature +was the girl Naradia! Her eyes were like jade, her lips like poppy +petals.... +</P> + +<P> +A crash of sound, a blaze of golden light, aroused him. He sat up, +dodging a sunbeam which had flicked his eyelids. Shrill voices came +from a distance. The odor of manure exhaled by the caravan sheds +floated into the room, and Peter jumped up front the couch with an +angry grunt. His heart was heavy with the guilt of the man who has +overslept. +</P> + +<P> +The watch ticked, and the neat, black hands had covered an amazing +amount of ground; it was nearly tiffin-time. +</P> + +<P> +The shrill, distant voices continued. Curiously, Peter looked out. +</P> + +<P> +It was a beautiful sunlit morning, as clear as spring water. Miles +away the sun shone on the yellow haunches of the range, altering them +to a range of heavy gold; and gleamed tenderly on the paddy fields, +black and ripely green. +</P> + +<P> +Peter lowered his eyes to the square formed by the intersection of a +number of alleys some distance beyond the caravansary. A sizable mob +was collected in this enclosure; he estimated that there were at least +a thousand pagan-Chinese assembled, in ring formation—a giant ring, +dozens deep, and centered upon a small focussing spot of white. +</P> + +<P> +The spot of white occupied the precise center of the square, and Peter +studied it for some moments out of idle curiosity. Crowning the white +object was a smaller spot of chestnut-brown. He dashed out of his room +and down the stairs without even pausing for his hat. +</P> + +<P> +Peter gained the edge of the crowd, and he bored into it, scattering +protesting old ladies and chattering old men as ruthlessly as if they +had been unfruitful stalks of rice. +</P> + +<P> +It was a desperate fight to the center of that mob, for others were as +curious as Peter. Then, over the swaying shoulders he caught a second +glimpse of the chestnut-brown. It was a woman's hair, and it was +familiar in arrangement. +</P> + +<P> +He broke into an arena not more than nine feet in diameter in which +were three objects: a wooden cask, upturned, a leather hand-bag, and a +small and exceedingly pretty young woman. Her cheeks were flushed, her +eyes were gray and sweet, and her mouth was like an opening rosebud. +</P> + +<P> +"Eileen——" he cried. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, Peter Moore!" she gasped. +</P> + +<P> +He rushed to take her, but she held up her palms, retreating. +</P> + +<P> +He laughed. "What under the seven suns are you doing in Ching-Fu—and +Kialang—and China? What's the meaning?" +</P> + +<P> +He observed that a snow-white apron extended from her dimpled chin to +her small ankles. +</P> + +<P> +"This is my office hour," she said severely. +</P> + +<P> +"But what does this mean—this?" he exploded, gesturing wildly toward +the circle of attentive onlookers. +</P> + +<P> +"My clinic!" She smiled. +</P> + +<P> +"You're not practising medicine out here—in this street!" he +ejaculated. +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed I am," she replied. "Some of these people have been waiting +their turns since daylight. I returned from Kialang an hour ago. And +I'll work until I collapse. I must. I wish I could multiply myself by +a thousand. There's not another doctor within miles. You can watch, +if you'd like," she added, then called shrilly. +</P> + +<P> +An old woman appeared, and went scurrying, returning immediately with a +clean, wooden bucket filled with hot water. +</P> + +<P> +Eileen removed from the hand-bag what appeared to be a wallet. +Stripping a rubber band from this she revealed a row of shining +surgical knives. Then she produced from the black bag several bottles +and a roll of absorbent cotton. +</P> + +<P> +"Eyes," she told him as her hand was swallowed again by the black bag. +</P> + +<P> +A child, a river boy, was pushed forward by a squinting mother. +Quaking fearfully, he sat down on the cask at the girl's feet. +</P> + +<P> +She turned to Peter. "This child has been without sight for a month. +Without this operation he would remain blind forever. To-morrow he +will see again." +</P> + +<P> +"You're wonderful!" Peter exclaimed. +</P> + +<P> +At the gentle touch the child's loud whining ceased. She lifted one of +the swollen lids. The boy did not flinch. +</P> + +<P> +"Filth caused this," she explained. "The Chinese are the dirtiest race +on earth, anyway," she added, dipping a clump of cotton into an +antiseptic wash and rinsing the patient's eyes. "Where there is too +much dirt, there is blindness. One-fourth of the population in this +section of China are blind. They go to 'fortune tellers,' and they +remain blind. In nine cases out of ten the simplest of operations +followed by care will cure this type of blindness." +</P> + +<P> +"Good enough; but will they be careful afterward?" Peter was curious to +know. +</P> + +<P> +"Once their sight is given back to them, they follow directions to a T. +I'm leaving behind me a trail of the cleanest Chinamen you ever laid +eyes on!" +</P> + +<P> +She became silent, and so did Peter, who watched, hardly daring to +breathe, the swift, sure dartings of the tiny knife in her white +fingers. It was done in a jiffy; and there seemed to be on pain. +</P> + +<P> +"Shouldn't you have an operating-room?" inquired Peter, as she bound up +the child's eyes in gauze. +</P> + +<P> +She gave him a bright, professional smile. "Peter, I've learned to +operate with a thousand hooting infidels crowding closer than this. In +Nanking I was nearly mobbed." +</P> + +<P> +Peter looked concerned. "Did they harm you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, no! They wanted their children, their wives, and their virtuous +mothers to see the light of day again." +</P> + +<P> +"Eileen, you're an angel!" +</P> + +<P> +"Be careful, Peter, or I'll kiss you in front of all these people." +She blushed and smiled. "I think I was very bold to come up here all +alone. Don't you?" +</P> + +<P> +Peter grumbled something which escaped her. +</P> + +<P> +She sat down wearily on the cask and looked up at him forlornly. "I +thought it would be a lark; but it isn't. It's the hardest kind of +work. There seem to be so many blind people—and I get tired—furious!" +</P> + +<P> +"Can't we break away from this mob and have a little chin-chin by +ourselves?" +</P> + +<P> +"You're not anxious, Peter?" +</P> + +<P> +"This is not Shanghai," he rejoined sententiously. "Ching-Fu is not a +healthy spot for me—or for you. I've been watched. Perhaps, this +very minute——" He stopped and looked at the dour faces pressed about +them. +</P> + +<P> +She shrugged. "Are you going on to Len Yang this time, Peter?" +</P> + +<P> +He nodded slightly. "Perhaps." +</P> + +<P> +"With me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Without you," he stated firmly, dimly conscious of a stir on the +fringe of their audience. +</P> + +<P> +"It isn't fair," she murmured; "I've come all this way——" She +touched her lips with the tip of a pink tongue. What she might have +added was forestalled by rising confusion on the edge of the crowd. +There were harsh voices, shrill voices; then these sounds were dwarfed +by the thunder of furious hoofs. +</P> + +<P> +White with the dust of the lower trail a troop of Mongolian horsemen, +riding high in their jeweled saddles, swept into the square, shouting. +Lashing their horses, they drove into the gathering with the fury of +Cossacks. +</P> + +<P> +Peter was thrown to one side by a tall man whom he had taken for a +peasant. He tugged at his pocket, but the coolie was fighting his way +toward the horsemen. +</P> + +<P> +Indifferent to her struggles and screams, this giant carried Eileen in +naked, brawny arms. +</P> + +<P> +Peter leaped after, shouting and cursing at those who stood in his way. +Some one tripped him. He regained his footing, shot his fist into the +jaw of an argumentative youth, and struggled on. +</P> + +<P> +The onlookers were scattering with loud and frightened squeals, running +into one another, gathering in bewildered groups, darting for doorways, +like sheep attacked by a wolf pack. +</P> + +<P> +Then a black horse swept so close to Peter that the stirrup stripped +the buttons from his tunic. A heavy whip stung him across the +shoulders. +</P> + +<P> +When he recovered from this blow the struggling girl was yards away, +still struggling, but no longer screaming. She had been transferred to +the arms of a giant Mongol, who evidently was the leader of this pack. +</P> + +<P> +Peter whipped out the automatic and let go a burst at the horseman who +now blocked his way; and the Mongolian, in the act of lifting a knife +from its holster-scabbard, dipped across the animal's flank, with his +eyes rolling toward heaven, his foot caught in one stirrup. +</P> + +<P> +The horse, frightened, leaped up and spun about, twisting the fallen +rider about his heels. And Peter had clear way for another few feet. +</P> + +<P> +Another horseman swept down upon him. Peter brought the gun up and +brought it down with fury. Twice he shot, and then this interference +was removed. +</P> + +<P> +The troops were gathering into crude formation, evidently for another +charge. Eileen had disappeared. +</P> + +<P> +Peter, knowing that she was somewhere in that quadrangle of rearing +horses, struck forward, stumbling over fallen bodies, slipping in mud. +His lungs burned, and he choked in a consuming rage. And suddenly he +heard her scream his name. +</P> + +<P> +The leader of the desert pack held her across his saddle, with his +mighty arms pinioning her. He saw Peter, shouted, jabbed down with his +spurs, and his mount fairly leaped. The others wheeled gracefully, and +they vanished in thunder toward the plain. +</P> + +<P> +Peter discovered the horse of one of the fallen warriors and leaped to +capture him. +</P> + +<P> +And in the next moment he was groping in blindness. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0312"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XII +</H3> + +<P> +Lingering in his vision was a leering face. +</P> + +<P> +Mud had been thrown into his eyes, and the filth was plastered from +eyebrows to nose. In a flash he recognized the face. Months ago he +had thrown that Chinese from the deck of a steamer into the +shark-infested waters of Tandjong Priok, the harbor of Batavia, Java. +</P> + +<P> +Such amusing spectacles as the struggling unbeliever with rich mud +plastered in his eyes have a tendency to evoke keen appreciation from +the yellow races, who are supposed to be devoid of a sense of humor. +</P> + +<P> +Shrill and explosive laughter was arising on all sides of him. +</P> + +<P> +Light came slowly to his tortured eyes through a thick, yellow film. +All of his muscles were tensed; any instant he expected to experience +the long anticipated thrill of cold steel between ribs—or at his +throat. +</P> + +<P> +Some kindly Samaritan had taken him by the hand. Mucous breath +assailed him. He distinctly heard a thud, a grunt, a screamed order. +</P> + +<P> +No words were spoken, yet the mysterious hand tugged urgently at his +wrist. Peter knelt down and raised handfuls of water to his eyes from +a tub. He looked about for his benefactor and met only the leering +countenance of a highly amused group of urchins, men and women, +diverted as they had probably never been diverted before. +</P> + +<P> +And in the meanwhile he realized with a torn heart that the thundering +hoofs were receding farther with each flitting instant. +</P> + +<P> +Peter knocked down one man as he struck out through the amused circle. +The square was now all but deserted. Two bodies lay in the mud, +unattended. Examination proved these to be the earthly remains of the +two Mongolian horsemen—the two he had shot down. The two horses were +unattended. Peter mounted the nearest. +</P> + +<P> +The air was growing cold. A keen, ice-edged wind was moving northward +from the range, and the sky was graying with storm clouds. +</P> + +<P> +His horse was moving like the wind, perspiring not at all, a +thoroughbred, a mount for a prince! At his present rate he should +catch up with the Mongolian rear by nightfall; otherwise the pursuit +was certainly lost. And then Peter fell to wondering what tactics he +would pursue when he reached the band. How could he, alone, armed only +with an automatic revolver, hope to overpower professional riflemen who +numbered at the least forty? It was a nice problem; yet he could +reason out no simpler solution. He was bent on a task that might have +won applause from a <I>Don Quixote</I>. +</P> + +<P> +The sun was settling upon the golden roof of the range, sending out +monstrous blue shadows across the valley. +</P> + +<P> +Mountain darkness soon enveloped the world. A dazzling star appeared +with the brilliant suddenness of a coast-light. The wind was winy with +the flavor of high snows. +</P> + +<P> +And suddenly the horse stumbled. Peter jerked on the reins. The horse +whinnied, dancing awkwardly on three legs. +</P> + +<P> +</P> + +<P> +</P> + +<P> +</P> + +<P> +Peter dismounted. A foreleg was crippled. He groaned. Fate, long his +ally, was laughing at him. The chase was ended. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly hoofs thudded on the firm dirt; a shadow darted by, nearly +colliding with him. There was a trampling. A lantern frame clicked, +and a lance of yellow light rippled upon his face, broadened. +</P> + +<P> +He glared into the anxious brown eyes of Kahn Meng. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0313"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XIII +</H3> + +<P> +"You are in time!" He gripped Peter by the shoulder. +</P> + +<P> +"Have you stopped them?" gasped Peter. +</P> + +<P> +Kahn Meng indulged in a bitter laugh. "Only the wind could overtake +them." He shrugged. "They came—they broke through our lines—and +again they broke through! If they had stopped for battle," he added +grimly, "there would have been a different tale to tell." +</P> + +<P> +"And they have taken her to Len Yang?" Peter suddenly recalled that +Kahn Meng probably knew nothing of Eileen. +</P> + +<P> +"The doctor? Yes," assented Kahn Meng sadly. "One of my men was in +Ching-Fu when the troop drove through. He was looking out for you. He +arrived only a few moments ago. By Buddha, how you have traveled!" +</P> + +<P> +"I intend to go on." +</P> + +<P> +Kahn Meng sighed. "It means only death." +</P> + +<P> +"I am willing." +</P> + +<P> +"But you cannot catch them with any horse. You would be killed. We +can arrive in Len Yang sooner," Kahn Meng pleaded. "Everything is +ready." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll follow," Peter stated grimly, "on the condition that you answer +two questions. What is your relation to the man at Len Yang——" +</P> + +<P> +"On my word of honor," Kahn Meng interrupted him with emotion, "I am a +friend. Won't that suffice until the morning? If I were an enemy, if +I were on his side——" +</P> + +<P> +"I realize that," Peter stopped him. "Very well. I'll wait. My other +question is this: Why does that beast search the world for beautiful +women—and consign them to the mines?" +</P> + +<P> +Kahn Meng was silent. Reluctantly Peter was allowing himself to be led +through the darkness over broken ground. A pale dot of light emerged +from the night. +</P> + +<P> +"I do not know," said Kahn Meng finally. "It is hideous. I have seen +them. That will be stopped!" he added tensely. +</P> + +<P> +Under the lantern they paused, and Peter found his strange companion to +be examining his features intently. +</P> + +<P> +"I can add nothing to what has been said," Kahn Meng went on. "I have +much to attend to now. We are starting immediately. At present will +you trust me as I trust you?" He extended his right hand, and Peter +clasped it silently. +</P> + +<P> +The ripe old moon of Tibet was creeping from its bed, tipping the +pointed tents with a soft glow. +</P> + +<P> +On such another night as this Peter had first dared to enter the City +of Stolen Lives, and the faint, mysterious sounds of a caravan at rest +stirred up old memories. +</P> + +<P> +The probable treatment of Eileen at the hands of Len Yang's king was +too terrible for him to contemplate. And he was as helpless at this +instant as though he were on the other side of the Pacific Ocean. +</P> + +<P> +A hot flood of anger welled up in his breast. His palms began to +sweat. Each minute was drawing her closer to the moldy walls. +</P> + +<P> +He could picture her struggling in the arms of the giant Mongolian. He +could see the great drawbridge swinging down to the white road in the +moonlight or the blistering heat of noonday. And on the hill, like a +greedy, white vulture, he could see that solemn palace with minarets +stretching like claws to the sky, crouching upon the red slime vomited +forth by the mines. +</P> + +<P> +A cool voice startled him. Kahn Meng came out of the darkness. +</P> + +<P> +"Two hundred men will accompany us. The others will remain here in +case an attack is made on our rear. There may be trouble. Of course, +I could go, unharmed, into Len Yang by the mountain road; but as soon +as I entered I would be helpless—a prisoner forever. He knows I am +returning. He is expecting me. But he does not know that half his +garrison are loyal to me. The yellow-whiskered one will not be glad to +see me," he added with a malicious grin. +</P> + +<P> +The night seemed to be filled with silent, wakeful coolies, armed with +rifles. The grim and watchful silence of the procession, the black +mystery of the night with the sinking, cold moon aloft, and the +uncertainty of the whole affair, set Peter's nerves to tingling; and +his heart was beginning to react to the high excitement of it. +</P> + +<P> +He was elated, yet anxious. To-night's business was no quest of the +golden fleece. The size of his undertaking, now that he stood, with +only a few miles between, at the threshold of achievement, was +overwhelming. He had pledged himself. +</P> + +<P> +How he would proceed if the present venture succeeded was another +matter. Fate or opportunity would have to shape his next steps. +Perhaps in Kahn Meng, the mysterious, might rest the solution. Peter +was an adventurer by choice, and an engineer by profession. Under +given conditions he knew what to expect of men and machines. Before he +had taken to the seas as a wireless operator he had had some experience +as a railroad builder. He had laid rails in California, and Mexico. A +successful career in that profession had been foregone when the warm +hand of Romance laid hold of him. +</P> + +<P> +He wondered how he could adjust himself to the routine of his old +profession again, if that was the opportunity awaiting him in Len Yang. +Governmental problems, he knew, would have to be given to more +specialized men, such perhaps as Kahn Meng. +</P> + +<P> +He looked behind him, at the long line of men stretched down the narrow +ravine like the tail of a colossal serpent. Occasionally a stone, +dislodged, clattered down into the crevices. Above them the rock +stretched and lost itself in the cold purple of the night. The moon +carved out vast shadows, black and threatening. +</P> + +<P> +They emerged at length into a broader valley, jagged with spires +flashing with gleams of the moon on frequent mirror-like surfaces. Ten +thousand men could have been concealed in this desolate cavern. Yet it +rang with emptiness as, far arear, a steel prod struck powdery fire +from the flinty path. +</P> + +<P> +Hours seemed to pass as they advanced, descending constantly. At times +the granite walls nearly met above them, and then a shaft of moonlight +would cast freakish shapes across their vision. +</P> + +<P> +Once they paused for rest near a torrential stream. Some lingered to +drink. The blackness in the sky was yielding itself to the spectral +glow of the new day when Kahn Meng gave the order to halt. +</P> + +<P> +He took Peter aside and explained his procedure. His plan was to send +fifty men through the tunnel to the main shaft to subdue the guards; +the remainder of the armed coolies, numbering about one hundred and +fifty, would follow, forming a protective chain to the black door, an +underground entrance. +</P> + +<P> +"There should be no trouble, no confusion—a bloodless revolution," he +added with a nervous, elated laugh. "I will occupy the place—you will +follow. Wait ten minutes." +</P> + +<P> +Peter nodded. +</P> + +<P> +"A tunnel, fairly straight, leads from here directly to the black door. +Have your revolver in readiness. My men may not make a clean job. The +mine guards carry clubs. Each of my coolies has a rifle." Kahn Meng's +eyes in the light of a torch were glittering excitedly. He grasped +Peter's nearest hand in his enthusiasm. +</P> + +<P> +"We are so near! Only a step!" He laughed wildly, lifted his voice +ecstatically to a sing-song and chanted from Ouan-Oui: "Then—— +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"'Let us rejoice together.<BR> +and fill our porcelain goblets<BR> +with cool wine!'"<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0314"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XIV +</H3> + +<P> +Now Peter was an emotional young man. And wrathful notions were +kindled in him before he encountered the only guard Kahn Meng's men had +overlooked—may the bones of that one rest gently! +</P> + +<P> +He saw little children clawing in red muck; he saw young girls with +sunken breasts, their former beauty a wretched caricature, carrying +dying babes upon their backs. He saw tired old men, and women, +crippled, blind, with red fingers and wrists, as if they had been +dipped in blood. He saw plenty to enrage him. +</P> + +<P> +Kahn Meng's guards bowed gravely as he passed them at tunnel passages. +He had walked perhaps three-quarters of an hour generally in a single +direction, bearing a torch, when he collided with a smooth, flat +obstruction. +</P> + +<P> +Somewhere in the earth distantly behind him occurred a metallic rumble, +followed by a gust of soft wind, fragrant with the outdoors. +</P> + +<P> +He was staring at blackness, the varnished blackness of a great wooden +door. He was at the threshold! somewhere on the other side of that +enormous wooden barrier was the man of Len Yang! Chalked boldly upon +the surface was the legend: +</P> + +<P> +P. M.—straight on—K. M. +</P> + +<P> +Pulling with his fingers and bracing his feet in the rough floor, the +mass moved monumentally toward him. It swung wide, on great, concealed +hinges. +</P> + +<P> +Peter's adventurous heart was beating an excited battle call. His +burning eyes strained beyond the ruddy luminance of the torch, and +examined—white marble! He was at his journey's end—somewhere in the +palace of the Gray Dragon! +</P> + +<P> +Peter dragged the great door softly shut behind him, and found himself +in a chamber of vast proportions, built of what had at one time been +purest white marble, discolored entirely now by the red taint of the +bloody ore. The floor was perspiring redly. +</P> + +<P> +Going on tiptoe to the center of the space, he searched the blank +walls, listening breathlessly. +</P> + +<P> +He heard nothing but the faint patter of the dripping slime, and he +went swiftly to the end of the musty antechamber and discovered at the +distant end the fourth wall, hitherto unseen. Reaching from the left +corner of the scarlet tomb was a narrow staircase built also of marble. +</P> + +<P> +Dropping his hand nervously into his right-hand tunic pocket, he went +up and pushed open another door. He found himself now in a snow-white +corridor, faintly lighted by grilles overhead. The hall reached +gloomily into gray distance, and it was quite vacant. An unseen +fountain was playing near by. At his left was another door, closed. +</P> + +<P> +The closed door attracted him. Certainly there was no other course now +than a detailed exploration. +</P> + +<P> +Bracing himself for a surprise in this palace of hideous surprises, he +flung open the door, and entered black darkness. +</P> + +<P> +Carelessly he closed the door behind him, listening and sniffing. At +first he heard nothing, but he smelled altar-incense faintly. +</P> + +<P> +A deep-voiced gong suddenly reverberated while Peter tensed himself. +The sonorous melody lifted and crashed, subsiding into countless +unmusical overtones. Lighter metal rang upon wood. +</P> + +<P> +Then lights—electric lights—by the dozens, +hundreds—thousands—blazed with a violent suddenness, a suddenness +that Peter could compare only with that of a tropical sun leaping out +of the ocean; and Peter blinked upon green. It was a hideous green, a +green of diabolical intensity. He shivered. It seemed to creep, to +writhe, this green. +</P> + +<P> +At first he could not absorb this insane color idea; and he stood +there, with his heart sinking. +</P> + +<P> +He discovered that he was occupying an oblong green rug of satin. He +was dazzled by the green glare of a cluster of quartz lights in front +of him, and he stared, first at a monstrous green Buddha, squatting on +a thighless rump between flashing green pillars, and finally at the +most hideous individual he had ever gazed upon, a human, who occupied a +throne carved solidly from green jade. +</P> + +<P> +The glimpse was like stepping from a dark dream into the center of an +aquamarine nightmare. And in the instant following his partial +digestion of the viridescent scheme he was possessed with the notion +that the occupant of such a chamber of horror must certainly be insane. +</P> + +<P> +That was the first idea to possess Peter. He was not surprised to find +that he was unafraid. Anticipation is much more fearful than +realization. He had experienced many panicky moments in looking +forward to this meeting; and yet in the presence of him he was cool. +</P> + +<P> +The Gray Dragon of Len Yang? +</P> + +<P> +From the tail of his eye he detected a man with folded arms backed +against the door. At either side of the green throne stood Mongolian +guards, armed with rifles. They struck the only dissonant note of the +picture, for they were garbed in desert brown. +</P> + +<P> +Evidently all ways of escape were closed. For two years he had +contrived to elude the tracers, the killers, sent out by this creature, +and now he had deliberately walked upon his swords. Death? Where was +Kahn Meng? +</P> + +<P> +Possessed with a feeling akin to cat-like curiosity, Peter walked +slowly to the beryl throne steps, where he paused, with his fists +gripped tightly in his pockets, his chin up, and his shoulders back. +</P> + +<P> +Close scrutiny did not soften the bestial cruelty of the face of Len +Yang's ruler. It was a startling face, as gray as fresh clay, sharply +wrinkled. The nose was exceedingly long and sharp, with a crooked +joint. Dirty-yellow mandarin mustaches drooped like wet sea-weed from +the sides of a curling, sneering mouth. +</P> + +<P> +And it was dominated by a pair of very small, very bright green eyes, +set deep and exceedingly close together. +</P> + +<P> +But the tenor of the face was gray, the gray of living death, and from +this emblem, Peter suddenly decided, the man had been given his +descriptive name. +</P> + +<P> +Long, gray talons reached out from the folds of a mandarin jacket and +toyed nervously with a strand of gray hair which jutted from the +pigtail winding over the slanting shoulder. +</P> + +<P> +The green eyes blinked as they completed the survey of Peter Moore. +The curling lips were moving. +</P> + +<P> +"Peter Moore!" he rasped. "The most daring foreigner who has yet +visited my city! Peter the Brazen, with a reputation of breaking the +hearts of beautiful women! You are late. I have been waiting upon +this visit for two years!" +</P> + +<P> +He leaned forward, and Peter retreated a step. +</P> + +<P> +"What have you done with her?" Peter snapped. +</P> + +<P> +The Gray Dragon sank back with a sigh. "Ah! Would you like to gaze +upon that which can never be yours?" +</P> + +<P> +"May I see her—once—before I die?" +</P> + +<P> +"That is a wise statement. You are altogether wise—astonishingly so! +Wisdom is a rare gem in one so young." He chuckled in an irritating +treble. "Look about you again, youth. This is known as the room of +the green death. Few men leave the room of the green death alive. My +hounds bay when they enter. +</P> + +<P> +"The young woman is here—safe. If you will answer my questions, I may +permit you to gaze upon her just once before you die! Perhaps I may be +so lenient as to allow you to die together. Does not that appeal to +you?" he demanded, as if anxious. "You—who are so thirsty for the +gold of romance?" +</P> + +<P> +Peter glared at him silently, and his fingers were twitching. +</P> + +<P> +His host tapped the resonant gong. Some one stepped behind Peter, for +he distinctly heard the seep of silken garments. +</P> + +<P> +The man on the green throne muttered, adding to Peter: "I am granting +your wish. You may gaze upon her before you die. I, too, will gaze, +for I prize her highly, as you know." +</P> + +<P> +He sank back meditatively, and in that moment the gray face became +oddly sane. +</P> + +<P> +"Peter Moore, seldom do I permit men who have troubled me so sorely to +escape alive. Perhaps, in face of what has happened, you are foolishly +taking unto yourself credit. And still, for a reason unknown to me, I +hesitate. +</P> + +<P> +"Listen to me closely, youth! For these two years I have watched you +with my thousands of hired eyes—you cannot realize how closely! +Because I was deeply interested. You are a riddle to me. You have the +emotions of a woman, and the cunning of a <I>hu-li</I>. +</P> + +<P> +"Times without count word has gone forth from this green room that your +death must take place. Childish curiosity to stare just once upon the +foolish adventurer has caused that word to be revoked! Do not assume +credit for bravery that was not yours, Peter Moore! You are not +heroic; you have been a plaything. The gods are through with you. +</P> + +<P> +"Harken to me, Peter the foolish. Within these green walls daily are +inscribed the names of men and women who must die. Your name has been +spoken, yet never once has it been written. When it is written——" +He paused with a portentous hush. +</P> + +<P> +"To-day, when I realized you were at last coming to me, when spy after +spy ran to my feet to say that at last—at last—Peter Moore, the +unconquerable, was coming to pay his long-overdue call—I hastened with +that daily quota of names of those who are doomed, so that I could +attend you with undivided attention. +</P> + +<P> +"Can it interest you? Nine men are doomed. Within two weeks from this +hour a mandarin will die by the knife, an ambassador at the court of +Peking will expire by poison, an indiscreet Javanese merchant——" He +waved his skinny arms impatiently. +</P> + +<P> +"Those whose names are written must inevitably die. If the name of +Peter Moore had but once appeared on the green silk—I could have +forgotten you—and rested. But I was restrained by a most curious +impulse." He looked at Peter eagerly. +</P> + +<P> +"You have perplexed, almost fascinated me. Tell me first, what was +your power over Romola Borria?" +</P> + +<P> +Peter only grunted, angrily astonished. +</P> + +<P> +"Wait!" cautioned the curling lips. "I am not ridiculing you. I am +keenly desirous of knowing." He frowned, pondering. "I will tell you +about that woman. Romola Borria was sent to me, and I employed her. +For certain difficult tasks she was all that I desired—more beautiful +than sunset on the Tibetan snow—a glorious woman, yet as cold, as +unfriendly as that same snow. Her spirit was one of ice, yet fire. +</P> + +<P> +"And her heart was stone—or snow also. I sent her directly to +communicate a certain thing to you—to kill you in the event that you +declined. Shall I tell you how many men she has put out of the way at +my bidding before and after she met you? No matter. +</P> + +<P> +"Romola Borria was proof against love. No man was created for her to +love. Yet that snowy heart melted, that precious coldness vanished, +when she met—Peter Moore!" +</P> + +<P> +The Gray Dragon paused, and the cessation of his metallic voice, the +quick relinquishing of the evil glint in his small, green eyes, left +Peter with a deeper feeling of revulsion than previously. It had been +his imaginative belief that the Gray Dragon was utterly without human +traits; yet he possessed that lowest of them all, a bestial curiosity. +</P> + +<P> +"I can all but read your thoughts," he went on, lidding his green eyes +a number of times. "You are saying what my victims invariably say when +I grant them these rare audiences before they die. Over and over you +are repeating—'Beast! Beast! Beast!' Is that not true?" +</P> + +<P> +"That is absolutely true!" +</P> + +<P> +Malice seemed to hover about the glittering green eyes, and was gone at +once. "Peter Moore, to gaze at you is like gazing into a crystal. In +you I witness that supreme quality which was denied me in my youth. I +can have anything in the world but that supreme, that sublime quality. +I can buy anything in the world but that." The voice stopped. +</P> + +<P> +Peter shifted his glance momentarily to the armed attendants who +guarded this evil life. An inner whisper counseled him: "Not yet! Not +yet! There is time!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yet there is a chance that I may reconsider; that I may permit you to +continue to live—perhaps in the mines. But certainly, Peter the +foolish, you must not yield to that present impulse. Of course, you +are armed. But do not move! Two feet behind you stands an excellent +shot with a pistol aimed at your backbone. Men with cracked spines do +not live long!" He chuckled. +</P> + +<P> +"What was I about to say? Ah, yes! If I could purchase from you that +quality—if I could, I say, anything in my kingdom would be +yours—everything! It is the one thing I have been denied. Holy +wheel! It is strange, this way I am talking! I have rarely had such +an interested audience. Most of my captives at this stage are +cringing, are kissing my feet." +</P> + +<P> +The snarling grin left his lips again, and his mood became strangely +soft, like dead flesh, so Peter thought, as he waited—with that pistol +at his backbone! +</P> + +<P> +"I intend telling you an amazing story, which you may or may not +credit. I am telling it—this confession—partly because I dislike the +look in your blue eyes. Like everyone else, you loathe me. But I will +erase that look. I intend to show you I am even more human than you! +</P> + +<P> +"By Buddha, I will tell that story to you—you, Peter Moore, the most +fortunate man in all China this hour. Think, before I begin, of that +mandarin, that bungling Javanese merchant, who, also, are about to die. +Then forget all else—and listen. +</P> + +<P> +"This took place many years ago, when I was a young man, like yourself. +I, too, loved a woman. Can you understand me? I, too, once loved a +woman, a maiden of the Punjab. I can conceive her in the veil of my +memory still. Eyes like dusty stars, skin the color of the Tibetan +dawn, the dawn that you may never again look upon. +</P> + +<P> +"Her heart was gold, so I thought. Yet it was dross. On a night in +springtime, in the bazaar at Mangalore, we two first met. I have not +forgotten. That night I fell in love with the white orchid from the +Punjab. She was more beautiful to me than life or death, a feast of +beauty. +</P> + +<P> +"Len Yang was mine then, and I was a rich prince, but not so rich as +now. Drunkenly I was casting my gold about the bazaar when we met. +She saw me—and she smiled! It was the first time any woman had smiled +upon me, and I was alarmed and troubled. I was no more handsome than +now. I was the man that no one loved. <I>Chuh-seng</I>—the beast—was my +name even then, among those who tolerated my friendship because of my +fluent gold. +</P> + +<P> +"And when the Punjab maiden smiled upon me, I thought to myself: +'<I>Chuh-seng</I>, love has come at last to sweeten your bitter heart.' +What should a young lover have done? I—I bought the bazaar and +presented it to her—on bended knees! +</P> + +<P> +"She confessed that she could love me, despite my ugliness, this white +orchid of the plains. Peter Moore, do not look at me. You can +believe—if you do not look. She kissed me—on my lips! Again she +said she loved me. Had I been a thousand times uglier, she would have +loved me a thousand times more passionately! Heaven had joined us. +And I forgave my enemies, renewed my vows at the wheel, and blessed +every virgin star! +</P> + +<P> +"Love had come to me at last! Me—the most hideous in all of Asia. +And I believed her. What would you have done, Peter Moore—you who +know so well the heart of woman? Never mind. I believed everything. +</P> + +<P> +"We lingered in Mangalore. But I did not know then of the Singhalese +merchant—the trader who owned three miserable camels. He possessed +not handsomeness, but the romantic glamour which you possess, Peter the +Brazen! Reveling in my love, I was as blind as these imbeciles in my +mines. Our child was born. +</P> + +<P> +"She could have taken more, had she not been so lovestruck. She could +have had my all—my gems, my pearls, and rubies, and diamonds, more +colossal than the treasure of any raja—my mines which dripped with the +precious mercury! +</P> + +<P> +"Yet she stole only my gold which was convenient, and went out into the +starlit night with the Singhalese trader, to share the romance of the +blinding desert—the Singhalese trader, a man of no caste at all! +Love? That was my love!" +</P> + +<P> +The hideous, gray face retreated behind talons as though to blot out +the thought of that ancient betrayal. When the talons again dropped +down, the dead softness of the face was replaced by the former sneer. +</P> + +<P> +This change was quite shocking. +</P> + +<P> +The beast was laughing harshly. "If I could not have love, I could at +least have hate! I have hated more passionately than any man has ever +loved!" +</P> + +<P> +Peter said nothing to this, although the gray lips closed and the green +eyes looked at him expectantly, almost demanding comment. Surely this +creature was insane, with his room of the green death, his wild tales +of love of a Punjab maiden, of wholesale hate. +</P> + +<P> +The Gray Dragon seemed irritated. "What have you to say now?" +</P> + +<P> +"I was only wondering," said Peter, as if suddenly tired, "when that +pistol is to explode at my back." +</P> + +<P> +"There is yet time," muttered his host. "No man has yet left this room +in contempt of me! Can you believe I have lied?" he snarled. "Why, +you fool!" he croaked. "I will teach you! What do you suppose has +become of that other one whom you met at the <I>weng</I> into the hills? Do +you imagine my men were not in his camp? Every inch of the way you two +were watched. +</P> + +<P> +"And what has become of your prudence? You who defied me, who escaped +me—undone by a woman! She is why you are here. Because you are such +a fool you shall die. I might have relented. I thought you were proof +against love. Is any one? Is any one proof against it but me? Ah——" +</P> + +<P> +He looked eagerly beyond Peter, and Peter heard a frightened sob, then +a little cry, as the door closed heavily. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0315"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XV +</H3> + +<P> +She flew across the room to him, and pressed her hands to his cheeks. +Her eyes were sparkling with tears, and her face was very pale. Only +her lips, which were everlastingly bright, gave color to that +distressed young face. +</P> + +<P> +"Peter!" she moaned. "Oh, I was so afraid!" She lowered her voice. +"What is to become of us?" +</P> + +<P> +He looked down at her and forced a smile to his lips. +</P> + +<P> +"We who are about to die——" he began grimly. +</P> + +<P> +She gave him a twisted smile as his arms tightened about her. He loved +her for that courage. +</P> + +<P> +With his arm at her waist he turned. He had observed that the Gray +Dragon had spoken truly as regarded the armed coolie at his back. +</P> + +<P> +Their captor bent forward and fixed upon them the most curious of +glances. His merciless, green eyes ran from Eileen's tumbled chestnut +hair to her small, tan boots—then he regarded Peter with the same +intensity, and thereupon he seemed to be weighing the doomed lovers as +a unit, or as an idea. +</P> + +<P> +A devilish smile cracked his lips. +</P> + +<P> +"So this is love?" he cackled. "This is the young woman to whom you +have thrown your life away—after most splendid resistance—you, Peter +the Brazen! Do you still love her?" He pointed a crooked forefinger +at Eileen. "Tell me, would you desert him, in this first flush of your +maiden love, for a handsomer man—and steal his gold, after he laid the +earth at your feet? Would you do that?" +</P> + +<P> +Methodically the talons stroked the sea-weed mustache. +</P> + +<P> +"You are too anxious for death. You are romantic. Youth does have +such ideas. Even I, <I>Chuh-seng</I>, have such notions. Death? Why does +your little mind single out such simple punishment—you—lovers? +Romantically you long for death, because in the next world you would +come together again—in the lover's eternity of heaven. +</P> + +<P> +"But I have a far more imaginative scheme. Separation! How does that +appeal to you?" He leaned forward and watched them. "I have an +excellent plan. One of you shall work until the end of his life in +this mine, as beautiful captives in the past quarter century have +slaved and died; the other shall labor until the end of life in my +quarries, not more than one hundred miles from Len Yang. +</P> + +<P> +"Then you will not speak of death. You will struggle and you will grow +old long before your time, as the others have done, hoping that vain +hope of again meeting. And I shall grant your wish! Years from now, +when youth and the divine passion of youth have flown—when only the +bitter dregs of that rapturous love remain—then you shall be +reunited." He cackled humorously in his treble. +</P> + +<P> +"O Buddha! How long have I waited for such an opportunity? How long? +How long? Is it twenty years—or forty—or a thousand—since that +night in the bazaar at Mangalore?" His green eyes rolled to the green +ceiling. And his mood underwent another vast change, this creature of +monster moods. +</P> + +<P> +"Are you grateful to me, you two? You should be! It was I who brought +you together—I, the cruelest man in all Asia! It must have been a +divine night, that night on the great river, Peter Moore, when she came +into your arms. Love blazed in your hearts that night; and this +gray-eyed witch said, with downcast eyes: 'I like you, Peter Moore!' +What difference what she said? Any words would have dripped as much +with love!" +</P> + +<P> +He sprang to his feet, groaning, his evil countenance undergoing +convulsions, as of terrific inner spasms. +</P> + +<P> +"You shall not have that!" he shouted. "You shall not have love! What +I have done, I shall undo! You shall live apart. Love has been +refused me; love is refused all who come within my reach! That is my +decision. Nor shall you have death. One of you to the quarry—the +other to the mines. I shall be generous. You may make your choice. +And <I>that</I> is my decision!" +</P> + +<P> +The lovers stared at him. The vicious plan had gripped Peter's +imagination. Gone was all thought of the pistol, which lay even now in +the palm of his hand. One shot would have silenced the beast forever; +but he had forgotten such things as bullets and pistols. +</P> + +<P> +He could realize only that, even before their first kiss had been +exchanged, they would be torn apart. +</P> + +<P> +The color had receded from Peter's skin and eyes; he looked very much +nearer forty than thirty. And Eileen was reflecting that despairing +attitude. She could think only of him toiling wretchedly in the mines +or quarries, striving against a fate as unfriendly, as unyielding, as a +wall of cold granite. +</P> + +<P> +The Gray Dragon sank back, with his chest heaving. His features were +working. The spasm had exhausted him; and the green brilliance gave +his gray skin a ghastly pallor. He lifted a small silver hammer and +brought it down upon the belly of a large bronze gong. +</P> + +<P> +There was a stir behind them. +</P> + +<P> +With the same cold hate in his expression as he addressed himself again +to the lovers, who clung together like small children, pitiful objects +indeed in this hall of pitiless green. +</P> + +<P> +"The others are coming; their fate will be yours—you lovers!" +</P> + +<P> +He turned to address words in dialect to the Mongolian on his right, +and in the space Eileen's breath came warmly upon Peter's ear. +</P> + +<P> +"Are you armed?" she whispered. +</P> + +<P> +His nod was hardly perceptible. He dropped his hand into his pocket, +and at that instant his arms were pinioned. The revolver was snatched +from his fingers. +</P> + +<P> +The malicious green eyes were staring beyond them. +</P> + +<P> +Peter heard a low sob, instantly stifled. Naradia, with bloodshot +eyes, was searching his face in distress. Her black hair had been +arranged in a heavy braid, which ran down her back in a glistening rope. +</P> + +<P> +Kahn Meng's sad eyes lingered on Peter's for a moment, sparkling with +guilt, and his face was crestfallen. Plainer than any words could have +said, his expression cried out: "I have failed! I am sorry." +</P> + +<P> +Then he advanced to the throne, taking his stand at the Gray Dragon's +side, a maneuver which was thoroughly mystifying to Peter. +</P> + +<P> +The Gray Dragon seemed to ignore his presence. To Peter he said: "You +recognize your companion of last night? The man with a legion of a +thousand loyal men at his back?" +</P> + +<P> +Peter nodded, muttering. +</P> + +<P> +The Gray Dragon waved Kahn Meng to one side. "He is my son. He is my +son by my faithful wife! Do you understand that, Peter Moore?" +</P> + +<P> +"Your son? And he will carry on your work?" +</P> + +<P> +"Precisely that! You have expressed it neatly, Peter Moore. The Gray +Dragon will carry on the work of the Gray Dragon!" +</P> + +<P> +The mystery of Kahn Meng was cleared aside. Fury directed at his +treachery swelled in Peter's breast and burst. It was as though a +torch had been applied. The flame of an ancient ancestral fire, when +men fought for their lives and their loves with clubs, and nails, and +teeth, burst into his brain and into his breast. The muscles under his +tunic-sleeve, which clung to his arm from the moisture of perspiration, +rippled and flexed and hardened. +</P> + +<P> +His face—the clean, handsome face of well-lived youth—was quite +dreadful to look upon—flushed to a fiery red and distorted. His lips +were skinned back over his white teeth. +</P> + +<P> +The thunder of his roar fairly shook the green quartz pillars, between +which the smug, green Buddha smiled complacently, impervious to the +rages of foolish mankind. +</P> + +<P> +Peter sprang upon the heels of that roar like a mass of wonderfully +controlled steel at the crouching figure, a figure whose countenance +was suddenly wet and white. +</P> + +<P> +He tore the carbine from the fingers of the nearest guard before that +one could collect his wits. +</P> + +<P> +The Mongolian sprawled over backward, and in the second instant the +heavy butt of the carbine came down with a shuddering crash upon the +skull-cap of the man who would no longer rule Len Yang! +</P> + +<P> +With such tremendous vigor was that blow delivered that the walnut +stock, as tough as iron, shivered into splinters, which swam in the +bursting brains of the victim. +</P> + +<P> +Screaming, Peter swung the stock again, and again, as if he would beat +his wretched victim to a pulp. Nothing but the barrel and breech +mechanism remained. +</P> + +<P> +His murderous intention seemed to be to remove, to obliterate for all +time, the hideous face, to wipe out by means of his brute strength the +gray countenance. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly he sprang away from him with the elastic stride of a panther. +Kahn Meng, the traitor, was next. +</P> + +<P> +And as he leaped Kahn Meng slipped from his own pocket a revolver and +dodged Peter's blow. +</P> + +<P> +Peter staggered backward, reaching the center of the room, dragging the +bloody and bent carbine barrel in a red trail. There he stopped, +swaying, toppling. +</P> + +<P> +Darkness was assailing him. He was sinking into a pit. And the heart +was fluttering, laboring treacherously under the poison created in his +blood by fury. +</P> + +<P> +The green lights spun. +</P> + +<P> +He threw the carbine barrel at the complacent Buddha, where it clanked +to the marble flags. And he withered like the lotus, sprawling upon +his back with his eyes tightly shut, the color fast disappearing from +his complexion. +</P> + +<P> +And his head was reclining upon the small, tan boots of Eileen. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0316"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XVI +</H3> + +<P> +Somewhere in the distance a sweet-voiced temple bell resounded +dreamily. Vague odors of sandalwood and wistaria swam in the soft, +cool air. A ray of warm sunlight fell upon Peter's inert hand, and he +opened his eyes. +</P> + +<P> +Memory came slowly back to him. He remembered that he had killed. The +last thing he distinctly recalled from that moment of ungovernable fury +which had taken hold of him was that Kahn Meng, the traitor, had drawn +a pistol. As a natural consequence he should be dead. Perhaps he was. +</P> + +<P> +Slowly his brain became clear, although queer vapors arose in it. +</P> + +<P> +Soft footsteps crossed the stone flagging with a clicking of dainty +heels. Small fingers, exquisite to the touch, brushed the tousled hair +from his forehead. These were cool and pleasant. +</P> + +<P> +"Old Sweetheart!" said a happy voice. +</P> + +<P> +The cool fingers crept underneath his chin and lingered there. Others +crept under his neck. A warm, satiny cheek floated down to rest upon +his forehead. +</P> + +<P> +Dozens of questions swarmed out of the wreckage of his waking +consciousness. +</P> + +<P> +"You are safe? Where are we? What happened to that scoundrel, Kahn +Meng? Why did they bring you here? Did they harm you? Who hit——" +</P> + +<P> +A silvery laugh interrupted him. "Yes, yes—yes!" said the voice that +was sweeter to him than all of the music in Christendom with heathendom +thrown in for good measure. +</P> + +<P> +"I am safe. I was kidnapped and treated with all respect due a famous +doctor—because a dead monster was suffering from neuritis. We are +alone, in a tiny glass house on the roof of the ivory palace, and dawn +has this very moment come. Such a glorious dawn, Peter! +</P> + +<P> +"Are you rested? I never saw any one so completely burned out. Such +fury! Gracious, what a man! But why, Peter, did you attack poor Kahn +Meng? He's the best friend you have in the world!" +</P> + +<P> +"The Gray Dragon!" muttered Peter, clenching his fists. +</P> + +<P> +"Peter, Kahn Meng would lay down his life for you. Of course, he is +the Gray Dragon; but that is only a name now. He is the Gray Dragon, +and he has you, and you only, to thank for it. +</P> + +<P> +"The title is hereditary, and he is the last of his line. He knew what +that monstrous father of his was doing, and he has been helpless—until +you freed him. And the dreadful secret, Peter, is that that beast was +not Kahn Meng's father. A Singhalese trader, murdered years ago, was +his father, and his mother, a beautiful woman of the Punjab, was for a +time the wife of the beast! +</P> + +<P> +"The entire organization has now come under Kahn Meng's control. He is +the Gray Dragon of Len Yang, and it is a title that from now on will be +a power for good, for construction! +</P> + +<P> +"You can't imagine what wonderful plans he has. He's a genius—that +young man is, Peter! And you—you—are to be his chief executive, the +viceroy of Len Yang! The chief of mines, of transportation, of labor! +He told me that millions of dollars of capital are at your disposal. +</P> + +<P> +"Last night we planned a great railroad line, running from the mines to +Chosen and Peking and Tientsin! Think of it, Peter! What opportunity! +</P> + +<P> +"While I," Eileen went on blithely, "am to start a hospital. No more +blindness, no more sickness, in Len Yang. And shorter working hours. +And an age limit. And schools. And good food, and lots of it! +</P> + +<P> +"From now on our work is to assume a world-wide importance. Word came +over the wireless late last night that Germany has finally started the +long-expected European war. Kahn Meng believes every nation will be +drawn into it. So there is another menace for you to help stamp +out—the Dragon of Europe. Kahn Meng says these mines, and the copper +and iron mines, nearer the coast, can help—wonderfully!" +</P> + +<P> +Peter felt vastly happy, too enthralled to believe that the state could +endure. He stood up from the cot and looked down into the bright face +of the one woman in the world. It was radiant, very pink, now, and her +round eyes were tender and meek. Perhaps she was a little frightened +by the fierceness which had developed in his expression. +</P> + +<P> +She opened her arms with a little laugh. He crushed her close. Their +lips met and clung. +</P> + +<P> +He pushed her away, and his blue eyes were impassioned. +</P> + +<P> +Eileen smiled. "Look!" +</P> + +<P> +The white snow on the high peaks across the valley glowed with the +heavy gold of sunrise. Far below them, midway to the green wall, he +saw a great mass of people. There were hundreds packed about the mouth +of the shaft. He wondered why they were waiting; then the shrill voice +of a crier penetrated the cool morning air. The thousands waited in +silence. +</P> + +<P> +Peter wondered at their dumbness in the face of the news that the man +who had ridden them into blindness, into starvation and death, was no +longer to tyrannize over them. +</P> + +<P> +The crier continued to shout his singsong. +</P> + +<P> +How would the spirit of that mob react to the announcement? +</P> + +<P> +The singsong halted, and for a breathless moment the miners, too, were +silent. +</P> + +<P> +Then a great volume of sound disturbed the morning hush. It swelled in +volume, rose in key—a great thunder, the thunder of laughing voices, +the hysterical joy of a people made free! It filled the valley and +overflowed into the hills, a prolonged wave of happy tumult. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR><BR> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Peter the Brazen, by George F. Worts + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PETER THE BRAZEN *** + +***** This file should be named 28780-h.htm or 28780-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/8/7/8/28780/ + +Produced by Al Haines + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Peter the Brazen + A Mystery Story of Modern China + +Author: George F. Worts + +Illustrator: Gayle Hoskins + +Release Date: May 12, 2009 [EBook #28780] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PETER THE BRAZEN *** + + + + +Produced by Al Haines + + + + + + + + + + +[Transcriber's note: Characters with macrons have been indicated in +this file by preceding them with an equals sign and surrounding them +with square brackets, e.g. "[=e]".] + + + + + +[Frontispiece: PETER, HASTILY INSTRUCTING THE GIRL TO HOLD TWO +RICKSHAWS, LEAPED AT HIS PURSUER WITH DOUBLED FISTS] + + + + +PETER THE BRAZEN + + +A MYSTERY STORY OF MODERN CHINA + + + +BY + +GEORGE F. WORTS + + + + "A man whose heart is burning with passion + follows the undulations of a thought." + --Su-Tong-Po. + + + + + _WITH A FRONTISPIECE BY_ + GAYLE HOSKINS + + + + + +PHILADELPHIA & LONDON + +J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY + +1919 + + + + +COPYRIGHT, 1918, BY THE FRANK A. MUNSEY COMPANY + +COPYRIGHT, 1919, J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY + + + + +TO + +DR. AND MRS. W. B. A. MOORE + +HONG KONG + + + + +CONTENTS + + +PART I + +THE CITY OF STOLEN LIVES + + +PART II + +THE BITTER FOUNTAIN + + +PART III + +THE GREEN DEATH + + + + +PETER THE BRAZEN + + +PART I + +THE CITY OF STOLEN LIVES + + +CHAPTER I + + "How serene the joy, + when things that are made for each other meet + and are joined; + but ah,-- + how rarely they meet and are joined, the things + that are made for each other!" + --SAO-NAN. + + +When Peter Moore entered the static-room, picked his way swiftly and +unnoticingly across the littered floor, and jerked open the frosted +glass door of the chief operator's office, the assembled operators +followed him with glances of admiration and concern. No one ever +entered the Chief's office in that fashion. One waited until called +upon. + +But Moore was privileged. Having "pounded brass" for five useful and +adventurous years on the worst and best of the ships which minimize the +length and breadth of the Pacific Ocean, he was favored; he had become +a person of importance. He had performed magical feats with a wireless +machine; he had had experiences. + +His first assignment was a fishing schooner, a dirty, unseaworthy +little tub, which ran as far north sometimes as the Aleutians; and he +had immediately gained official recognition by sticking to his +instruments for sixty-eight hours--recorded at fifteen-minute intervals +in his log--when the whaler _Goblin_ encountered a submerged pinnacle +rock in the Island Passage and flashed the old C.Q.D. distress signal. + +It was brought out in the investigation that the distance at which +Peter Moore had picked up the signals of the sinking _Goblin_ exceeded +the normal working range of either apparatus. When pressed, the young +man confessed the ownership of a pair of abnormally keen ears. +Afterward, it was demonstrated for the benefit of doubters that Moore +could "read" signals in the receivers when the ordinary operator could +detect only a far away scratching sound. + +Beginning his second year in the Marconi uniform, Peter Moore was +recognized as material far too valuable to waste on the fishing boats; +and he was stationed on the _Sierra_, which was then known in wireless +circles as a supervising ship. Her powerful apparatus could project +out a long electric arm over any part of the eastern Pacific, and the +duty of her operator was to reprimand sluggards who neglected answering +calls from ship or shore stations, and inexperienced men who violated +the strict rules governing radio intercourse. + +It was whispered that Peter Moore grew tired of the nagging to which +his position on the supervisor ship gave him privilege, for he shortly +made application for a berth in the China run. Now every operator on +the Pacific cherishes the hope that his fidelity will some day be +rewarded by a China run, and there are applications always on file for +those romantic berths. The Chief granted Peter Moore his whim +unhesitatingly; and Moore selected the _Vandalia_, perhaps the most +desirable of the transpacific fleet, because she stayed away from San +Francisco the longest. + +That the supersensitiveness of his ears was not waning was soon proved +by his receipt of a non-relayed message, afterward verified, from the +shore station in Seattle, when the _Vandalia_ lay at anchor in the +harbor at Hong-Kong. That was a new record. Marconi himself is +believed to have written the young magician a complimentary letter. +But Peter Moore showed that letter to no one. That was his nature. He +was something of a mystery even to the members of his own profession. +Many of the younger operators knew him only as a symbol, a genius +behind a key, or as a hand. Professionally speaking, it was his hand +that made his personality unique and enviable. There was a queer +vitality in the signals sent into the air from a wireless machine when +his strong white fingers played upon the key; his touch was as familiar +to them as the voice of a friend. + +There was a general simmering down of coastwise gossip in the +static-room when the frosted glass door of the Chief's office closed +behind him. Voices trailed off into curious whisperings. Then-- + +"But great guns, man, I need you!" boomed the cranky voice of the Chief. + +Followed then the low hum of Peter Moore as he explained himself. + +"Makes no difference!" the Chief roared. "Can't get along without you. +Short handed. Gotta stay!" + +In irritation the Chief always abbreviated his remarks quite as if they +were radiograms to be transmitted at dollar-a-word rates. + +The truth then dawned and burst upon those ardent listeners in the +static-room. Peter Moore was resigning! It was incredible. + +A more daring head pressed its audacious ear against the snowy glass. +This was a fat, excitable little man, long in the service, but destined +forever, it seemed, to hammer brass in the Panama intermediate run. A +skillful operator, but his arm broke, as wireless men say, whenever +faced by emergency. He distinctly heard Peter Moore state in a voice +of emotion: "Too much China. God, man, I'll be smuggling opium next!" + +"Rubbish!" the Chief snorted. + +The Panama Line man waved a pale hand behind him for absolute silence. + +"Want a shore station for a while?" + +"Intend to rest up and then look around," Moore answered. + +"You'll be back. Mark my word. The sea and the wireless house is a +winning combination. The old cities--new faces--freedom----" + +"I'm tired." + +"Pah! You've only begun. When does the _Vandalia_ clear for China?" + +"Thursday night." + +"I'll hold your berth open till Thursday noon. Hoping you'd break in a +new operator. Queer chap. Glass eye. 'Member--Thursday noon." + +The frosted door went inward abruptly. The intense blue eyes in the +pale face of the man who had resigned closed half way upon encountering +the blushing eavesdropper. The Panama Line operator moved uncertainly +toward a vacant chair. Unaware of the curious stares addressed at him +Moore went to the outer door. A wave of exquisite nervousness rippled +through the silence of the static-room as the door clicked. + +When the rumor reached the _Vandalia_, lying in state at her pier, that +Peter Moore had resigned, Captain Jones, after bluntly airing his +disappointment, advanced the theory to his chief engineer that Sparks +had "taken the East too much to heart. The fangs are in too deep." + +"He will be on hand sailing time," added the chief engineer, who had +been trying to retire from active duty in the China run for eleven +years. + +But Moore did not come back to the _Vandalia_ for that reason at all. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +Communication between certain individuals in China and their relatives +and friends in Chinatown must, for political and other reasons, be +conducted in a secret way. In Shanghai, Moore had made the +acquaintance, under somewhat mysterious auspices, of Ching Gow Ong, an +important figure in the silk traffic. + +Moore, so it was said by those who were in a position to know, had once +performed a favor for Ching Gow Ong, of which no one seemed to know the +particulars. What was of equal importance, perhaps, was that Ching Gow +Ong would have willingly given Moore any gift within his power had +Moore been so inclined. + +But it appears that Moore was not a seeker after wealth, thereby giving +some real basis to the common belief that he possessed that rare +thing--a virginal spirit of adventure. He cemented this queer +friendship by conveying messages, indited in Chinese script, which he +did not read, between Ching Gow Ong and his brother, Lo Ong, officially +dead, who conducted a vile-smelling haunt in the bowels of Chinatown. + +Peter Moore made his way through the narrowing alleys, proceeded +through a maze of blank walls, down a damp stone stairway, and rapped +upon a black iron door. It opened instantly, and a long clawlike hand +reached forth, accepted the yellow envelope from the operator's hand, +and slowly, silently withdrew, the door closing as quickly and as +quietly as it had opened. + +No words were spoken. His errand done, Peter Moore retraced his steps +to the wider and brighter lanes which comprised the Chinatown known to +tourists. + +He walked slowly, with his head inclined a little to one side, which +was a habit he had acquired from the eternal listening into the hard +rubber receivers. He had proceeded in this fashion a number of steps +up one of the narrow, sloping sidewalks when he felt, rather than +perceived, a pair of eyes fastened upon him from a second-story window. + +They were the eyes of a young Chinese woman, but he sensed immediately +that she was not of the river type. Her fine black hair was arranged +in a gorgeous coiffure. Gold ornaments drooped from her ears, and her +complexion was liberally sanded with rice powder. Her painted lips +wore an expression of malignity. + +In the obliquity of the eyes lurked a solemn warning. Then he became +aware that she seemed to be struggling, as if she were impeding the +movements of some one behind her. + +It is safe to say that in his tramps through the winding alleys of +Canton, of Peking, of Shanghai, Peter Moore had encountered many +Chinese women of her type. There was a sharp vividness to her features +which meant the inbreeding of high caste. She was unusual--startling! +She looked into the street furtively, held up a heavily jeweled +hand--an imperial order for him to stop--and withdrew. He lounged into +the doorway of an ivory shop and waited. + +It was quiet in Chinatown, for the time was noon and the section was +pursuing its midday habit of calm. The padding figures were becoming a +trifle obscure, owing to a cold, pale fog that was drifting up from the +bay. In a moment the woman reappeared, examined the street again with +hostile eyes, held up a square of rice paper, and slowly folded it. + +Peter Moore nodded slightly and smiled. It was a habit with him--that +smile. The sensitiveness of his nervous system found a quick outlet, +when he was nervous or excited, by a disingenuous smile. He proceeded +to the shop directly underneath her window, observing it to be Ah Sih +King's gold shop. The window was rich in glittering splendors from the +Orient. He picked up from the sidewalk a crumpled ball of red paper +and stowed it away in his coat pocket. + +To an alert observer the indifference with which Moore turned and +pretended to study the gold ornaments in Ah Sih King's window might +have seemed a trifle too obvious, and the smile on his lips, one might +go on to say, was uncalled for. + +As he waited, a soft thud sounded at his feet, coincident with a flash +of black and white across his shoulder. He covered the object with one +foot, as the oily, leering face of Ah Sih King appeared in the doorway. +The blanched face surmounted a costly mandarin robe, righteously worn, +a gorgeous blue raiment with traceries of fine gold and exquisite gems. +At this moment he seemed to exhale an air of faint suspicion. + +"Gentleman!" accosted the thin, curled lips in a tone that was +well-nigh personal. + +"Buy nothing," Peter Moore said curtly. + +"You see my--my see you," observed Ah Sih King, reverting, as he deemed +fitting, to pidgin. + +The wireless operator turned his back impolitely; Ah Sih King did +likewise. When he turned again, sharply, the oily smile was gone, a +look of concern having crept into his sly, old face, and the slightly +bent shoulders of the much slier young man were several strides distant. + +A faint hiss, as of warning, issued from the carmine lips of the +Chinese woman. Then the window closed noiselessly, and Chinatown, +having paid not the slightest heed to the incident, pattered about its +multifarious businesses, none the wiser. + +There was an indefinable something in this incident which caused +creases to appear across Moore's brow. Why had two notes been thrown? +The puzzle sifted down to this possibility: Some one behind the Chinese +woman had thrown a ball of red paper, a note, into the street. + +Then she had beckoned him to wait, had written a second note, perhaps +to warn him away. He glanced furtively at the second note, saw that it +was written in Chinese, and thereupon decided in return for many favors +to call upon Lo Ong for a translation. + +Chinatown now was slowly vanishing from view, swallowed by the gray +blanket of fog which rolled in from the Pacific through the mouth of +the harbor. Retracing his steps through the mist, Moore descended the +narrow stone stairway and tapped on the oblong of iron with his heavy +seal ring. A shutter clinked, uneasy eyes scrutinized him, and he +heard the bolt slide back. He opened the door and entered, restoring +the bolt to its place. + +The room was low, deep and dark under the flickering light of a single +dong, which hung from the ceiling at the end of a roped-up cluster of +fine brass chains. The rich, stupefying odor of opium tainted the +heavy air. The orange flame, motionless as if it were carved from +solid metal, showed the room to be bare except for a few grass mats +scattered about in the irregular round shadow under it. + +To one of these mats Lo Ong, gaunt, curious, even hostile, retreated, +squatting with his delicately thin hands folded over his abdomen. A +look of recognition disturbed only for the instant the placidity of the +ochre features. + +"No come buy?" he intoned, as if Peter Moore had never passed under +that piercing gaze before. + +"My never come buy," said the wireless man curtly. "Wanchee you come +help; savvy?" + +"Mebbe can do," asserted Lo Ong, in the voice and manner of one +incessantly pursued by favor-seekers. Lo Ong's draped arm, as if it +were detached from his body and governed by some extraneous mechanism, +indicated a mat. Moore slipped down in the familiar cross-legged +attitude, lighted a cigarette and blew the smoke at the belly on the +dong. + +"You Wanchee cumshaw?" demanded the Chinese, uneasily. + +Peter Moore disdained to reply, extracted the two lumps of paper, slid +one under his knee and unfolded the other, while Lo Ong looked +unfavorably beyond him at the door. Three rows of Chinese markings +were scrawled down it. Lo Ong's body commenced to sway back and forth +in impatient rhythm. + +"Lo Ong," stated Moore, "my wanchee you keep mouth shut--allatime +shut--you savvy?" + +"Can do," murmured Lo Ong indifferently. He reached for the rice +paper, lifting it tenderly in long, clawing fingers, and held it to the +flame. He seemed not to believe what he read, for he twisted the paper +over, looked at it upside down, then sat down again, his lean fingers +convulsing. + +"No can do," he muttered, replacing the paper on his visitor's knee. +"Mino savvy." + +The white forefinger of the wireless operator pointed unwaveringly at +the flattened nose. "Read that," he ordered. + +Lo Ong glanced the other way, as if the subject had ceased to interest +him, and tapped the floor with his knuckles. + +"Wanchee money--cumshaw?" + +"Lo Ong," declared Moore, losing his patience, "you b'long dead. Now +savvy?" + +"Mebbe can do," said Lo Ong faintly. + +Moore ran his fingers down the first row of fresh markings. + +"O-o-ey," commented Lo Ong, shifting uneasily, "'My see you allatime, +long ago on ship.' Savvy?" + +"What's next?" + +"'You no see my. My see you allatime.'" + +The long, sloping shoulders seemed to jerk. "Keep away. Savvy?" + +"It says that?" + +"Take look see," invited Lo Ong, poking his claw nervously down the +column. "'Keep away. Keep away.' One--two times. Savvy?" + +Peter Moore nodded thoughtfully. + +The Chinese, officially dead, replaced the sheet gingerly on his knees, +as if it were an instrument of wickedness. His bony fingers twitched a +moment. + +"High lady," he added nervously; "velly high lady. You stay away. +Huh?" + +"Wait a minute." Peter extracted the other paper ball, unfolding it +near the orange flame. The inner surface was red, the earthly red of +porphyry, and cracked and scarred by the crumpling. Nearly obliterated +by the lacework of wrinkles and scratches was a scrawl, evidently +scarred into the glazed surface by a knife-point. The upper part was +unintelligible. On the lower surface he made out with difficulty the +single word, _Vandalia_. He carried it to the door, slid back the +shutter and let the dim, gray light filter upon it. The other words +were too mutilated to be read. + +"Hi!" + +He returned to Lo Ong's jacketed side. The bony finger was circling +excitedly about a smear of black in the lower corner of the rice paper. + +"What's this?" + +"Len Yang. _Len Yang_! Savvy?" + +"O-ho! And who is Len Yang?" + +Lo Ong shook his head in agitation. "Len Yang--city. Savvy? +Shanghai--Len Yang--fort' day." + +"Fourteen days from Shanghai to Len Yang?" + +"No. No! _No_! Fort'." + +"Forty?" + +"O-o-ey." The flattened nose bobbed up and down. "Keep away--ai?" + +"Maskee," Peter replied, meaning, broadly speaking, none of your +business. + +Lo Ong unbolted the door, to hint that the interview was concluded. +"You keep away--ai?" he repeated anxiously. Moore grinned in his +peculiarly disingenuous way, swung open the black door, and a long, +gray arm of the fog groped its way past Lo Ong's countenance. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +The junior operator toyed with the heavy transmitting key while Peter +Moore, who knew the behavior of his apparatus as he would know the +caprices of an old friend, adjusted helix-plugs, started the +motor-generator, and satisfied the steel-eyed radio inspector that his +wave decrement was exactly what it ought to be. + +Then the inspector grunted suspiciously and wanted to know if the +auxiliary batteries were properly charged. With a faint smile, Moore +hooked up the auxiliary apparatus, tapped the key, and a crinkly blue +spark snapped between the brass points above the fat rubber coil. + +"I reckon she'll do," observed the inspector. "Aerial don't leak, does +it?" + +"No," said Peter. + +The government man took a final look at the glittering instruments, and +departed. Wherewith the junior operator swung half around in the +swivel-chair and exposed to Peter an expression of mild imploration. +Two gray lids over cavernous sockets lifted and lowered upon shining +black eyes, one of which seemed to lack focus. Peter recalled then +that the Chief had said something about a second operator having only +one human eye, the other being glass. + +"This is your first trip?" + +The sallow face was inclined, and the pallid lips moved dryly. + +"I just came from the school. I'm pretty green. You see----" + +"I see. We'd better let me take the first trick. I'll sit in till +midnight. After that there's very little doing. You may have to relay +a position report or so. Be sure and don't work on navy time. The +Chief will watch you closely for long-distance. The farther you work, +the better he'll like it. How's the air? Have you listened in?" + +"Do you mean--static? I heard a little. Seemed pretty far away, +though." + +Peter adjusted the nickeled straps about his head and pressed the +rubber disks tight to his ears. He tilted his head slightly. A +distant but harsh rasping, as of countless needle-points grating on +glass, occurred in the head phones. This was caused by charges of +electricity in the air, known to wireless men as "static." Percolating +through the scratching was a clear, bell-like note. The San Pedro +station was having something to say to a destroyer off the coast. + +With delicate fingers Peter raised the tuning-knob a few points. Dale, +the junior operator, hands clutched behind him, stared with the fearful +adoration of an apprentice. He seemed to be making a mental notation +of every move that Peter made, for future reference. + +"Ah--do you mind if I ask a few questions? You see, I'm kind of green." + +"Go ahead!" Peter said cordially. + +"Where do I eat? With the crew? I hear that lots of these ships make +you eat with the crew." + +"No. In the main dining-saloon. Mr. Blanchard, the purser, will take +care of you. See him at six thirty." + +A deep monstrous shudder, arising to a clamor, half roar, half shriek, +issued from the boilers of the _Vandalia_. + +"It's rather interesting to watch us pull out," said Peter when the +noise had ceased. "But be careful. There's no rail around this deck." + +He was on his hands and knees at the motor-generator with a pad of +sandpaper between his fingers when the tremulous voice of the junior +operator sounded in the doorway. "Mr. Moore, there's some excitement +on the dock." + +Peter followed the narrow shoulders to the starboard side and looked +down. The _Vandalia_ was warping out from the pierhead with a sobbing +tug at her stern. He noted that the head-lines were still fast. A +straggling line of passengers' friends, wives, husbands, and +sweethearts was moving slowly toward the end of the pier, for a final +parting wave. + +Something seemed to be wrong at the shore end of the gangplank, for, +despite the fact that the ship was swinging out, the plank was still +up. In the midst of an excited crowd a taxicab purred and smoked. +There was a general parting in the crowd as the door was flung open. +Two figures emerged, were lost from sight, and reappeared at the foot +of the plank. An incoherent something was roared from the bridge. + +One of the figures appeared to be struggling, clutching at the rail. +For an instant she seemed to glance in Peter's direction. But her face +could hardly be seen, for it was shrouded by a heavy gray veil. A gray +hood covered her hair, and a long cloak reached to her shoe-tops. + +Patiently urging her was a Chinese woman in silk jacket, trousers, and +jeweled slippers. A customs officer tried to break through the mob, +but somehow was held back. The gray-hooded figure suddenly seemed to +become limp, and the Chinese woman half lifted, half pushed her the +remaining distance to the promenade deck. + +Peter was then conscious of a staring, lifeless eye fixed upon his. + +"What do you make of it, Mr. Moore?" the junior operator wanted to know. + +"Of that?" said Peter. "Nothing--nothing at all. By the way, I forgot +to tell you that the captain has issued strict orders forbidding +subofficers to use the starboard decks. Always, when you're going +forward, or aft, walk on the port side." + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +Peter turned over the log-book and the wireless-house to Dale, a few +minutes before midnight. + +"Everything's cleared up. The static is worse, and KPH may want you to +relay a message or two to Honolulu. If you have trouble, let me know." + +"Yes, yes," replied Dale, looking over his shoulder nervously. "I +will. Thanks." + +Peter left him to the mercies of the static. As he descended the iron +ladder to the promenade-deck, he imagined he saw some one moving +underneath him. The figure, whoever or whatever it was, slid around +the white wall and vanished as his foot felt the deck. He hastened to +follow. + +As he stepped into the light a low, sibilant whisper reached him. At +the cross-corridor doorway he was in time to see the flicker of a +vanishing gray garment and a sandaled foot on a naked ankle flash over +the vestibule wave-check. He shook open the door and followed. + +A vertical stripe of yellow light cleaved the dark of the corridor as a +door was quietly shut. He heard the faint, distant click of a +door-latch. Counting the entrances to that one, and sure that he had +made no mistake, he rapped. The near-by clank of the engine-room well +was the reply. He tried the handle. It was immovable. He struck a +match. It was stateroom forty-four. + +Peter went to the purser's office. Light rippled through the wrinkled +green, round window, as he had hoped. He tapped lightly, and a voice +bade him to enter. + +Blanchard, the purser, dwarfed, perpetually stoop-shouldered, looked up +from a clump of cargo reports and blinked through convex, thick, steel +spectacles at his interrupter. His eyes were red and dim with a +gray-blue, uncertain definition which always reminded Peter of oysters. +Blanchard had been purser of the _Vandalia_ for thirteen years, and +Peter knew that the man possessed the garrulous habits of the oyster as +well. + +"Well, well!" observed Blanchard in the crisp, brittle accents of +senility; "so you're back again, eh? Well, well, well." There was no +emphasis laid on the words. They were all struck from the same piece +of ancient metal. + +"Here I am!" agreed Peter with mild enthusiasm. "The bad penny!" + +"Ha, ha! The bad penny returns!" The exclamation died in a futile +cough. "What are you prowlin' around ship this time o' night for, eh? +After three bells, Sparks. Time for respectable people to be fast +asleep. Or, are you leavin' the radio unwatched?" + +"I'm looking for information." Peter drew himself by stiffened arms +upon the purser's single bunk. + +"Lookin' for information?" The thin voice suffered the quavery +attrition of surprise. "Funny place to be lookin' for that commodity. +What's on your mind? Eh?" + +"Chinamen!" + +Blanchard tilted the rusted spectacles to his forehead, and the +motionless gray orbs seemed to glint with a half-dead light. +"Chinamen? What Chinamen?" The spectacles slid back into place. + +"One, a woman, came aboard as we were pulling out this afternoon. Who +is she? Where is she? Where's she from? Where's she going? Who's +with her? That's what I want to clear up." + +"Is that all?" squeaked Blanchard. His wrinkled, dried lips were +struggling as if with indecision. A veiled, a thinly veiled conflict +of emotions apparently was taking place behind that ancient gray mask. +"What--what for?" was the final outcome in a hesitant half-whisper. + +"My private information," smiled Peter. "Just curious, that's all. +Didn't mean to pry open any dark secrets." He made as if to go. + +"Sparks! Don't be in a hurry. I'm not so busy." + +"Well?" + +"What's botherin' you? Maybe I could straighten you out." + +"Who are the occupants of stateroom forty-four?" Peter replied. + +Again the expression shifted like water smitten by an evil wind. + +"Forty-four!" The words were mild explosions. + +A long cardboard sheet with blue and red lines was produced from a +noiselessly opened drawer. + +"The passenger list. We shall see." Blanchard's red, shiny forefinger +clawed down the column of names, halting at the numeral forty-four. +The space was blank. "You see?" + +"Empty?" + +"Empty." A restrained note of triumph was unquestionably evident in +the purser's cracked voice. + +"I'll bother you with just one more question. What is Len Yang?" + +A look of doubt, of incredulity bordering upon feeble indignation, +settled upon the serrated countenance. But Blanchard only shook his +head as if he did not comprehend. + +Peter slipped down from the bunk. "Guess I'll take a turn on deck, if +the fog's lifted, and roll in. G'night, purser." + +Blanchard started to say something, evidently thought better of it, and +retrieved his pen. As he dipped the fine point into the red ink by +mistake he flung another frown over his shoulder. The wireless man +lingered on the threshold, swinging the door tentatively. + +"G'night, Sparks." + + + + +CHAPTER V + +The _Vandalia_ was wallowing majestically through long, dead black +swells. Peter poked his way up forward to the solitary lookout in the +peak and glanced overside. Broad, phosphorescent swords broke smoothly +with a rending, rushing gurgle over the steep cut-water. His eyes +darted here and there over the void as his mind struggled to straighten +out this latest kink. + +What facts of significance he might have discovered from Blanchard were +overshadowed by the purser's suspicious attitude. Blanchard knew, and +Blanchard, for some reason, did not choose to divulge. This made +matters more interesting, if slightly more complicated. + +He was now reasonably sure of several things, without really having +definite grounds for being sure. The malignant-eyed Chinese woman and +whoever she had successfully concealed behind her in the loft above Ah +Sih King's were now aboard the _Vandalia_. He was quite positive that +he had recognized her in the woman who had come aboard in company with +the gray-cloaked figure at the last minute before sailing-time. + +He recalled the scene on the pierhead, and it occurred to him that the +eyes behind the gray veil, before their owner was whisked up to the +deck and from his sight, had fastened upon him for a long breath. + +"Four bells, all well!" bawled the lookout as four clanging strokes +rang out from abaft the wheel-house. + +And Blanchard had proved that stateroom forty-four was unoccupied. +Peter decided to borrow a master key in the morning, from the chief +engineer, perhaps, and investigate stateroom forty-four. And with the +feeling that he was on the verge of discovering something which did not +exist, he prepared to turn in. + +He was not undressed when the lock grated, the door lurched open, and +the pale visage of Dale teetered at his shoulder. An attempt at +grinning ended in a hissing sob of in-taken breath. The limp frame +flung itself in the bunk beside Peter, and Dale's white, perspiring +face was buried in palsied hands. + +"Feel the motion?" Peter pulled down one of the hands, gently +uncovering the expressionless eye. + +"I wish I was dead!" + +"Want me to finish your trick?" + +Dale's face disappeared in the pillow. A moment he was stark. His +head partly revolved, profiling a yellow, pointed nose against the +white of the linen. + +"Static's much worse, Mr. Moore. Frisco's sent me the same message +three times now. It's for Honolulu. He says he won't repeat it +again." The pale lips trembled in misery. "And there seems to be a +funny sort of static in the receivers. The dynamos in the engine-room +may cause it." + +"That's strange," Peter reflected as he slipped on his blue coat. +"There's never been any induction on board as far back as I can +remember. Does it hum--or what?" + +"No, it grates, like static. Sounds like static, and yet it doesn't. +Kind of a hoarse rumble, like a broken-down spark-coil." + +Two even rows of white teeth drew in the trembling lip and clung to it. +"That awful staticky sound---- And the _Rover's_ been calling us." He +groaned miserably. "I couldn't answer either of them. I was lying on +the carpet!" + +"Get some sleep," advised Peter. "When you feel better come up and +relieve me. If I were you I wouldn't smoke cigarettes when you think +it's rough." + +"I won't smoke another cigarette as long as I live!" + +Peter slipped into his uniform, draped an oil-skin coat about his +slender shoulders, and made his way up to the wireless house. The +receivers were lying on the floor. + +The _Vandalia_ was entering a zone of pale, thin mist, which created +circular, misty auras about the deck-lights. The tarpaulined +donkey-engine beneath the after-cargo booms rattled as the _Vandalia's_ +stern sank into a hollow, and the beat of the engines was muffled and +deeper. A speck of white froth glinted on the black surface and +vanished astern. + +The wireless-house seemed warm and cozy in the glare of its green and +white lights. An odor of cheap cigarette-smoke puffed out as he opened +the door. + +Peter slipped the hard-rubber disks over his ears and tapped the slider +of the tuner. Static was bad to-night, trickling, exploding and +hissing in the receivers. + +The electric lights became dim under the strain of the heavy motor, as +he slid up the starting handle. The white-hot spark exploded in a +train of brisk dots and dashes. He snapped up the aerial switch and +listened. + +KPH--the San Francisco station--rang clear and loud through the spatter +of the electric storm. Peter flashed back his O.K., tuned for the +Kahuka Head station at Honolulu, and retransmitted the message. + +Sensitizing the detector, he slid up the tuning handle for high waves. +Static, far removed, trickled in. Then a faint, musical wailing like a +violin's E-string pierced this. The violin was the government station +at Arlington, Virginia, transmitting a storm warning to ships in the +South Atlantic. For five minutes the wailing persisted. Sliding the +tuning handle downward, Peter listened for commercial wave-lengths. + +A harsh grinding, unmusical as emery upon hollow bronze, rasped +stutteringly in the head phones. Laboriously, falteringly, the grating +was cleaved into clumsy dots and dashes of the Continental Code, under +the quaking fingers of some obviously frightened and inexperienced +operator. Were these the sounds which had unnerved Dale? For a time +the raspings spelled nothing intelligible. The unknown sender +evidently was repeating the same word again and again. It held four +letters. Once they formed, H-I-J-X. Another time, S-E-L-J. And +another, L-P-H-E. + +The painstaking intent, as the operator's acute ears recognized, was +identical in each instance. Frequently the word was incoherent +altogether, the signals meaning nothing. + +Suddenly Peter jerked up his head. Out of the jumble stood the word, +as an unseen ship will often stand out nakedly in a fog rift. Over and +over, badly spaced, the infernal rasp was spelling, _H-E-L-P_. + +He waited for the signature of this frantic operator. But none +occurred. Following a final letter "p" the signals ceased. + +For a minute or two, while Peter nervously pondered, the air was +silent. Then another station called him. A loud droning purr filled +the receivers. Peter gave the "k" signal. The brisk voice of the +transport _Rover_ droned: + +"I can't raise KPH. Will you handle an M-S-G for me?" + +"Sure!" roared the _Vandalia's_ spark. "But wait a minute. Have you +heard a broken down auxiliary asking for help? He's been jamming me +for fifteen minutes. Seems to be very close, K." + +"Nix," replied the _Rover_ breezily. "Can't be at all close or I would +hear him, too. I can see your lights from my window. You're off our +port quarter. Here's the M-S-G." + +Peter accepted the message, retransmitting it to the KPH operator, then +called the wheelhouse on the telephone. Quine, first officer, answered +sleepily. + +"Has the lookout reported any ship in the past hour excepting the +_Rover_?" + +"Is that the _Rover_ on our port quarter?" Quine's voice was gruffly +amazed. Like most mariners of the old school, he considered the +wireless machine a nuisance. Yet its intelligence occasionally caught +him off guard. + +"Only thing in sight, Sparks." + +Peter made an entry in the log-book, folded his hands and shut his +eyes. The Leyden jars rattled in their mahogany sockets as the +_Vandalia_ climbed a wave, faltered, and sped into the hollow. Far +removed from her pivot of gravity, the wireless house behaved after the +manner of an express elevator. But the wireless house chair was bolted +to the floor. + +Wrinkles of perplexity creased his forehead. Had this stuttering +static anything in kind with those other formless events? If not, what +terrified creature was invoking his aid in this blundering fashion? + +A simple test would prove if the signals were of local origin--from a +miniature apparatus aboard the ship. He hoped anxiously for the +opportunity. And in less than a half hour the opportunity was given +him. + +A tarred line scraped the white belly of the life-boat which swelled up +from the deck outside the door, giving forth a dull, crunching sound +with each convulsion of the engines. The square area above it danced +with reeling stars, moiled by a purple-black heaven. + +Peter, who had been studying the tarred rope, swung about in the chair +and dropped an agitated finger to the silvered wire which rested +against the glittering detector crystal. A tiny, blue-red flame +snapped from his finger to the crystal chip! The frantic operator was +aboard the _Vandalia_! + +The broken stridulations took on the coherence of intelligible dots and +dashes. The former blundering was absent, as if the tremulous hand of +the sender was steadied by the grip of a dominant necessity; the +signals clarified by the pressure of terror. + +"_Do not try to find me_," it stammered and halted. + +Some maddened pulse seemed to leap to life in Peter's throat. His +fingers, working at the base of the tiny instrument, were cold and damp. + +"_You must wait_," rasped the unknown sender, faltering. "_You must +help me_! _You are watched._" + +For a breath there was no sound in the receivers other than the beating +of his heart. + +_Click_! _Snap_! _Sputter_! Then: "_Wait for the lights of China_!" + +The receivers rattled to the red blotter, and Peter rushed out on deck. +Slamming the door, he stared at the spurting streams of white in the +racing water. Indescribably feminine was the fumbling touch of that +unknown sender! + +A grating--hollow, metallic--occurred in the lee of the wireless cabin. +A footfall sounded, coincident with the heavy collision into his side +of an unwieldy figure whose hands, greasy and hot, groped over his. +Both grunted. + +"'Sthat you, Sparks?" They were the German gutturals of Luffberg, one +of the oilers on the twelve-to-six watch. "Been fixin' the ventilator. +Chief wondered if you were up. Wants to know why you ain't been down +to say hello." + +Peter decided to lay a portion of his difficulties before Minion. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +The first operator had developed for himself at an early stage of his +occupancy of the _Vandalia's_ wireless house the warm friendship of the +chief engineer. A wireless man is far more dependent for his peace of +mind upon the engine-room crew than upon the forward crew. The latter +has only one interest in him: that he stick to his instruments; while +the engine-room crew strictly is the source from which his blessings +flow, his blessings taking the invisible, vital form of electric +current. + +Wireless machines are gourmands of electricity. They are wastrels. +Not one-tenth of the energy sucked from the ship's power wires finds +its way through the maze of coils and jars to the antennae between the +mastheads. + +The _Vandalia's_ engine-room equipment was installed long before +wireless telegraphy was a maritime need and a government requirement. +Hence, her dynamos protested vigorously against the strain imposed upon +them by the radio machine. Any electric engine is unlike any steam +engine. Steam engines will do so much work--no more. Dynamos or +motors will do so much work--and then more. They can be overloaded, +unsparingly. But the strain tells. Stout, dependable parts become +hot, wear away, crumble, snap. + +In the typical case of the _Vandalia_, the question of whether or not +the wireless men should be provided with all of the current they +required, was narrowed down to individuals. + +If Minion had disliked Peter Moore he could have slowed down the +dynamos at the critical times when the operator needed the high +voltage; but Peter had had encounters with chief engineers before. He +had at first courted Minion's good graces with fair cigars, radio +gossip and unflagging courtesy. And on discovering that the chief was +a sentimentalist at heart and a poet by nature, he had presented him +with an inexpensively bound volume of his favorite author. Daring, but +a master-stroke! He had not since wanted for voltage, and plenty of it. + +He pondered the advisability of taking Minion entirely into his +confidence as he followed the sweated, undershirted shoulders to the +engine-room galley, and thence across the oily grill of shining steel +bars which comprised one of the numerous and hazardous superfloors +which surrounded the cylinders. + +Minion was nursing a stubbornly warm bearing in the port shaft alley. + +The fat cylinder revolved with a pleasant ringing noise, the blurring +knuckles of the frequent joints vanishing down the yellow, vaulted +alley to a point of perspective, where the shaft projected through the +hull. The floundering of the great propellers seemed alternately to +compress and expand the damp atmosphere. + +The sad, white face of Minion arose from the dripping flanks of the +journal as he caught sight of Peter in the arched entrance. A pale +smile flickered at his lips. + +The chief did not in any wise reflect his monstrously heaving, +oil-dripping surroundings. He was a small, deliberate man, with oceans +of repressed energies. His skin had the waxy whiteness of a pond lily. +An exquisitely trimmed black moustache adorned his mouth. The deep +brown eyes of a visionary rested beneath the gentle, scythe-like curves +of thin and pointed eyebrows. + +"You look worried," vouchsafed Minion as their hands met. His quiet +voice had a clarity which projected it nicely through the bedlam of +engine-room noises. "Why you up so early--or so late? Anything wrong?" + +Peter took out a cigarette and nervously lighted it at the sputtering +flame Minion held for him. "Mr. Minion, something's in the wind," he +complained, and hesitated. He was at the verge of telling what he had +seen on the promenade deck, of the confusion on the pierhead, of the +unaccountable behavior of the woman in the window above Ah Sih King's, +of the suspicious attitude of Blanchard, of the recent plea for help. +Again something checked him. + +"Mr. Minion, what is Len Yang? And where is it?" + +The scythe-like brows contracted. Minion's lucid, brown eyes rested on +his lips, seeming to await an elaboration of the query. His features +suddenly had stiffened. His whole attitude appeared on the moment to +have undergone a change, from one of friendly interest to a keen +defensiveness. + +"Len Yang is a city in China. Why?" + +The operator suspected that Minion was sparring for time. + +"Where is Len Yang?" + +"Do you mean, how does one reach Len Yang?" + +"Either." + +"Mr. Moore"--the suspicion fell from the chief's expression, leaving it +calm and grave--"you are not an amateur. You have discretion. The man +who controls Len Yang is the _Vandalia's_ owner." + +"Why, I understood the Pacific and Western Atlantic Transport Line +owned her!" + +"This man--he is a Chinese. Oh, I've never seen him, Mr. Moore. One +of the richest of China's unknown aristocrats, the central power of the +cinnabar ring. You have never gone up the river with us to load at +Soo-chow?" + +Peter shook his head. "Cinnabar from his mine is brought down the +Yangtze on junks and transferred at Soo-chow?" + +Minion seemed not to be listening. His eyes were stagnant with an +appalling retrospect. "A terrible place--horrible! Five years ago I +visited Len Yang. Hideous people with staring eyes, dripping the +blood-red slime of the mines! And girls! Young girls! Beautiful--for +a while." He sighed. "They work in that vicious hole!" + +"Young girls?" Peter exclaimed. + +"Imported. From everywhere. I tried to find why. There is no +explanation. They come--they work--they become hideous--they die! It +is his habit. No one understands. Poor things!" + +Peter was staring at him narrowly. "Quite sure he imports them to work +in the mines?" + +Minion nodded vehemently. "I made sure of that. I went up the river +as _his_ guest. Trouble with the seepage pumps. Hundreds of them +drowned like rats. Len Yang is near the trade route into India. +Leprosy--filth--vermin! God! You should have seen the rats! +Monsters! They eat them. Poor devils! And live in holes carved out +of the ruby mud." + +He tore the clump of waste from his left hand and ground it under his +heel. + +"And in the center of this frightfulness--his palace! Snow-white +marble, whiter than the Taj by moonlight. But its base is stained red, +a creeping blood-red from the cinnabar. Damn him!" + +"No escape?" Peter muttered. + +"Escape!" Minion shouted. "_Dang hsin_! They call him the Gray +Dragon. He reaches over every part of Asia. That is no exaggeration. +Take my advice, Mr. Moore, if you have stumbled upon one of his +schemes--_ni chue ba_--don't meddle!" + +The white face writhed, and for a new reason Peter smothered the +impulse to tell the agitated Minion what he had seen. Their +conversation drifted to general shipboard matters. When he left he +borrowed the chief engineer's master key on the excuse that he had +locked himself out of the wireless cabin. + +Besides a stiffening head wind the ship was now laboring into piling +head seas. Far beyond the refulgence of the scattered lights stars +shone palely. Flecks of streaming white were making their appearance +at the toppling wave crests. + +A hail of stinging spray, flung inboard by a long gust, struck Peter's +face sharply as he struggled forward, rattling like small shot against +the vizor of his cap and smarting his eyes. The needle-like drops were +icy cold. The elastic fabric of the _Vandalia_ shivered, her broad +nose sinking into a succession of black mountains. Peak gutters roared +as the cascading water was sucked back to the untiring surface. + +Gaining the cross entrance, he braced his strength against the forces +of wind which imprisoned the door, and crept down the passage. + +His heart pounded as his groping fingers outlined the cold iron +numerals on the panel. Nervously, he inserted the master key into the +door lock, and paused to listen. + +Rhythmic snoring moaned from an opened transom near by. What other +night sounds might have been abroad were engulfed by the imminent +throbbing in the engine-room well. + +Stateroom forty-four's transom was closed. The lock yielded. The door +yawned soundlessly. A round, portentous eye glimmered on the opposite +wall. An odor of recently wet paint and of new bed linen met him. The +excited pulsing of his heart outsounded the engines. + +He shut the door cautiously, not to awake the occupants of the berths, +and fancied he could again hear the warning sibilance of the whisper, +but in sleep, perhaps drawn through unconscious lips. + +Eagerly, his hand slipped over the enameled wall and found the electric +switch. Turning, to cover all corners of the stateroom he snapped on +the light. + +Stateroom forty-four, through whose doorway he could have sworn to have +seen a sandaled foot vanish less than three hours previous, was empty! + +The blue-flowered side curtains of the white enameled bunks were draped +back in ornamental stiffness. Below the pillows the upper sheets were +neatly furled like incoming billows on a coral beach. He threw open +the closet door. Bare! Not one sign of occupancy could he find, and +he looked everywhere. + +As he made to leave the room a small oblong of white paper was thrust +under the door. He hesitated in surprise, stooped to seize it and +flung open the door. A gust of night, wind--the slamming of a +door--and the messenger was gone. + +Tremblingly, he unfolded the paper. His eyes dilated. Hastily +scrawled in the lower right-hand corner of the otherwise blank leaf was +a replica of the blurred sign that had caused such consternation on the +part of Lo Ong. + +The ideograph had twice been brought to his attention. It was +apparently a solemn warning. Should he heed it? He felt that he was +watched. But the porthole glowed emptily. + +Lighting a cigarette, he dropped down to the bunk, cupped his chin in +his palms, and frowned at the green carpet. + +He was being frustrated, by persons of adroit cunning. It was +maddening. This had ceased to be an adventurous lark. It was to +become a fight against weapons whose sole object seemed to be to guard +the retreat of some evil spirit. + +It occurred to him suddenly that he should be grateful upon one score +at least: He had not lost the trail, for the symbols were unchanged. + +But from that point the trail vanished--vanished as abruptly as if its +design had been wiped off the earth! Sharp eyed and eared, alertness +night after night availed him nothing. And not until the twinkling +lights of Nagasaki were put astern, when the _Vandalia_ turned her nose +into the swollen bed of the Yellow Sea, did the traces again show +faintly. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +That a recrudescence of those involved in the murky affair might be +imminent was the thought induced in Peter's mind as the green coast of +Japan heaved over the horizon. With each thrust of the _Vandalia's_ +screws the cipher was nearing its solution. Each cylinder throb +narrowed the distance to the shore lights of China--the lights of +Tsung-min Island. And then--what? + +In a corner of the smoking-room he puffed at his cigarette and watched +the poker players as he drummed absently upon the square of green cork +inlaid in the corner table. The vermilion glow of the skylight dimmed +and died. Lights came on. A clanging cymbal in the energetic hands of +a deck steward boomed at the doorway, withdrew and gave up its life in +a far away, tinny clatter. + +The petulant voice of a hardware salesman, who was secretly known to +represent American moneyed interests in Mongolia, drifted through the +haze of tobacco smoke at the poker table. + +"----that's what I'd like to know. Damn nonsense--saving steam, +probably--off Wu-Sung before midnight--if--wanted to throw in a little +coal--means I miss the river boat to-morrow--not another--Saturday. +Dammit!" + +Peter drew long at the cigarette and glanced thoughtfully at the +oak-paneled ceiling. Chips clicked. The petulant voice continued: + +"----rottenest luck ever had." Evidently he was referring to his +losses. "Rotten line--rottener service--miss my man--Mukden----" The +voice ceased as its owner half turned his head, magnetized by the +intentness of the operator's gaze. Peter glanced away. The salesman +devoted himself to the dealer. + +The _Vandalia_ was bearing into a thin mist. The night was cool, +quiet. Had he been on deck Peter would have seen the last lights of +Osezaki engulfed as if at the dropping of a curtain. + +During the voyage he had haunted the smoking-room, hoping that by dint +of patient listening he might catch an informative word dropped +carelessly by one of the players. No such luck. The players were +out-of-season tourists, bound for South China or India, or salesmen, +patiently immersed in the long and strenuous task of killing time. + +"----thirty--thirty-five--forty--forty-five----" The fat man was +counting his losings. + +Faint, padded footsteps passed the port doorway. Peter became aware of +an elusive perfume--scented rice powder---- + +"----seventy-five--eighty--eighty-five--ninety----" + +A pale, malignant face was framed momentarily in one of the starboard +windows. + +Peter blinked, then bounded after. The salesman impeded his progress +and grudgingly gave way. + +The deck was empty, slippery with the wet of the mist. He was suddenly +aware that one of the ports, in the neighborhood of the stateroom he +had entered, was ajar. Nervously he halted, gasping as a long, +trembling hand, at the extremity of a spectral wrist, plucked at his +sleeve. Blanched as an arm of the adolescent moon, it fumbled weakly +at his clutching fingers--and was swiftly withdrawn! + +The staring eyes of a white, gibbous face sank back from the hole. +Below the nose the face seemed not to exist. + +Its horror wrapped an icy cord about his heart. He plunged his arm to +the shoulder through the round opening, struck a yielding, warm body; +descending claws steeled about his wrist and deliberately forced him +back. + +The brass-bound glass squeezed on his fingers. He wrenched them free, +crushed, throbbing, and warmly wet. The anguish seemed to extend to +his elbow. Then, suddenly, the gruff, seasoned voice of Captain Jones +descended from space behind him. "Sparks, come to my cabin." + +Peter followed the brutish shoulders to the forward companionway, +endeavoring to clarify his thoughts. Mild confusion prevailed when +Captain Jones closed and locked the door of his spacious stateroom +behind them and dropped heavily into one of the cumbersome teak chairs. + +He was a hardened, brawny chunk of a man, choleric in aspect and +temperament, brutal in method, bluntly decisive in opinion. Iron was +his metal. "Starboard Jones" was one of the few living men who had +successfully run the Jap blockade into Vladivostok during that bloody +tiff between the black bear and the island panther. + +Reddened sockets displayed keen, blue eyes in a background of perpetual +fire. His large, swollen nose had a vinous tint, acquiring +purplishness in cold weather. Tiny red veins, as numerous as the +cracks in Satsuma-ware, spread across both cheeks in a carmine filigree. + +His cabin was ornamented chiefly by hand-tinted photographs from the +yoshiwaras of Nagasaki, of simpering, coy geishas. Souvenirs of their +trade, glittering fans, nicked teacups, flimsy sandals, adorned the +available shelf room. Cigars as brawny and black as if their maker had +striven to emulate the captain's own bulk were scattered among papers +on his narrow desk. + +He reached clumsily for one of these brown cylinders now, neglecting to +remove his glance of gloating austerity from the operator's tense face. + +"Haven't seen much of you lately, Sparks," he observed, applying a +steady match flame to the oval butt. He spoke in his usual tones, with +a gruffness that balanced on a razor edge between rough jocularity and +official harshness. "What's new? Have one of my ropes?" + +Peter studied the glowing end narrowly. "Had a little trouble first +night out. No, thanks. Not smoking to-night." His bruised +finger-tips were curved up tenderly in his coat pocket. + +"What's 'at?" The steel eyes were motionless beneath half-lowered lids. + +"Some one used an electric machine. Jammed my signals." + +The choleric face dipped knowingly. What Captain Jones did not +comprehend he invariably pretended to comprehend. "Noticed anything +else?" His ruddy face was now weighty with significance. + +Peter sat up abruptly. "What!" + +A thick, red forefinger threatened, "Lis'n to me, Sparks, you're a +overgrown, blundering bull in a china-shop. You're----" + +"Well?" There was a trace of anger in Peter's suave inquiry. His face +became stony white. A spot of color appeared at either cheek. + +"I mean: Keep your damn nose out of what don't concern you. Savvy?" +The heated words spilled thickly from the captain's red lips. "I mean: +Butt out of what concerns Chinese women and--and--other words, mind +your own particular damn business! Duty on this ship's to mind the +radio. What goes on outside your shanty's none of your damn concern!" +Captain Jones' mouth remained open, and the butt of the black cigar +slid into it. + +Peter raised a restraining hand. His lips trembled. His eyes seemed +to snap in a rapid fire between the eyes and mouth of the big man +slouched down in the chair in front of him. "Wait a minute," he spat +out. "Since you do know that somebody is being kidnapped on this +ship----" + +"What in hell do you mean?" + +"Exactly what I say. A Chinese woman, no matter who she is--is hiding +some one, a woman, somewhere on this ship. That woman--that woman +who's being held--grabbed my hand not five minutes ago. It's your +duty----" + +"Keep your hands where they belong. You're talking like a fool. +Kidnapped? You're crazy. My duty? You're a fool! You're talking +baby talk." Captain Jones sprang from his chair. "You're on this ship +to tend the wireless," he bawled. "You're under oath to keep your +mouth shut. Any one back there?" + +"No!" + +"Don't you know it breaks a government rule when that room's empty--at +sea?" + +The mist-laden wind shrilled through the screen door abruptly thrust +back. Captain Jones slammed the stout inner door. Peter turned up his +coat collar, bound a clean handkerchief about his aching fingers, +climbed agilely over the life-rafts, passed the roaring, black funnels, +and entered the wireless house. + +The low, intermingling whine of Jap stations was broken by an insistent +P. and O. liner, yapping for attention. Shanghai stiffly droned a +reply, advising the P. and O. man to sweeten his spark. + +Peter tapped his detector and grunted. Shanghai was loud--close! The +_Vandalia_ must be nearing the delta. + +"----Nanking Road. Stop. Forty casks of soey----" yelped the P. and O. + +Nearing the great river! Out of the mist a faint blur would come--the +first lights of China! + +"----Thirteen cases of tin----" The P. and O.'s spark remained +unsweetened. + +Would the lights be Hi-Tai-Sha--Tsung-min?--port or starboard? + +Far below decks a bell jangled faintly. The throbbing of the engines +was suddenly hushed. The bell sounded distantly, through a portentous +silence. Peter glanced at the clock. Half-past twelve. + +The silence was shattered by a turbulent, stern lifting rumble as the +screws reversed. The _Vandalia_ wallowed heavily, and lay with the +yellow tide. + +Extinguishing the lights, Peter slipped out on deck, leaned over the +edge, and peered into the murk. His heart pumped nervously. + +At first all was blank. Then a misty, gray-white glow seemed to swim +far to port. Murkily, it took form, vanished, reappeared and--was +swallowed up again. + +But these were not the lights of Tsung-min. The ship was in the river. +He knew those lights well. Even now the _Vandalia_, was slipping down +with the current abreast of Woo-Sung! The first lights of China! But +what was happening? He dashed to the starboard side. + +Out of the mist there arose a tall, gaunt specter. A junk. Perhaps a +collision was decreed by the evil spirit of the Whang-poo. But the +usual shriekings of doomed river men were absent. The gray bulk +floated idly with the steamer. The silence of death permeated both +craft. + +At a loss to account for this queer coincidence, this mute communion, +Peter elbowed over the edge, dangerously high above the water, and slid +down a stanchion to the promenade deck. + +Simultaneously every light on that side of the ship was extinguished. +As his feet struck the metal gutter, several unseen bodies rushed past +him, aft. + +He was grabbed from behind and hurled to the deck. Springing up, he +heard the thick breathing of his unknown assailant. He lunged for the +sound, met flying fists, smashed his man against the rail. The blow +knocked the wind from his antagonist, or broke his back. + +Peter did not pause to make inquiries. As the limp body thudded to the +wood, the operator sprinted after the vanished figures. + +A lone light on the after spur illumined a dim confusion in the cargo +well. The stern of the junk was backed against the rail. Oars flashed +faintly as the crew of the junk strove to keep her fast against the +steamer's side. But where was the crew of the _Vandalia_? Had Captain +Jones consented to and perhaps aided in this mid-river tryst? + +Another source of illumination sprang into being. A dong was burning +yellowly on the junk's poop deck, casting a plenitude of light upon the +scene. + +As Peter dropped down the precipitous ladder into the well, he made out +two figures struggling against the rail. From the junk, imploringly, a +giant Chinese with pigtail flapping held out his long arms. Silent, +his face was writhing with the supplication to hurry. + +Peter drove in between the two figures, one of which suddenly collapsed +and lay inert. The other sprang at his neck, sinking long claws into +his throat. Slit eyes glinted close. Before his wind was shut off he +caught the oppressive fragrance of a heavy perfume. A woman! + +He struck the clawing hands loose, and she stemmed a scream between +convulsing lips. The woman above Ah Sih King's! + +He hurled her back, and she staggered against the iron flank of the +well. A chatter of Chinese broke from her lips. Shaking, she +extracted an envelope from her satin blouse and pressed it into his +hands. Thoughtlessly he stuffed the envelope into his pocket, not +reckoning what it might contain. + +The junk swung out, closed in with a smart smack, and the giant on her +deck crouched to spring. He squealed, a high-pitched ululation of +anger. Another sound was abroad, the jangling of the engine-room bell. + +Peter struck down the groping hands of the woman and sprang to the +rail, bracing his feet on the smooth iron deck-plate as the Chinese +leaped. A knife glinted. Peter seized a horny wrist with both hands, +bent, and wrenched it. The knife struck the water with a sibilant +splash. The _fokie_ lost his balance. His legs became entangled. + +He gibbered with horror as he slipped--slipped---- + +The Chinese woman sprang at Peter with the frenzy of a pantheress. + +A weltering splash--Peter dimly saw the bobbing head before it was +driven below the surface as the junk, yawing in, crowded the swimmer +down. + +A life? Nothing to the turgid river, draining all effluvia from the +yellow heart of this festering land. + +With a hissing sob, the woman drove Peter backward, raining blow after +blow on his chest. The engines pounded briskly. A boom rattled. +Despairingly, Peter's antagonist shifted her tactics, surprised him by +flinging herself to the rail. + +The junk was veering away as the _Vandalia's_ blades took hold. + +She poised on the top rail, drew herself together, and leaped! + +The junk slid into the mist. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +Peter was conscious of a hot stickiness at his throat where the claws +had taken hold. Then he concerned himself with the gray shape that lay +quite still on the iron deck at his feet. New enemies from other +quarters, he realized, might strike at any instant. + +Gathering up the limp form, he climbed the ladder to the darkened +promenade deck and up another flight through the tarpaulin cover to the +boat-deck. Opening the wireless-house door, he deposited his burden +gently upon the carpet, and switched on the light. Then he turned the +key in the lock, and examined his find. A long, gray bag of some heavy +material swathed the small figure from head to foot. There was no sign +of life. + +Yelping arose from the river. It was still dark. The sampan coolies +were out early. Peter listened, becoming thoughtful as a solution +seemed to present itself to his problem. + +He went out on deck and beckoned to one of them to stand by. + +A swaying coolie in the stern of the nearest craft caught sight of him. + +"Hie! Hie!" The wagging paddle became mad. The sampan slipped under +the towering shadow and brought up with a smack against the moving +black hull. + +Peter pried up the tarpaulin life-boat cover, dragged out a coil of +dirty rope, made one end fast at the foot of the davit, and tossed the +other end overside. The coolie caught it and clung. + +Re-entering the wireless cabin, Peter opened his pocket-knife and slit +the cord at the head. + +A mass of curly, brown hair flowed out upon the carpet. There was a +silken lisp of underskirts. A faint sigh. + +Peter suddenly turned his head. Black, glassy eyes were riveted upon +his from the after window. They vanished. + +He jumped up, bolted to the deck, and stood still, listening. + +The scuffle of a foot sounded on the port side. Some one was running +forward. He plunged after. The footsteps stopped sharply coincident +with a dull smash, a frantic grunt. The pursued reeled to the deck, +groaning. + +Peter pounced upon him, grabbed his collar, and dragged him across the +deck into the wireless house. + +"Mr. Moore, the captain told me----" whimpered Dale. + +Peter knocked him into the chair, opened the toolbox, and extracted a +length of phosphor-bronze aerial wire. Binding the wiggling arms to +the chair, he made the ends fast behind. + +Snapping out the lights, he gathered the gray bag into his arms and +deposited it on the deck in the narrow space between the life-boat and +the edge. He looked down. The coolie was staring up, clinging to the +rope, waiting. + +The bag slipped down half-way. A warm moist hand clutched at his +wrist. A faint moan issued from the unseen lips. He jerked again. +The bag came away free, and he tossed it overboard. The yellow current +snatched it instantly from sight. + +The hand clung desperately at his wrist. "Don't let them----" began a +sweet voice in his ear. + +He wrapped his legs around the rope and worked his way over the edge. +"Arms around my neck!" he commanded hoarsely. "Hold tight!" + +Soft arms enfolded him. They dangled at the edge. + +The coarse rope slipped swiftly through his fingers, scorching the +palms, seeming to rake at the bones in his hand. + +A wild shout came from the wireless house. An echo, forward, answered. + +They slipped, twisting, scraping, down the rough strand. His hands +seemed hot enough to burst. Maddened blood throbbed at his eyes, his +ears, and dried his throat. Dimmed lights of the promenade deck soared +upward. A glimmering port-hole followed. + +For an eternity they dangled, then shot downward. + +Something popped in Peter's ears. His feet struck a yielding deck. He +staggered backward, sprawled. The rope was whipped from his hand. The +warm arms still clung about his neck. + +As the world wheeled, a drunken universe, a sullen voice yelped at his +ear. The arms loosened. + +The _Vandalia_ twinkled closely and was swept into the mist, a blur, a +phantom. His hands blazed with infernal fire. + +He sat up and looked behind him. The river was murderously dark. +Water gurgled under the flimsy bow. The dull tread of feet and a +watery flailing behind him advised Peter that the coolie was struggling +against the rushing current. + +Slowly he became conscious of a weight upon his breast, a low sobbing. +A delicate, feminine odor brought him to earth, unraveled his tangled +wits. + +He was sitting upon the wet floor of the sampan's low cabin. His +captive had crept close to him for protection. Protection! He +snorted, wondering if the coolie was licensed. + +"Hai! Hai! Woo-Sung way." The voice was villainously stubborn. + +"Shanghai-way. _Kuai cho_--hurry!" roared Peter. A sigh escaped from +the girl. She snuggled closer. "Woo-Sung. _Pu-shih_! Savvy?" + +"Hai! Mebbe can do." The sampan reared, braving the direct onslaught +of the Whang-poo's swift tide. + +A myriad of questions in his brain strove for utterance. But the girl +spoke first. + +"Who are you?" she whispered. "I am Eileen Lorimer." + +"I am--I was the wireless operator of the _Vandalia_." + +The coolie paused a moment for breath, then the mad plunging of the +paddle sounded again. + +"The wireless operator? You heard my call?" + +"Been waiting for China's lights--ever since. But how--what?" he +demanded. + +She was silent a moment. "I know the code. My brother owned a private +station. We lived in Pasadena--ages ago. It does seem ages." She +stirred feebly. "You don't mind?" + +"No, no," he protested. + +"I am afraid--such a long time. Weeks? Years?" She shuddered. "I do +not know. Oh--I want to go home!" + +The coolie broke into a working sing-song as he struggled. The tide +should shift before long. + +"Were you in the loft above Ah Sih King's?" + +"Roped! I broke loose." + +"The red note?" + +"I scribbled with a nail, and threw it before she knocked me down. +That woman was a demon!" + +A pale, yellow glow seemed to body forth from the enshrouding mist. +Dawn was breaking. Soon the great river would be alight. + +"School-teacher," the girl was murmuring. "A wedding present for +her--in Ah Sih King's." A small hand fumbled for his, and found it. +"In the back room they began gibbering at me. And this demon came. +Meaningless words--Ah Sih King leered. Called me the luckiest woman in +China." + +"But how did you know?" + +An empty freighter with propellers flailing half out of water pounded +through the yellow mist close to them. + +"Hie! Hie!" shrilled the coolie's warning. + +Light seeped through the doorway. The outlines of a dark skirt were +silhouetted against the scrubbed white floor. + +"He said when I saw the lights of China I would go aboard a beautiful +ship. She was watching you. Three times our stateroom was changed. +Always at night." + +"You used a coil?" Peter was professionally interested on this point. + +The girl murmured affirmatively. "She had some affliction. A San +Francisco doctor said the electric machine would cure it. And I +pretended to use it, too. But it broke down that night." + +The yellow light grew stronger. Equipment of the cabin emerged: a +crock of rice and fish, a corked jug, a bundle of crude chop-sticks +bound with frayed twine, a dark mess of boiled sea-weed on a greasy +slab. + +He looked down. The girl moved her head. Their eyes met. + +Timid, gray ones with innocent candor searched him. Shining dark hair +rippled down either side of a pale, lovely face. She was younger than +he had expected, more beautiful than he had hoped. Her rosebud of a +mouth trembled in the overtures of a smile. + +His feelings were divided between admiration for her and horror--she +had escaped so narrowly. In the realization of that moment Peter +shaped his course. His following thought was of finances. + +He brought to light a handful of change. Less than one dollar, +disregarding four twenty-cent Hu-Peh pieces; hardly enough to pay off +the sampan coolie. + +His charge sighed helplessly, thereby clinching his resolution. "I +haven't a penny," she said. + +He explored the side-pocket of his coat, hoping against fact that he +had not changed his bill-fold to his grip. His fingers encountered an +unfamiliar object. + +The struggling pantheress flashed into his mind. And the wrinkled +envelope she had drawn from her satin jacket and pressed into his hand. +Past dealings with Chinese gave him the inkling that he had been +unknowingly bribed. + +A scarlet stamp, a monograph, was imposed in the upper right corner of +the pale blue oblong. + +"Money--Chinese bills. Full of them!" Miss Lorimer gasped. "I saw it. +What are they for? And why did that dreadful woman----" + +"Jet-t-e-e-ee!" sang the coolie, swinging the oar hard over. The +sampan grated against a landing. "Shanghai. _Ma-tou_! _H[=a]n liang +bu dung y[=a]ng che l[=a]i_!" + +Peter was counting the pack. "Fifty one-thousand-dollar Bank of China +bills!" + +Excited yelpings occurred on the _ma-tou_. The rickshaw coolies were +dickering for their unseen fare. + +Peter tossed the sampan boy all the coins he had, and left him to +gibber over them as he lifted the girl to the jetty. She clung to his +arm, trembling, as the coolies formed a grinning, shouting circle about +them. More raced in from the muddy bund. + +"What are we going to do?" she groaned. + +"We are going to cable your mother that you are starting for home by +the first steamer," Peter cried, swinging her into the cleanest and +most comfortable rickshaw of the lot. "The _Mongolia_ sails this +afternoon." + +"What will become of you?" she demanded. + +Peter gave her his ingenuous smile. "I will vanish--for a while. +Otherwise I may vanish--permanently." + +Miss Lorimer reached out with her small white hand and touched his +sleeve. They were jouncing over the Su-Chow bridge, on their way to +the American Consulate. "Won't I see you again? Ever?" She looked +bewildered and lost, as if this strange old land had proved too much +for her powers of readjustment. Her rosebud mouth seemed to quiver. +"Are you in danger, Mr. Moore?" + +Peter glimpsed a very yellow, supercilious face swinging in his +direction from the padding throng. + +"A little, perhaps," he conceded. + +"Because of me?" + +The yellow face reappeared and was swallowed again by the crowd, as a +speck of mud is engulfed by the Yangtze. + +Miss Lorimer repeated her question. Peter shook his head in an +extravagant denial, and helped her down from the rickshaw. They had +stopped before the consulate in the American quarter. + +"I'm leaving you here," he said. + +"But--but I like you!" her small voice faltered. "Aren't you going to +explain--anything? Is this--is this all?" + +Peter smothered his rising feelings under an air of important haste. +"Your way lies there"--he pointed down river. "For the present mine +lies here"--and he jerked a thumb in the general direction of +Shanghai's narrow muddy alleys. + +"Shall I--won't you--gracious!" Miss Lorimer stared into her left +hand. Two one-thousand-dollar Bank of China bills were folded upon it. +She was confused. When she looked back the young man who had +miraculously delivered her from an unguessable fate had been spirited +with Oriental magic from her sight. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +The bund of Shanghai was striped with the long, purple shadows of +coming night, a night which seemed to be creeping out of the heart of +the land, ushering with it a feeling of subtle tension, as though the +touch of darkness stirred to wakefulness a populace of shadows, which +skulked and crouched and whispered, comprising an underworld of +sinister folk which the first glow of dawn would send scampering back +to a thousand evil-smelling hiding-places. + +The rhythmic chant of coolies on the river ended. Mammoth go-downs, +where the products of China flowed on their way to distant countries, +became gloomily silent and empty. Handsome, tall sikhs, the police of +the city, appeared in twos and threes where only one had been stationed +before; for in China, as elsewhere, wickedness is borne on the night's +wings. + +With the descent of the velvety darkness the late wireless operator of +the transpacific greyhound, the _Vandalia_, slipped out of an obscure, +shadowy doorway on Nanking Road and directed his steps toward the +glittering bund, where he was reasonably sure his enemies would have +difficulty in recognizing him. + +Peter's uniform now reposed on a dark shelf in the rear of a silkshop. +He had no desire to be stabbed in the back, which was a probability in +case certain up-river men should find him. The Chinese gentleman who +conducted the silkshop was an old friend, and trustworthy. + +Peter now wore the garb of a Japanese merchant. His feet were +sandaled. His straight, lithe figure was robed in an expensive gray +silk kimono. Jammed tight to his ears, in good Nipponese fashion, was +a black American derby. His eyebrows were penciled in a fairly +praiseworthy attempt to reproduce the Celestial slant, and he carried a +light bamboo cane. + +Yet the ex-operator of the _Vandalia_ was not altogether sure that the +disguise was a success. If the scowling yellow face he had detected +among the throngs on the bund that morning should have followed him to +the silk-shop, of what earthly use was this silly disguise? + +He padded along in the lee of a money-changer's, keeping close to the +wall. By degrees he became aware that he was followed; and he +endeavored to credit the feeling to imagination, to raw nerves. A +ghostly rickshaw flitted by. The soft chugging of the coolie's bare +feet became faint, ceased. A muttering old woman waddled past. + +He looked behind him in time to see a gaunt face, lighted by the dim +glow of a shop window, bob out of sight into a doorway. Turning again +a moment later, he saw the man dive into another doorway. + +Peter ran to the dark aperture, seized a muscular, satin-covered arm, +and dragged a whispering Chinese, a big, brawny fellow, into the +circular zone of the yellow street-light. Quickly recovering from his +surprise, the Chinese reached swiftly toward his belt. Peter, hoping +that only one man had been set on his trail, gave a murderous yell, and +at the same time drove his fist into a yielding paunch. + +With a groan the Chinese staggered back against the shop window, caving +in a pane with his elbow. Peter raised his fist to strike again. + +Then a monumental figure, with a clean turban coiled about his head, +strode austerely into the circle of yellow light. + +"_Ta dzoh sh[=e]n m[=o] szi_?" + +"Thief," said Moore simply, indicating the broken shop window. + +"L[=a]o sh[=e]n l[=a]o sh[=e]n!" growled the sikh. He seized the +luckless window-breaker by both shoulders, backed him against an iron +trolley-post, and strapped him to it. + +With a jovial, "Allah be with you!" Peter Moore continued his stroll +toward the bund. Now that the trailer was out of his way for the night +at least, he could make his way in peace to the Palace bar and find out +what might be in the wind for him. + +As he crossed Nanking Road where it joined the bund, a frantic shout, +mingled with a scream of fear or of warning, impelled him to leap out +of the path of a rickshaw which was making for him at a breakneck +speed. A white face, with a slender gloved hand clutched close to the +lips, swept past. + +Peter gasped in surprise quite as staggering as if the girl in the +rickshaw had slapped him across the face. He shouted after her. But +she went right on, without turning. + +"Licksha?" A grinning coolie dropped the shafts of an empty rickshaw +at Peter Moore's heels. + +He ceased being angry as a softer glow crept into his veins. The +rickshaw turned to the right, following the other, which occupied the +center of the almost deserted bund, and speeding like the wind. + +"_Ni chue ba_!" shouted Peter Moore. The girl seemed to be headed for +the bund bridge. But why? A number of questions stormed futilely in +his brain. Why had the girl ignored him? Why had she not gone aboard +the _Manchuria_, as she had promised? + +The coolie joggled along, his naked legs rising and falling +mechanically. The wireless operator drew the folds of the kimono more +closely about his throat, for the night air blowing off the Whang-poo +was chill and damp. + +At the bridge the rickshaw ahead suddenly stopped, waiting. Peter +Moore drew alongside, and leaped to the ground. + +The near-by street-light afforded him the information that he had made +a mistake. Undeniably similar to the girl he had sent away on the +_Manchuria_ that morning was the young lady in the rickshaw. She had +the same white, wistful face, the same alert, appealing eyes, the same +rosebud mouth. Any one might have made such a mistake. It was very +embarrassing. + +"Why are you following me?" she demanded. + +"I thought I knew you. I am sorry. I'll go at once." + +"No! Wait." Her volte relented. It was a fresh young voice, not +indeed unlike that of Miss Lorimer's. She was smiling. "Why are you +dressed as a Jap?" + +"I am sorry," Peter faltered, retreating. "Mistake. You're not the +girl I--I expected. _Sayonara_!" + +"_Please_ don't run away," said the girl with a soft laugh. "I'm not +afraid, or I would have run, instead of waiting, when you followed me. +I've just come up from Amoy--alone. And I leave to-morrow for +Ching-Fu--alone. You're American!" she murmured. "But why the +Jap--disguise? I'm American, too. I used to live in New York, on +Riverside Drive. Oh! It must have been ages ago!" + +"Why?" asked Peter unguardedly. + +"I haven't met one of my countrymen in centuries! And to-morrow I go +up the river, 'way beyond Ching-Fu, beyond Szechwan!" + +"Bad travelling on the river this time of the year," Peter murmured +politely. "She's out of her banks up above Ichang, I have been told." + +"Yes," replied the girl sadly. "If I could only have just one evening +of fun--a dance or two, maybe--I--I--wouldn't mind half so much. +I--I----" + +Peter advised himself as follows: I told you so. Aloud he said: + +"I believe there's a dance at the Astor Hotel. If we can get a +table----" + +"Oh, how lovely!" exclaimed the girl. "Do--do you mind very--much?" + +"Tickled to death," Peter declared amiably. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +At a small round table in the end of the room over which hung the +orchestra balcony, Peter found himself in the presence of two disarming +gray eyes, which drank in every detail of his good-looking young face, +including the penciled eyebrows. + +Miss Vost--Miss Amy Vost--gave him to understand that she was really +grateful for his hospitality, rushed on to assure him that it was not +customary for her to meet strange young men as she had met him, and +then frankly asked him what he was doing in China. Every time she +thought of him her curiosity seemed to trip over the Japanese kimono. + +Influenced by his third glass of Japanese champagne, he almost told her +the truth. He modified it by saying that he was a wireless operator; +that he had missed his ship, and that his plans were to linger in China +for a while. He liked China. Liked China very much. + +Miss Vost caressed the tip of her nose with a small, pink thumb. She +was not the kind who hesitated. + +"You can do me a favor," she said, and halted. + +The Philippine orchestra burst into a lilting one-step. Miss Vost +arched her eyebrows. Peter arose, and they glided off. It developed +that Miss Vost was well qualified. There was divineness in her +youthful grace; she put her heart into the dance. It seemed probable +to Peter Moore that she put her heart into everything she did. + +"You spoke about my doing a favor," he suggested, glancing sternly at a +dark-eyed Eurasian girl who seemed to be trying to divert his attention. + +"There is a man in Shanghai I want you to try to find for me--to-night. +Last time I saw him--this morning--he was drunk. He was the first +officer on the steamer that brought me up from Amoy. Perhaps you know +him. He's only been on the coast a short while. Before that he ran on +the Pacific Mail Line between San Francisco and Panama. His name is +MacLaurin, a nice boy. Scotch. But he drinks." + +"MacLaurin? I know a man named MacLaurin--Bobbie MacLaurin." + +"No!" gasped Miss Vost. "I suppose I ought to make that old remark +about what a small world it is! Do you know where Bobbie MacLaurin is?" + +"No," he murmured. "Why is he drunk?" + +"That is a matter," replied Miss Vost, somewhat distantly, "that I +prefer not to discuss. Will you try to find him for me? He threatened +to be--be captain of the river-boat, the _Hankow_, that I leave on +to-morrow for Ching-Fu. I'd rather like to know if he intends to carry +out his threat. Will you find out, if you can, if he is going to be +sober enough to make the trip--and let me know?" requested Miss Vost, +as the music stopped. "I'd rather he wouldn't, Mr. Moore," she added +quickly. "But I do wish _you_ were going to make the trip. I'd love +to have you!" + +The ex-operator of the _Vandalia_ experienced a warm suffusion in the +vicinity of his throat. In the next breath he felt genuinely guilty. +As he looked deep into the anxious, appealing gray eyes of Miss Vost, +he cursed himself for being, or having the tendencies to be, a trifler; +and in his estimation a trifler was not far removed from the reptile +class. Yet somehow, damn it, that trip to Ching-Fu on the _Hankow_ +appealed to him now as a most profitable excursion, for Ching-Fu was +only a few hundred li from Len Yang. + +Something of the doughtiness of a mongoose marching into a den of +monster cobras characterized Peter Moore's intention to penetrate the +stronghold of the cinnabar king. He knew that his chances for entering +Len Yang were absurdly small. Yet the whole of the Chinese Empire was +not particularly safe for him now. The Gray Dragon had paid him the +compliment of recognizing in him an enemy. He no longer doubted +Minion's warning; the dragon of Len Yang controlled a powerful +organization. No part of China was safe. If he desired to run away +from this very actual danger in which direction could he run? + +"_When menaced by danger_," runs an old Chinese proverb, "_go to the +very heart of it; there you will find safety_." + +It lacked a few minutes of midnight when Peter entered the Palace bar +by the bund side. Only a few lights were burning, and the exceedingly +long teak bar--"the longest bar east of Suez"--was adorned by a few +knots of men only. Tobacco smoke was thick in the place, nearly +obscuring the doorway into the hotel lobby. + +He scanned the idlers, looking for the cloth of sailormen. His quest +was ended. Bobbie MacLaurin was here, disposing of all of the imported +Scotch whiskey that came convenient to his long and muscular reach. + +In a deep and sonorous voice he was pointing out to a group of +uniformed sailors, burdening his point with a club-like forefinger with +which he pounded on the edge of the teak bar, that while he rarely +drank off duty, he never drank when on. This claim Peter had reason to +know was not untrue. + +The wireless operator edged his way to MacLaurin's side, and touched +his arm, making a whispered remark which the Scotchman evidently did +not comprehend. For MacLaurin wheeled on him, and bestowed upon him a +red, glassy, and hotly indignant stare. + +Bobbie MacLaurin was, in the language of the sea, a whale of a man. +His head seemed unnecessarily large until you began to compare it with +his body; and his body was the despair of uniform manufacturers, who +desire above all things to make a fair percentage of profit. He was +like a living monument, two and a half hundred weight of fighting flesh +and bones, which, when all of it went into action, could better be +compared to a volcano than to a monument. Otherwise he was an +exceedingly amiable young giant. + +The redness and hotness of the stare he imposed upon the friend of more +than one adventurous expedition slowly receded, leaving only the +glassiness in evidence. Bobbie fidgeted uneasily. + +"Damn my hide!" he roared. "Your face is familiar! It is! It is! +Where have I seen that face before? Ah! I know now! I had a fight +with you once." + +"More than once," corrected Peter Moore, grinning. "The last time was +in Panama. Remember? I tripped you up, after you knocked the wind out +of me, and you fell, clothes and all, into the Washington Hotel's +swimming tank." + +"Peter Moore!" gasped Bobbie MacLaurin, and Peter Moore was smothered +in log-like arms and the fumes of considerable alcohol. + +Extricating himself at length from this monstrous embrace, Peter +permitted himself to be held off at arm's length and be warmly and +loquaciously admired. + +"My old side-kick of the damn old _San Felipe_!" announced Bobbie +MacLaurin to the small group of somewhat embarrassed sailors. "The +best radio man that God ever let live! He can hear a radio signal +before it's been sent. Can't you, Peter? Boys, take a long look at +the only livin' man who can fight his weight in sea serpents; the only +livin' man who ever knocked me cold, and got away with it! Boys, take +a long, lastin' look, for the pack o' you're goin' out o' that door +inside of ten counts! God bless 'um! Just look at that there Jap +get-up! Sure as God made big fish to eat the little fellows, Peter +Moore's up to some newfangled deviltry, or I'm a lobster!" + +"Sh!" warned Peter Moore, conscious that in China the walls, doors, +floors, ceilings, windows, even the bartenders, have ears. + +"Out with the lot of you!" barked MacLaurin. "There's big business +afoot to-night. We must be alone. Eh, Peter?" + +And Peter was convinced that business could not be talked over +to-night. Of one thing only did he wish to be certain. + +"You're taking the _Hankow_ up-river to-morrow?" + +"That I am, Peter!" + +"Then we'll take the express for Nanking to-morrow morning." + +"Aye--aye! Sir!" + +"We'll turn in now. Otherwise you'll look like a wreck when Miss Vost +sees you." + +"Miss Vost!" exploded MacLaurin. "When did you see Miss Vost?" + +"A little while ago, Bob. Shall we turn in now?" + +"Miss Vost is why I'm drunk, Peter," said Bobbie MacLaurin sadly. + +"So she admitted. To-morrow we'll talk her over, and other important +matters." + +"As you say, Peter. I'm the brawn, but you're the brains of this +team--as always! The bunks are the order." + + +When Bobbie MacLaurin's not unmusical snore proceeded from the vast +bulk disposed beneath the white bedclothes, Peter Moore again descended +to the lobby, let himself into the street, and hailed a rickshaw. + +The mist from the Whang-poo had changed to a slanting rain. The bund +was a ditch of clay-like mud. Each street light was a halo unto itself. + +He lighted a cigarette, suffered the coolie to draw up the clammy +oilskin leg-robe to his waist, and dreamily contemplated the quagmire +that was Shanghai. + +The rickshaw crossed the Soochow-Creek bridge and drew up, dripping, +under the porte-cochere of the Astor House Hotel, where a majestic +Indian door-tender emerged from the shadows, bearing a large, opened +umbrella. + +Contrary to her promise Miss Vost was not waiting for his message. +However, she sent back word by the coolie, that she would dress and +come down, if he desired her to. Peter pondered a moment. A glimpse +of Miss Vost at this time of night meant nothing to him. Or was he +hungry for that glimpse? Nonsense! + +He dashed off a hasty note, sealed it in an envelope, and gave it to +the room-boy to deliver. + +He pictured her sleepy surprise as she opened it, and read: + + +Bobbie seems much put out. We take morning express to Nanking. Try to +make it. We'll have tea, the three of us, at Soochow. + + +At Soochow! There he was--at it again! A trifler. + +"Damn my withered-up sense of honor, anyway!" observed Peter Moore to +himself, as he climbed into the rain-soaked rickshaw. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +With the pristine dawn, Robert MacLaurin arose from his bed like a +large, yellow mountain; for his pajamas--every square yard of +them--were of fine Canton silk, the color of the bulbous moon when it +reposes low on China's horizon. + +Satisfying himself at length that the bedroom had another occupant, he +drained the contents of a fat, white water-jug, then tossed the jug +upon the incumbent of the bedroom's other bed. + +At such times as this critical one, the smiling destiny which held the +fate of Peter Moore in the hollow of her precious hand was ever +watchful, and the white water-jug caromed from his peaceful figure with +no more than an unimportant thud. The jug bounded to the floor and +ended its career against the hard wall. Peter Moore sat up, rubbing +his eyes. + +"Dead or alive, Peter?" + +"You nearly broke my back." + +"Serves you right, old slug-abed! You tucked me in last night with the +warning that we pick up the early express for Nanking." + +"Quite so," admitted Peter Moore thickly. In the past two days he had +managed to set aside altogether four hours for sleep; and he felt that +way. He examined his room-mate, but was not surprised at what met his +glance. + +Bobbie MacLaurin, disregarding the fact that he had not yet shaved, +looked as fresh as a rose. His endurance was like that of a range of +mountains. His sea-blue eyes were cannily clear, his complexion was +transparent and glowing. The ill effects of last night had been +absorbed with about as much apparent effort as a gigantic sponge might +display in absorbing a dewdrop. + +"Chinamen's eyes and Chinamen's knives have been running through my +dreams," Peter muttered. + +"Cheer up! The pirates are thick above Ichang. We'll both have our +bloody necks slit a dozen times before we make Ching-Fu." Bobbie +turned from the miniature mirror. His sea-blue eyes glared through a +white lake of lather. "Hurry up and shave, you loafer! We'll miss +that train." + +"I'm not going to shave for six months!" + +"Election bet?" + +"When your utterly worthless life has been endangered as many times +as----" + +"What you need is a drink, my lad!" + +"When you have evidence that the greatest criminal-at-large wants to +have you stuck like a pig----" + +MacLaurin swung his big frame about and stared. "You're not serious." + +"I am referring to--a Gray Dragon. Ever hear of one?" + +The razor in the large, red hand of Bobbie MacLaurin flashed. It came +away from his cheek. A broad trickle of crimson spread down the +lathered jaw, But he did not curse. + +"We must hurry for that train," rumbled his big voice. "We must talk +this over. We must hurry, Peter," he said again. + +Miss Amy Vost was not in evidence when the two rickshaws rattled up to +the platform of the red brick station. + +"Perhaps she's waiting for us in the coach, holding seats for us," +Peter suggested. + +"Just like her," said MacLaurin. "She's a little peach!" + +Peter entered the compartment first and scanned the heads. The only +tresses in evidence were the long, black, shining ones of a bejeweled +Chinese lady. The other passengers were men. + +"There will be no tete-a-tete in Soochow," observed Peter Moore to his +conscience. + +"I'd go to hell for that girl!" declared Bobbie MacLaurin as he sat +down at Peter's side. "Now, tell me what you were doing in that Jap +rigging. Two years, isn't it, since we were chased out of Panama City +by the _spigotties_?" + +"I came over on the _Vandalia_." + +"And didn't go back, I gather." + +"She sailed up-river for Soo-chow yesterday. No, I won't go back. +Bobbie, I started something on that ship, and I'm on my way to +Ching-Fu--and 'way beyond Ching-Fu--to finish it." + +"It will be beautifully finished, Peter! Or your name's not Moore." + +"There was a girl, a beautiful girl----" + +"There usually is," MacLaurin sighed. + +Peter gazed bitterly at the scenery flitting evenly past the window: +groves of feathery bamboo, flaming mustard fields, exquisite gardens, +and graves--graves beyond count. + +"Perhaps she is passing through the Inland Sea by now. Bobbie, I +wanted her to go home. She was--she was that kind of a girl. She +wanted to stay. Bobbie, that girl could have made a man of me! +She--she even told me she--liked me!" + +"They have a way of doing that," commented Bobbie sadly. + +Several miles rolled by before either of the men spoke. + +"Why is Miss Vost making the trip to Ching-Fu?" + +"You'll have to find that out, Peter. I was too busy letting her know +how bright my life has become since she entered it!" + +The square, red jaw swung savagely toward Peter. Of a sudden the +sea-blue eyes seemed a trifle inflamed. "She's probably going to +Ching-Fu on serious business. She's like that. She's not like you!" + +"What do you mean?" said Peter. + +"You're going to try to break into Len Yang; that's what I mean! Some +day, on one of these reckless expeditions of yours, Peter, you're going +to run plumb into a long, sharp knife! If I could head you off, I +would." + +"You can't, Bobbie. My mind is made up." + +"Get out of China. Why enter the lion's den? You're too confiding, +too trusting, too young. In duty to my conscience, I oughtn't to let +you go. But I know you'd walk or fly or swim if I tried to head you +off." + +"I certainly would," agreed Peter. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +No member of the earth's great brotherhood of dangerous waterways is +blessed with quite the degree of peril which menaces those hardy ones +who dare the River of the Golden Sands. + +Bobbie MacLauren's steamer, the _Hankow_, was the net result of long +ship-building experience. Dozens of apparently seaworthy boats have +gone up the Yangtze-Kiang, not to return. After years of experiment a +somewhat satisfactory river-boat has been evolved. It combines the +sturdiness of a sea-going tug with the speed of a torpedo-boat +destroyer. + +The _Hankow_ was ridiculously small, and monstrously strong. Chiefly +it consisted of engines and boilers. Despite their security, despite +the shipwrecks and deaths that have been poured into their present +design, Yangtze river-boats sink, a goodly crop of them, every season. + +But the world of commerce is an arrogant master. There is wealth in +the land bordering the upper reaches of the river. This wealth must be +brought down to the sea, and scattered to the lands beyond the sea. In +return, machinery and tools must be carried back to mine and farm the +wealth. + +Little is heard, less is told, and still less is written of the men who +dare the rapids and the rocks and the sands of the great river. +Sometimes the spirit of adventure sends them up the Yangtze. +Frequently, as is the case with men who depart unexplainedly upon +dangerous errands, a woman is the inspiration, or merely the cause. + +Miss Amy Vost, of New York City, but more recently of Amoy, China, +province Fu-Kien, was the generator in the case of Bobbie MacLaurin. + +When Miss Vost tripped blithely aboard the _Sunyado Maru_, anchored off +the breaks of Amoy, and captured, at first blush, the hearts of the +entire forward crew, Bobbie MacLaurin was the most eager prisoner of +the lot. + +Perhaps she took notice of him out of the corner of her glowing young +eyes long before he became seriously and mortally afflicted. Certainly +the first mate of the _Sunyado Maru_ was no believer in the theory of +non-resistance. + +Had Miss Vost been a susceptible young woman, it is safe to assume that +Bobbie MacLaurin would not have accepted command of the _Hankow_ from +tide-water to that remote Chinese city, Ching-Fu. + +He wooed her in the pilot-house--where passengers were never allowed; +he courted her in the dining-room; and he paid marked attention to her +at all hours of the day and night, in sundry nooks and corners of the +generous promenade deck. + +Miss Vost sparred with him. As well as being lovely and captivating, +she was clever. She seemed to agree with the rule of the philosopher +who held that conversation was given to mankind simply for purposes of +evasion. By the end of the first week Bobbie MacLaurin was earning +sour glances from his staid British captain, and glances not at all +encouraging from Miss Vost. + +He informed her that all of the beauty and all of the wonder of the +stars, the sea, the moonlight, could not equal the splendor of her +wide, gray eyes. She replied that the moon, the stars, and the sea had +gone to his head. + +He insisted that her smile could only be compared to the sunrise on a +dewy rose-vine. He threw his big, generous heart at her feet a hundred +times. Being fair and sympathetic, she did not kick it to one side. +She merely side-stepped. + +He closed that evening's interview with the threat that he would follow +her to the very ends of the earth. She gave him the opportunity, +literally, by observing dryly that her destination was precisely at the +world's end--in the hills of Szechuen, to be exact. + +He took the breath out of her mouth by saying that he would travel on +the same river-boat with her to Ching-Fu, if he had to scrub down decks +for his passage. She told him not to be a silly boy; that he was, +underneath his uncouthness, really a dear, but that he didn't know +women. + +When the _Sunyado Maru_ dropped anchor off Woo-sung, Miss Vost let +Bobbie hold her hand an instant longer than was necessary, and +stubbornly refused to accompany him in the same sampan--or the same +tug--to the customs jetty. Summarily, she went up the Whang-poo all +alone, while Bobbie, biting his finger-nails, purposely quarreled with +the staid British captain, and was invited to sign off, which he did. + +Through devious subterranean channels Bobbie MacLaurin found that the +berth of master on the _Hankow_ was vacant, the latest incumbent having +relinquished his spirit to cholera. Was he willing to assume the +tremendous responsibility? He was tremendously willing! Did he +possess good papers? He most assuredly did! + + +When the Shanghai express rolled into the Nanking station, Bobbie +MacLaurin climbed into a rattling rickshaw and clattered off in the +direction of the river-front, registering the profound hope that Miss +Vost had somehow managed to reach the _Hankow_ ahead of him. Peter +Moore, who knew China's ancient capital like a book, struck off in a +diagonal direction on foot. + +He made his way to a Chinese tailor's, who bought from him the Japanese +costume and sold him a suit of gray tweeds, which another customer had +failed to call for. While not an adornment, the gray tweeds were +comfortably European, a relief from the flapping, clumsy kimono. + +He wanted to have a little talk with Miss Vost before she saw Bobbie. +He had so much affection for Bobbie that he wanted to ask Miss Vost to +please not be unnecessarily cruel with him. He did not know that Miss +Vost was never unnecessarily cruel to any living creature; for he made +the mistake there of classifying all women into the good and the cruel, +of which Miss Vost seemed to be among the latter. As a matter of fact, +Miss Vost was simply a young woman very far from home, compelled to +believe in and on occasion to resort to primitive methods of +self-defense. + +Peter took a rickshaw to the river. He picked out the _Hankow_ among +the clutter of shipping, anchored not far from shore, and out of reach +of the swift current which rushed dangerously down midchannel. Black +smoke issued from her single chubby funnel. Blue-coated coolies sped +to and fro on her single narrow deck. Bobbie MacLaurin leaned far out +across the rail as Peter's sampan slapped smartly alongside. The +coolie thrashed the water into yellowy foam. + +"Have you seen Miss Vost?" shouted MacLaurin above the hiss of escaping +steam. "We pull out in an hour, Miss Vost or no Miss Vost. That's +orders." + +Peter, reaching the deck, scanned the pagoda-dotted shore-front. +"She'll be here," he said. + +Pu-Chang, the _Hankow's_ pilot, a slender, grayed Chinese, grown old +before his time, in the river service, sidled between them, smiling +mistily, and asked his captain if the new tow-line had been delivered. +While MacLaurin went to make inquiries, Peter watched a sampan, bow on, +floating down-stream, with the intention, evidently, of making +connections with the _Hankow's_ ladder. On her abrupt foredeck was a +slim figure of blue and white. + +Startled a little by recollection, Peter leaned far out. For a moment +he had imagined the white face to be that of Eileen Lorimer. The +demure attitude of Miss Vost's hands, caught by the finger-tips before +her, gave further grounds to Peter Moore for the comparison. Her youth +and innocence had as much to do with it as anything, for there was +undeniably an air of youth and extreme innocence about Miss Vost. + +Something in the shape of a triumphant bellow was roared from the +engine-room companionway. Whereupon the companionway disgorged the +monumental figure of Bobbie MacLaurin, grinning like a schoolboy at his +first party. He seized Miss Vost by both hands, swinging her neatly to +the deck. + +She panted and fell back against the rail, holding her hand to her +heart, and welcoming Bobbie MacLaurin by a glance that was not entirely +cordial. + +"The sampan boy hasn't been paid," she remarked, opening her purse. +"It's twenty cents." + +While MacLaurin pulled a silver dollar from his pocket and spun it to +the anxious coolie, Miss Vost turned with the warmest of smiles to +Peter. Rarely had any girl seemed more delighted to see him, for +which, under the circumstances, he found it somewhat difficult to be +grateful. + +He experienced again that dull feeling of guilt. He felt that she +ought to show more cordiality to Bobbie MacLaurin. Here was Bobbie, +trailing after her like a faithful dog, on the most hazardous trip that +any man could devise, and he had not been rewarded, so far, with even +the stingiest of smiles. + +Women were like that. They took the fruits of your work, or they took +your life, or let you toss it to the crows, without a sign of +gratitude. At least, _some_ women were like that. He had hoped Miss +Vost was not that kind. He had hoped---- + +Miss Vost laid her small, warm hand in his, and she seemed perfectly +willing to let it linger. Her lips were parted in a smile that was all +but a caress. She seemed to have forgotten that the baffled young man +who stared so fixedly at the back of her pretty, white neck existed. + +It was quite embarrassing for Peter. The feeling of the little hand, +that lay so intimately within his, sent a warm glow stealing into his +guilty heart. + +Then, aware of the pain in the face of Bobbie MacLaurin, a face that +had abruptly gone white, and realizing his duty to this true friend of +his, he pushed Miss Vost's hands away from him. + +That gesture served to bring them all back to earth. + +"Aren't you glad--aren't you a little bit glad--to see me--me?" said +the hurt voice of Bobbie MacLaurin. + +Miss Vost pivoted gracefully, giving Peter Moore a view of her +splendid, straight back for a change. "Of course I am, Bobbie!" she +exclaimed. "I'm always glad to see you. Why--oh, look! Did you ever +see such a Chinaman?" + +They all joined in her look. A salmon-colored sampan was riding +swiftly to the _Hankow's_ riveted steel side. With long legs spread +wide apart atop the low cabin stood a very tall, very grave Chinese. +His long, blanched face was more than grave, more than austere. + +Peter Moore stared and ransacked his memory. He had seen that face, +that grimace, before. His mind went back to the shop front, on Nanking +Road, last evening, when he was skulking toward the bund from the +friendly establishment of his friend, the silk merchant, Ching Gow Ong. + +This man was neither Cantonese nor Pekingese. His long, rather +supercilious face, his aquiline nose, the flare of his nostrils, the +back-tilted head, the high, narrow brow, and the shock of blue-black +hair identified the Chinese stranger, even if his abnormal, rangy +height were not taken into consideration, as a hill man, perhaps +Tibetan, perhaps Mongolian. Certainly he was no river-man. + +It seemed improbable that the window-breaker could have been released +by the heartless Shanghai police so quickly; yet out of his own +adventurous past Peter could recall more than one occasion when +"squeeze" had saved him embarrassment. + +There was no constraint in the pose of the man on the sampan's flat +roof. With indifference his narrow gaze flitted from the face of +Bobbie MacLaurin to that of Miss Vost, and wandered on to the stern, +sharp-eyed visage of Peter Moore. + +Here the casual gaze rested. If he recognized Peter Moore, he gave no +indication of it. He studied Peter's countenance with the look of one +whose interest may be distracted on the slightest provocation. + +An intelligent and wary student of human nature, Peter dropped his eyes +to the man's long, claw-like fingers. These were twitching ever so +slightly, plucking slowly--it may have been meditatively--at the hem of +his black silk coat. At the intentness of Peter's stare, this +twitching abruptly ceased. + +The sampan whacked alongside. The big man tossed a small, orange-silk +bag to the deck. He climbed the ladder as if he had been used to +climbing all his life. + +"I don't care for his looks," remarked Miss Vost, looking up into +Peter's face with a curious smile. + +"Nor I," said Bobbie MacLaurin. + +The richly dressed stranger vaulted nimbly over the teak-rail, +recovered the orange bag, and approached MacLaurin. His head drooped +forward momentarily, in recognition of the authority of the blue +uniform. + +He said in excellent English: "I desire to engage passage to Ching-Fu." + +"This way," replied the _Hankow's_ captain. + +"You seemed to recognize him," said Miss Vost to Peter, when they had +the deck to themselves. + +"Perhaps I was mistaken," replied Peter evasively. He suddenly was +aware of Miss Vost's wide-eyed look of concern. + +Impulsively she laid her hand on his arm. She had come up very close +to him. Her head moved back, so that her chin was almost on a level +with his. + +"Mr. Moore," she said in a low, soft voice, "I won't ask you any +questions. In China, there are many, many things that a woman must not +try to understand. But I--I want to tell you that--that I think you +are--splendid. It seems so fine, so good of you. I--I can't begin to +thank you. My--my feelings prevent it." + +"But--why--what--what----" stammered Peter. + +"Oh, Mr. Moore, I know--I know!" Miss Vost proceeded earnestly. "Like +all fine, brave men, you are--you are modest! It--it almost makes me +want to cry, to think--to think----" + +"But, Miss Vost," interrupted Peter, gently and gravely, "you are +shooting over my head!" + +In the rakish bows of the _Hankow_ arose the clank and clatter of wet +anchor-chains. A bell tinkled in the engine-room. The stout fabric of +the little steamer shuddered. The yellow water began to slip by them. +On the shore two pagodas moved slowly into alignment. The _Hankow_ was +moving. + +Miss Vost strengthened her gentle hold upon Peter's reluctant arm. Her +bright eyes were a trifle blurred. "Last night, when we met on the +bund," she went on in a small voice, "I knew +immediately--immediately--what you were. A chivalrous gentleman! A +man who would shelter and protect any helpless woman he met!" + +"That was nice of you," murmured Peter. + +Like Saul of Tarsus, he was beginning to see a bright light. + +"And it was true!" Miss Vost plunged on. "Now--now, you are risking +your life--for poor, unworthy little me! Please don't deny it, Mr. +Moore! I only wanted to let you know that I--I understand, and that I +am--g-grateful!" Her eyelids fluttered over an unstifled moistness. + +"Bobbie _loves_ you," blurted Peter. "He'd do anything in the world +for you. He told me so. He told me----" + +Miss Vost opened her eyes on a look that was hurt and humiliated. +"What?" + +"He'd go to hell for you!" + +"He's an overgrown boy. He doesn't know what he says. That's +nonsense," declared Miss Vost, looking away from Peter. "I know his +type, Mr. Moore. He falls in love with every pretty face; and he falls +out again, quite as easily." + +"You don't know Bobbie, the way I do," said Peter stubbornly. + +"I don't have to. I know his kind--a girl in every port." + +"No, no. Not Bobbie!" + +For a moment it seemed that they had come to an _impasse_. Miss Vost +was blinking her eyes rapidly, appearing to be somewhat interested in a +junk which was poling down-stream. + +She looked up with a wan smile. Tears were again in her eyes. "Mr. +Moore," she said in a broken voice, "what you've told me about Mr. +MacLaurin, Captain MacLaurin, moves me--deeply!" + +"Do try to be nice to Bobbie," begged Peter. "He is the finest fellow +I know. He is true blue. He would give his life for your little +finger. Really he would, Miss Vost!" + +The bright eyes gave him a languishing look. + +"I'll try," she said simply. + +That night the banks of the great river were gray and mysterious under +the effulgence of a top-heavy yellow moon. The search-light on the +peak pierced out the fact that a low, swirling mist was creeping up +from the river's dulled surface. + +The air was damp with the breath of the land. Occasionally the gentle +puffs of the wind bore along the water the flavor of queer, +indistinguishable odors. + +Elbow to elbow, glancing down at the hissing water, Miss Vost and Peter +stood for a number of sweet, meditative moments in silence. At length +Miss Vost slipped her arm through his. + +"Sometimes," she murmured, inclining her head until it almost rested +against his shoulder, "I feel lonely--terrible! Especially on such a +night as this. The moon is so impersonal, isn't it? Here it is, a +great, gorgeous ball of cold fire, shining across China at you and me. +In Amoy it seemed to frown at me. Now--it seems to smile. The same +moon!" + +"The same moon!" whispered Peter as her warm hand slipped down and +snuggled in his. + +"Don't _you_ ever feel lonely--like this?" demanded Miss Vost suddenly. + +Peter sighed. "Oh, often. Often! The world seems so big, and so +filled with things that are hard to learn. Especially at night!" He +wondered what she thought he meant. + +"I--I feel that way," Miss Vost's absorbed voice replied. "I try--and +try--to reason these things out. But they are so baffling! So +elusive! So evasive! Here is China, with its millions of poor +wretched ones, struggling in darkness and disease. There are so many! +And they are so hard to help. And out beyond there, not so many miles +beyond that ridge, lies Tibet, with her millions, and her ignorance, +and her disease. And to the left--away to the left, I think, is India. + +"If a person would be happy, he must not come to China or India. Their +problems are too overwhelming. You cannot think of solutions fast +enough, and even while you think, you are overcome by the weariness, +the hopelessness, of it all. I wish I had never come to China. + +"I happened to be in Foo-Chow not long ago. There is in Foo-Chow a +thing that illustrates what I mean. It is called the baby tower. +Girls, you know, aren't thought much of in China. At the bottom of the +tower is a deep well. Women to whom are born baby girls go to the baby +tower----" Miss Vost shuddered. "The babies are thrown into the well. +I have seen them. Poor--poor, little creatures--dying like that!" + +Miss Vost sniffled for a moment. Brightly she said: + +"I like to talk to you, Mr. Moore. You're so--so sympathetic!" + +A great, dark shadow bulked up against the rail alongside Peter. + +"Good evening, folks!" declared the pleasant bass voice of Bobbie +MacLaurin. + +"We were just talking about you, Bobbie," said Peter affably. "As I +was telling Miss Vost, you're the most sympathetic man I ever knew! +Good night, Miss Vost. Night, Bobs!" + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +When Peter descended the stairway into the narrow vestibule which +served as reception-hall, dining-saloon, and, incidentally, as the +corridor from which the _Hankow's_ four small staterooms were entered, +he had the chilly feeling that the darkness had eyes. + +Yet he saw nothing. The cabin was dark. Three round ports glimmered +greenly beyond the staircase on the cabin's forward side. The glimmer +was occasioned by the refracted rays of the _Hankow's_ dazzling +searchlight. But these were not the ones he felt. + +Gradually his own eyes became accustomed to the pulp-like darkness. He +steadied his body against the gentle swaying of the steamer, and +endeavored to listen above, or through, the imminent thrashing and +clattering of the huge engine. + +He examined the four stateroom doors anxiously. As the darkness began +to dissolve slightly, Peter, still conscious that eyes were fastened +upon him, made the discovery that the stateroom adjoining his was +slightly ajar. The moon favored him--Miss Vost's impersonal moon. It +outlined against the slit what appeared to be a large, irregular block. + +Peter decided that the irregular block was nothing more nor less than +the head of a man. To prove that his surmise was correct, Peter +quickly shifted the revolver from his right hand to his left, brought +it even with his eyes and--struck a match. + +In the startling flare of the phosphorus the evil glint of Celestial +eyes was instantly revealed in the partly opened door. + +With incredible softness the door was closed. Where there had been +half-lidded eyes, a positive snarl, and a shock of blue-black hair was +now a white-enameled panel. + +Peter continued to smile along the barrel, which glistened in the dying +flame of the match. He unlocked his door, closed it, and shot the +bolt. Switching on the electric light, he cautiously drew back the +sheet. Apparently satisfied, he sniffed the air. It was nothing more +than stuffy, as a stateroom that has been closed for a week or so is +apt to be. + +Unscrewing the fat wingbolts which clamped down the brass-bound +port-glass, he let in a breath of misty river air. Simultaneously +voices came into the room. + +Miss Vost and Bobbie MacLaurin were conversing in clear, tense +syllables. Peter could not help eavesdropping. They were standing on +the deck, directly over his stateroom, only a few scant feet from his +porthole, which was situated much nearer the deck than the surging +water. + +"But I do--I do love you!" Bobbie was complaining in his rumbling +voice. "Ever since you set foot on the old _Sunyado Maru_ I've been +your shadow--your slave! What more can any man say?" he added bitterly. + +"Not a great deal," rejoined Miss Vost lightheartedly. She became +abruptly serious. "Bobbie, I do like you. I admire you--ever so much. +But it happens that you are not the man for me. You don't understand +me. You can never understand me. Don't you realize it? You're too +sudden--too brutal--too----" + +"Brutal! I've treated you like a flower. I want to shield you----" + +"But I don't _need_ shielding, Bobbie. I'm prudent, fearless, +and--twenty-two. I don't need a watch-dog!" + +"Good God, who said anything about being a watchdog?" exclaimed Bobbie. +"I--I just want----" + +"You just want me," completed Miss Vost. "Well, you can't have me." + +"You love somebody else, then. That young pup!" + +Peter stared sourly at the bilious moon. + +"Don't you dare call him a young pup, Robert MacLaurin," retorted Miss +Vost resentfully. "He is a fine young man. I admire him and I respect +him very, _very_ much." + +"He can't fool around any girl of mine!" + +Peter heard Bobbie sucking the breath in between his teeth, as if he +might have pricked himself with a pin. Bobbie had done worse than that. + +"A girl of _yours_!" snapped Miss Vost. + +Followed low, anxious and imploratory whispers. These were terminated +by a long, light, and delicious laugh. + +"Bobbie, you're so _funny_!" Miss Vost gurgled. + +"I wish I was dead!" declared Bobbie despondently. + +"You should go to Liauchow," Miss Vost chirped. + +"_Why_ should _I_ go to Liauchow?" grumbled the bass voice. + +"To be happy, you must be born in Soochow, live in Canton and die in +Liauchow. So runs the proverb." + +"Why should I go to Liauchow?" persisted Bobbie. + +"Because Soochow has the handsomest people, Canton the most luxury, and +Liauchow the best coffins!" + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +Peter Moore's curiosity regarding the motives which were sending Miss +Amy Vost into Szechwan, most deplorable, most poverty-stricken of +provinces, was satisfied before the _Hankow_ had put astern the great +turbulent city after which it had been named. + +At Hankow the _Hankow_ picked up the raft which it would tow all the +way up to Ching-Fu. Upon this raft was a long, squat cabin, in and out +of which poured incessantly members of China's large and growing family. + +There were thin, dirty little men, and skinny, soiled little women, and +quantities of hungry, dirty little boys and girls. A great noise went +up from the raft as the _Hankow_ nosed in alongside, and the new +towline was passed and made fast over the bitts. + +As the big propeller thumped under them and churned the muddy water +into unhealthy-looking foam, Peter Moore and Miss Vost leaned upon the +rail, where it curved around the fantail, and discoursed at length, +speculating upon the probable destination of that raftful of dirty +humanity, and offering problematic answers to the puzzling question as +to why were all these people deserting relatively prosperous Hankow for +the over-populated, overdeveloped province of Szechwan. + +Peter had an inkling that Miss Vost was distressed by the scene. + +"Let's take a stroll forward," he suggested. + +An urchin, directly below them, stood rubbing his eyes with two grimy +fists. His whines were audible above the churning of the engines. + +"No, no. I'm quite accustomed to this. Look--just look at that +miserable little fellow!" + +"He is blind," stated Peter quietly. + +"Half of them are blind," Miss Vost replied. Her features were +transfixed by a look of sadness. "Wait for me. I'll return in a +second." + +Peter watched the graceful swing of her shoulders as she strode down +the deck to the forward companionway, admiring the slim strength of her +silk-clad ankles. She was every inch an American girl. He was proud +of her. She returned, carrying a small oblong of cardboard, upon which +a photograph was pasted. + +Peter found himself looking into the sad, be-wrinkled eyes of a +gray-bearded man, a patriarchal gentleman, who stood on the hard clay +at the foot of a low stone stairway. His nose, his eyes, his +intellectual forehead were distinctly those of Miss Vost. A child in a +freshly starched frock, with eyes opened wide in surprise and interest, +was firmly clutching one of his trouser-legs. + +"My father," explained Miss Vost. "He was stationed at Wenchow then, +in charge of the mission. I have not seen him since." + +Peter remarked to himself that somehow Miss Vost did not seem to be the +daughter of a missionary, nor was the costly way she dressed in key +with her remark. Perhaps she divined his thoughts. + +"He has money--lots of it. He has a keen, broad mind. But he chose +this. When he was first married be brought mother to China. He saw, +and realized, China's vast problems. And he stayed. He wanted to +help." + +Peter gazed into her gray eyes, which seemed to take on a clear violet +tinge when she was deeply moved. + +"He told me to come to see him because he was growing old. I stopped +off in Amoy," said Miss Vost with a ghost of a smile. "A young +missionary he wanted me to meet lives there. I met him. But I could +not admire that young missionary. He was a--a _poseur_. He was +pretending. One reason I like you, Mr. Moore, is because you're so +sincere. He was so transparent. And his 'converts' saw through him, +too. They were bread-and-butter converts. They listened to him; they +devoured his food--then they went to the fortune-tellers! Father could +not have known Doctor Sanborn longer than a few minutes--or else he's +not the father that he used to be! I inherit his love for sincerity. +I--I'm sure he will like you!" + +"But--but----" stammered Peter--"I don't expect to go to Wenchow. +Better say he'd like--Bobbie!" + +"Oh, he'd like anybody that I liked," Miss Vost said lightly. +"It--it's really interesting, you know, from Ching-Fu to Wenchow. We +take bullock carts--if we can find them. Otherwise we walk. Doesn't +it--appeal to you--just a little--to be all alone with me for nearly a +hundred miles?" + +"Very much indeed," replied Peter earnestly. "But our roads part--at +Ching-Fu. I go directly south." + +"In search of more adventure and romance? Perhaps--perhaps a girl who +is not so silly as I have been? Or--is it India--or Afghanistan?" + +"Neither. An old friend!" + +"Is that why you are growing a beard--to surprise--_him_?" + +"Perhaps," said Peter, absently fingering the bristles. "Don't tell me +it's unbecoming or I'll have to shave it off!" + +"As if what I thought made a particle of difference!" retorted Miss +Vost defiantly. + +Peter gave her a thoughtful, a puzzled stare. "I overheard you last +night. You broke your promise. You promised to be nice to him." + +"I was. Do you mean what I said about Liauchow?" + +"You don't realize what you _mean_ to Bobbie. My dear, dear girl----" + +"I am not your dear, dear girl!" + +Peter groaned. + +"Does your heart ache, too, Peter?" + +"Of course it does! I--I'd like----" + +"Then why don't you?" + +"It wouldn't be fair, that's why!" + +"To--Bobbie?" + +"Bobbie, too." + +"Then there _is_ another girl," Miss Vost cried bitterly. She bit her +lip. "You should have told me before." + +"I thought it wouldn't be necessary." + +Miss Vost dropped her eyes to Peter's hand which was resting on the +rail. Her own hand moved over and nestled against it. + +"Do--do you l-love her as much as th-this?" Her eyes returned to his +face. + +"I did think I did!" + +"But you're not sure--now?" + +"Oh, I thought I was sure! I _am_ sure'" + +"There's little more to say, then, is there?" Her lids were blinking +rapidly as she looked down at the mob of filthy little Arabs on the +flat. Her fingers plucked, trembling, at the embroidered hem of a +white, wadded handkerchief. + +"Bobbie _does_ care for you so," observed Peter with unintentional +cruelty. + +"Oh--oh--_him_!" sobbed Miss Vost, leaving him to stare after her +drooping figure as she retreated down the deck. + +She seemed on a sudden to be avoiding the entrance to the forward +companionway. He wondered why. + +The girl stopped, with her hands clenched into white fists at her sides. + +From the doorway, smiling suavely and wiping one hand upon the other in +a gesture of solicitous meekness, emerged the tall and commanding +figure of the Mongolian--or was he a Tibetan? He was attired now in +the finest, the shiniest of Canton silks. His satin pants, of a +gorgeous white, a _courting_ white, were strapped about ankles which +terminated in curved sandals sparkling with gold and jewels in the +mid-day sun. His jacket, long and perfectly fitting, was of a robin's +egg blue. His blue-black queue, freshly oiled, gleamed like the coils +of an active hill snake. + +He was a picture of refined Chinese saturninity. + +Miss Vost, beholding him, was properly impressed. She stepped back, +not a little appalled, and swept him from queue to sandal with a look +that was not the heartiest of receptions. The Mongolian was speaking +in oiled, pleasing accents. + +Peter strode toward them. + +"He insulted me!" panted Miss Vost. "Like many fine, Chinese +gentlemen, he thought, perhaps, that I might be--what do they call +'em--a 'nice li'l 'Melican girl!' Impress him with the fact that I am +not, Mr. Moore--please do that!" + +She hastened around the forward cabin, out of sight. + +The Mongolian was regarding Peter with a cool, complacent smile. His +expression was smug, uninjured. + +"Looka here, Chink-a-link," Peter advised him, "my no savvy you; you no +savvy my. My see you allatime. Allatime. You savvy, Chink-a-link?" + +"I comprehend you, my friend," replied the Mongolian in polished +accents. "In my case, 'pidgin' is not, let me hasten to say, +necessary." + +"Very good, Chink; the next time you so much as glance in Miss Vost's +direction, you're going to walk away with a pair of the dam'dest black +eyes in China! Get that--you yellow weasel?" + +"Unfortunately," replied the Mongolian, lifting his fine, black +eyebrows only a trifle, "your suggestion--your admonitions--are again, +most inappropriate. Miss Vost--do I pronounce it correctly? Miss Vost +and yourself are the victims of a misunderstanding." + +"Take off your coat, and prove I'm wrong!" shouted Peter. "I'm a +better man than you are! Swallow it or--fight!" + +Peter's gray tweed coat flopped in a heap upon the ironwood deck. + +The Mongolian retired a few feet, with indications of anxiety. + +"I--I did not intend to offend her," he retracted. His ropy throat +muscles seemed to convulse. His long face flamed hotly red. He burst +out, as though unable to control himself: "My savvy allatime you no +savvy! _Ni buh yao t[=i] na go hwa! Djan go chue, rang o dzou!_" + +"_Lao-shu_," laughed Peter. "_Dang hsin!_" + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +They came to Ichang next noon. Peter was on deck watching the somewhat +hazardous procedure of transferring large grass-bound cases of tools +from a tidewater steamer to the stern of the flat when he saw the +Mongolian emerge from the companionway and walk to the rail, forward. +Peter gave him a full stare, but the man did not glance in his +direction. He was looking down at the muddy river, and beckoning. + +Peter observed a sampan coolie give an answering wave, and the sampan +sidled alongside the flat. + +The Mongolian returned a few minutes before the _Hankow_ hauled in her +anchor. He retired to his stateroom and stayed there until late +afternoon. + +The river above Ichang was swifter, more dangerous, than in its lower +course. Except for the junks and an occasional sampan, the _Hankow_ +had the stream to herself. The yellow waters were tinged with red, +dancing and sparkling to a fresh breeze under a fair blue sky. Great +blue hills confined the swollen current. This was not the Yangtze of +yesterday. It was a maddened millrace, gorged by the mountain rains. +Even the gurgle under the sharp-cut waters seemed to convey a menace. + +Dikes were broken down. The brown waters had flowed out to right and +left, forming quiet lakes where there had been fields of paddy and +wheat. The junks from up-river were having a strenuous time of it. +Swarms of gibbering coolies manned the long sweeps, striving above all +to keep their clumsy craft in safe mid-current. + +They were passing a long row of pyramids, green, brown and red. But +Miss Vost was staring along the deck. + +"The Mongolian!" she muttered. "How he is grinning at you!" + +The Mongolian had come upon them, apparently unintentionally. He +hesitated and paused when Peter looked up. Peter saw no grin upon his +lips. They were set in a firm, straight line. His long arms were +folded behind his back, and his eyes were empty of mirth--or malice. +They simply expressed nothing. He looked at Peter shortly, and favored +Miss Vost with a long stare. + +Her eyes faltered. Peter stepped forward. + +But the Mongolian bowed, passed them at a slow, meditative walk, and +was lost from their sight behind the cabin's port side. + +The idea took hold of Peter that the stalker had become the killer. +There was a telegraph station at Ichang through which ran the frail +copper wires connecting the seventy millions of Szechwan Province with +civilization. Had it been possible for the Mongolian to signal his +master in Len Yang and receive an answer while the _Hankow_ lay at +Ichang? + +After dinner, curious and nervous, Peter went below. The light was +burning over the table of weapons in the main cabin. + +The Mongolian's door was slightly ajar, and as Peter descended the +stairs, the door closed. + +He waited. His heart thumped, louder than the thump of the laboring +engine. He walked to his stateroom, opened the door, kicked the +threshold, and--slammed the door! He hastened to the table, and hid +behind it. Between the table legs he had a splendid view of both doors. + +Holding a kris, point down, in front of him, the Mongolian slipped out, +tried the adjacent door-knob and entered Peter's room. When he came +out, he looked perplexed and angry. He slid the dagger into his silk +blouse and looked up the stairway, listening. + +His expression of rage passed away; now his look was inscrutable. +Stealing across the vestibule, he approached Miss Vost's door, and +rapped. + +Peter ran his fingers along the edge of the table until they +encountered the hilt of a cutlass. He waited. + +The Mongolian rapped a little louder. There was no answer. Again he +knocked, imperatively. Peter heard Miss Vost's sleepy voice pitched in +inquiry. Her door opened an inch or two. + +The Mongolian forced his way inside! + +Miss Vost uttered a short, sharp scream, which was instantly smothered. + +As Peter burst into the room, the Mongolian turned with a snarl, +reaching for his silk blouse. Peter clapped his free hand to the +muscled shoulder, and dragged him into the corridor. + +Miss Vost, in a long, white nightgown, was framed in the doorway, +staring sleepily. Her hand was clutched to her lips. Her hair tumbled +about her bare shoulders in dark, silky clusters. + +Bright steel flashed in the Mongolian's hand. "_Ha-li!_" he muttered. + +Peter braced himself, and thrust straight upward, striking with fury. +He drove the sword through the Mongolian's right eye. + +Miss Vost, a slender pillar of white, stared down at the floundering +heap. She seemed to be going mad, with the green light of the electric +glittering in her distended eyes. + +Bobbie MacLaurin bounded down the steps. + +"He tried to come into my room," said Miss-Vost. "He tried to come +into my room!" + +"I know. I know. But it's all right," soothed Peter, panting. "You +must go back to bed. You must try to sleep." He talked as though she +were a child. "He was a bad man. He had to--to be treated--this way!" + +"You--you look like an Arab. The dark. And that beard. Where is +Bobbie?" + +"Right here. Right here beside you!" + +"You're not hurt--either of you? You're both all right?" + +"Yes. Yes. _Please_ go to bed!" begged Peter. + +"Please!" implored Bobbie. + +To them there was something unreligious, something terrible, in the +notion of Miss Vost standing in the presence of the grim black heap in +the shadow. Nor were her youth and her innocence intended to be bared +before the eyes of men in this fashion. + +As if a chill river wind had struck her, she shivered--closed the door. + +The men carried the limp body, which was unaccountably heavy, to the +deck. After a minute there--was a splash. The _Hankow_ had not been +checked. On the Yangtze formal burial ceremonies are seldom performed. + +Peter went to bed at once. He tried to sleep. He counted the +revolutions of the propeller. He added up a stupendous number of sheep +going through a hole in a stone wall. Every so often the sheep faded +away, to be replaced by the fearful countenance of the Mongolian, who +was now perhaps ten miles or more downstream. + +After a while the engines were checked, turning at half speed for a +number of revolutions, then ceasing as a bell rang. The only sound was +the soughing gurgle of the water as it lapped along the steel plates, +and the distant drone of the rapids. + +He heard the splash of an anchor, accompanied by the rumble and clank +of chains, forward; and a repetition of the sounds aft. Directly under +him, it seemed a loud, prolonged scraping noise took place. The fires +were being drawn. + +The sounds could only mean that the _Hankow_ had reached the journey's +end. The trip was over; the _Hankow_ was abreast Ching-Fu. She would +lie in the current for a few days, before facing about and making for +tidewater. + +To-day would see the last of Miss Vost, a termination of that +serio-humorous love affair of theirs, which, on the whole, had been one +of his most delightful experiences. He wondered whether or not she +would ask him to kiss her good-bye. He rather hoped she would. + +On the other hand, he hoped she would do nothing of the kind. Distance +was lending enchantment to Eileen Lorimer. He was sure this was not +infatuation. She was not the first; he had had affairs; oh, numbers of +them! But they were mere fragments of his adventurous life. They were +milestones, shadowy and vague and very far away now. Dear little +milestones, each of them! + +Sometime he would go to Eileen, and get down on his knees before her in +humility, and ask her if she could overlook his systematic and hardened +faults! When would he do this? Frankly, he did not know. + +He dozed off, and it seemed only an instant later when he was awakened +by a harsh cry. + +The port-hole was still dark. Morning was a long way off. + +The cry was repeated, was joined by others, excited and fearful. + +Peter sat up in bed, and was instantly thrown back by a sudden lurch. +Next came a dull booming and banging. The stateroom was filled with +the hot, sweet smell of smoking wood, the smell that is caused by the +friction of wood against wood, or wood against steel. + +Another pounding and booming. Some one hammered at the door. Peter +tried to turn on the electric light. There was no current. He opened +the door. + +Bobbie, shoeless and collarless, dressed only in pants and shirt, +towered over the light of a candle which he held in a hand that shook. + +"A collision! Junk rammed us! Get up quick! Don't know damage. Call +Miss Vost! Get on deck! Take care of her! My hands filled with this +dam' boat." + +Peter snatched his clothes, and before he was out of his pajamas the +_Hankow_ began to keel over. It slid down, until the port-hole dipped +into the muddy current. Water slopped in and drenched his knees and +feet. + +He yanked open the door, not stopping to lace his shoes, and called +Miss Vost. She had heard the excitement, and was dressing. The floor +lurched again, and he was thrown violently against a sharp-edged post. + +Miss Vost's door was flung open, and she stumbled down the sloping +floor, bracing her hands against his chest to catch herself. + +"We're sinking," she said without fear. + +To Peter it was evident that Miss Vost had never been through the +capsizing of a ship before. He fancied he caught a thrill of eager, +almost exultant, excitement in her voice. In that vestibule, he knew +they were rats in a water-trap, or soon would be. + +He still felt weak and limp from his fall against the post, and he was +trying hard to regain his strength before they began their perilous +ascent to the deck. + +Miss Vost misunderstood his hesitancy. + +"I am not afraid, not a bit!" she declared, holding with both hands the +folds of his unbuttoned shirt. "I am never afraid with _you_! When I +am in danger, you--you are always near. It--it seems that you were put +here to--to look after me. But there is no danger--is there?" She +shook him almost playfully. + +"Cut out your babbling," he snapped. "Get to that stairway!" + +He heard the breath hiss in between her teeth. But she clung to his +arm obediently. They sprawled and slipped in the darkness to the +stairs. Clinging to the railing, they reached the deck, which was +inclined so steeply that they clung to the cabin-rail for support. + +In the dark on all sides of them coolies shouted in high-pitched +voices. Heavy rain was falling, drumming on the deck. The odor of +wood rubbing against steel persisted. They could see nothing. The +world was dark, and filled with contusion. + +A sharp explosion took place in the bows. Chains screamed through the +air and clanged on metal and wood. One of the forward anchor-chains +had parted. + +The deck was tilted again. Bobbie MacLaurin was not in evidence. +Peter shouted for him until he was hoarse. Then he left Miss Vost and +groped his way to the starboard davits. The starboard life-boat was +gone! + +Suddenly the rain ceased. A dull red glow smouldered on the eastern +heaven. + +Miss Vost was praying, praying for courage, for help. She clung to +him, and sobbed. By and by her nerves seemed to steady themselves. + +There was nothing to do but wait for daylight--and pray that the +gurgling waters might not rise any higher. + +The glow in the east increased, and permitted them to see the vague +outlines of a looming shape which seemed to grow out of the bows. As +dawn came, Peter made out the form of a huge junk, which had pinioned +and crushed the foredeck rail under her brawny poop. + +Then the remaining anchor-cable snapped like a rotten thread. Dimly +they saw the end of the chain whip upward and crash down. A coolie, +paralyzed, stood in its way. The broken end struck him in the face. +He screamed and rolled down the deck until he lodged against the rail. + +Bobbie shouted their names, and scrambled and slipped down. + +"We're trying to get up steam. Our only chance. Both forward anchors +gone. We'll swing around with the current and lose this damn junk. If +the after anchor holds till steam's up--we're safe!" He sped aft. + +The steamer shuddered, and they felt her swinging as the scattered +shore lights moved from left to right. The junk was acting as a drag. +The shore lights became stationary. A gang of coolies with grate bars +were trying to pry up the junk's coamings. + +Peter was aware then that Miss Vost's arms were clinging about his +neck, and that she was whimpering softly in his ear. + +Up-river boomed another explosion. The deck seemed to fall from under +his feet. Water splashed up over his toes. In the gold-speckled dawn +he could see the waters foaming and swirling, and rising higher. + +He knew it was suicide to swim the Yangtze rapids, knew the whirlpools +which sucked a man down and held him down until his body was torn to +shreds. There was no alternative. And the water was now half-way to +his knees. He dragged the unresisting girl to the rail. + +"Can you swim--at all?" + +"A--a little," she chattered. + +"Hold to my collar and swim with one hand. Only try to keep afloat." + +They slipped into the racing current, were seized, and spun around and +around. Above the drone of the waters he heard the roar of a +whirlpool, coming rapidly nearer. The firm clutch of Miss Vost's hand +on his collar was not loosened. Occasionally he heard her gasp and +sputter as a wave washed over her face. + +They were swept down. On they went, spinning, snatched from one eddy +to another. The roar of the whirlpool receded, became a low growl and +mutter. + +Now they could see the churning surface covered with torn bits of +wreckage. A body, bloated and discolored, spun by, and was caught and +dragged under, leaving only an indescribable stench. + +After a while the northern shore, a low, brown bank, crept out toward +them, like a long, merciful arm. In another minute Peter's bare feet +came in contact with slimy, yielding mud. They were in shoal water! + +He picked up Miss Vost in his arms, and carried her ashore; and she +clung to him, shivering and moaning. He did not realize until +afterward that she was kissing him over and over again on his wet lips +and cheeks. + + +Coolies found them, and carried them to a village, and deposited them +in a little red clay compound behind a building of straw. A bonfire +was kindled. The sun came up, a disk that might have been cut out of +red tissue-paper. + +Some time later a tall man came into the clearing with a little group +of coolies who were pointing out the way. A white patriarchal beard +extended nearly to his waist. + +He saw Miss Vost and shouted. She leaped up, was enfolded in his arms. + +Peter stared at them a moment with a look that was somewhat dazed. He +picked himself up, and skulked out of the compound, in the direction of +the foaming river. + +His mind was not in a normal state just then, or he would not have +wanted to cross to Ching-Fu in a sampan. But he did want to cross. In +the back of his brain foolish words were urging him: "You must get to +Ching-Fu. You must go on to Len Yang. Hurry! Hurry!" + +He had no money. A box filled with perforated Szechwan coins now lay +at the bottom of the river in what was left of the _Hankow_. +Nevertheless, he hailed a sampan as though his pockets were weighted +down with lumps of purest silver. + +The boat leaked in dozens of places. The paddle, scarred and battered, +clung to the stern by means of a rotting leather thong. As Peter +looked and hesitated, a long, imperative cry issued from behind him. +Possibly Miss Vost wanted him to return. + +The coolie stipulated his price, and Peter stepped aboard without a +murmur, without looking around, either. The crossing was precarious. +They skirted the edge of more than one whirl; they were caught and +tossed about in waves as large as houses. Peter kept his eye on the +rotting thong, and marveled because it actually held. + +Deposited on the edge of Ching-Fu's bund, he confessed his poverty, and +offered his shirt in payment. The shirt was of fine golden silk, woven +in the Chinan-Fu mills. For more than a year it had worn like iron, +and it had more than an even chance of continuing to do so. + +Peter stripped off the shirt before a mob of squealing children, and +the coolie scrutinized it. He accepted it, and blessed Peter, and +Peter's virtuous mother, and called upon his green-eyed gods to make +the days of Peter long and filled with the rice of the land. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +With the coming of noon Peter sat down under a stunted cembra pine tree +and contemplated the distant rocky blue ridge with a wistful and +discouraged air. He removed from his trouser-pocket two yellow loquats +and devoured them. + +He was dreadfully hungry. His stomach fathered a dull, persistent +ache, which forced upon his attention the pains in his muscles and +bones. It was their way of complaining against the abuse he had heaped +upon them during the past twenty-four hours. + +He was beginning to feel weak and dispirited. His was a constitution +that arose to emergencies in quick, battling trim; but when the +emergency was past, his vitality seemed to be drained. + +He looked down the muddy brown road as he finished the second loquat +(which he had stolen from a roadside farm in passing) and estimated +that Ching-Fu was all of ten miles behind him. Walking through the +pasty blue mud in his bare feet, with the rain streaming through his +hair and down his beard and shoulders, had been tedious, trying. +Several times he had stopped, with his feet sinking in the clay, and +cursed the Yangtze with bitterness. + +What had become of Bobbie MacLaurin? Had that noble soul been snatched +down by the River of Golden Sands? + +He cursed the river anew, for Bobbie was a man after God's own heart. +Never had there lived such a generous, such a fine and brave comrade. +More than once the mule-kick which lurked behind those big, kind, red +fists had saved Peter from worse than black eyes. + +He would never forget that night on the pier at Salina Cruz, when the +greaser had flashed out a knife, bent on carving a hole in Peter's +heart--and Bobbie had come up from behind and knocked the raving +Mexican a dozen feet off the pier into the limpid Pacific! + +Those days were ended now. The adventures, the excitement, the +sorrows, and the fiery gladness were all well beyond recall. + +Peter leaned back against the thorny trunk of the cembra pine, and +sniffed the odors of drenched earth, listened to the drip and patter of +the cold, gray rain, and gazed pessimistically at the blue crest of +rock which lifted its granite shoulders high into the mist miles away. + +He stretched himself, groaned, and staggered on through the mire. + +The valley was filled with the blue shades of dusk when he espied some +distance beyond him what was evidently a camp, a caravan at rest. The +setting sun managed at last to burrow its way through a rift of purple +before sinking down behind the granite range, to leave China to the +mercies of its long night. + +These departing rays, striking through the purple crevice, and setting +its edges smolderingly aflame with red and gold, became a narrow, +dwindling spotlight, which brought out in black relief the figures of +men and mules, of drooping tents and curling wisps of cookfire smoke. +The sun was swallowed up, and the camp vanished. + +Peter plunged on, with one leg dragging more reluctantly than the +other. But he had sensed the odor of cooking food in the quiet air. + +A sentry whose head was adorned by a dark-red turban presented the +point of his rifle as Peter approached. He shouted, was joined by +others, both Chinese and Bengalis, and Peter, not adverse even to being +in the hands of enemies as long as food was imminent, was inducted into +the presence of a kingly personage, who sat upon a carved teak stool. + +This creature, by all appearances a mandarin, of middle age, was garbed +in a stiff, dark satin gown, heavy with gold and jewels which flashed +brightly in the light of a camp-fire. His severe, dark face was long, +and stamped with intelligence of a high order. He wore a mustache +which drooped down to form a hair wisp on either side of his small, +firm mouth. + +As Peter was whisked into his presence he placed his elbow with a slow, +deliberate motion upon his knee, and rested his rounded chin in his +palm, bestowing upon the mud-spattered newcomer a look that searched +into Peter's soul. + +A single enormous diamond blazed upon the knuckle of his forefinger. + +He put a question in a tongue that Peter did not understand. It was a +deep, resonant voice, with the mellow, rounded tones of certain +temple-bells, such a sound as is diffused long after the harsh stroke +of the wooden boom has subsided. Vibrant with authority, it was such a +voice as men obey, however much they may hate its owner. He repeated +the question in Mandarin, and again Peter indicated that that was not +his speech. + +A different voice, yet quite as impelling as the other, caused Peter to +look up sharply. The mandarin smiled wisely, but not unkindly. + +"The darkness deceived me," he said in English of a strange cast. "I +mistook you for a beggar. You are far from the river, my friend. The +bones of your steamer lie fathoms deep by now. Why are you so far from +Ching-Fu? You were stunned, perhaps?" + +"I am only hungry," said Peter boldly. "My way lies into India. There +I have friends." + +The mandarin studied him dubiously, and clapped his hands, the great +diamond cutting an oval of many colors. Coolies were given up by the +night, and ran to obey his guttural, musical commands. They returned +with steaming bowls of rice and meat, and a narrow lacquer table. + +"Come and sit beside me. Your feet must be sore--bleeding. You may +call me Chang. So I am known to my British friends on the frontier. I +have been ill, a mountain fever, perhaps. In Ching-Fu. I had expected +medicine on the river steamer." + +He snapped his fingers, and whispered to a coolie whose face was gaunt +and stolid in the flickering red glow of the fire. + +So while Peter consumed the rice and stew, his bruised feet were bathed +in warm water, rubbed with a soothing ointment, and wrapped in a downy +bandage. + +A blue liquor served in cups of shell silver completed the meal. The +aromatic syrup, which exhaled a perfume that was indescribably +oriental, sent an exhilarating fire through his veins. It seemed to +clarify his thoughts and vision, to oil his aching joints, and remove +their pain. + +From the corner of his eye he detected the silken folds of the +mandarin's lofty tent, in the murky interior of which a fat, yellow +candle sputtered and dripped. When his eyes came back to the table, +the bowls and cups had been removed, and in their place was a +chess-board inlaid with ivory and pearl. + +Inspired by the cordial, and the queerness of this setting, Peter felt +that he was the central figure of a dream. The pungent odor of remote +incense, the distant tinkling of a bell, the stamping and pawing of the +mules and the brooding figure in silk and gold at his side, took him +back across the ages to the days and nights of Scheherezade. + +And the mandarin appeared to be hungry for Peter's companionship. Over +the chess-board, between plays, they discoursed lengthily upon the +greatness of the vast empire, once she should awake; upon the menace of +the wily Japanese; upon the lands across the mountains and beyond the +seas, and their peoples, of which Chang had read much but had never +visited. + +Wood was heaped upon the fire, which flared up and leaped after the +crowding shadows. + +It was the life that Peter dearly loved. + +The mandarin's eyes glowed, and rested upon him for longer spaces. His +words and sentences came fewer and more reluctant. + +In one of these pauses he seized Peter's hand. And Peter was forthwith +given the meagre details of a story, neither the beginning nor the end +of which he would ever know. It was the cross-section of a tale of +intrigue, of cold-blooded killings that chased the thrills up and down +his spine; a tale of loot, of gems that had vanished, of ingots and +kernels of gold that had leaked from iron-bound chests. + +The mandarin uttered his woe in a quivering voice, shifting from a +Bengal patois to Mandarin, and again to reckless English. + +Peter was given to understand that in Chang's camp was a traitor, a man +who eluded him, whose identity was shielded, a snake that could not be +stamped out unless the lives of every one of his attendants were taken! + +In a composed voice Chang, the mandarin, was saying: + +"You have walked far. You are weary. Another couch is in my tent. +You shall sleep there." + +The candle was guttering low in its bronze socket when Peter awoke. A +cool breeze stirred the tent flaps. A queer feeling oozed in his veins. + +He lay still, breathing regularly, searching the corners with eyes that +were brighter than a rat's. The low sleep-mutterings of the mandarin +continued from the couch across from him. + +Slowly the tent flaps were being drawn back. Peter strained his eyes +until they ached. He was impelled to shout, to awaken his companion. +Yet the visitor might be bent on legitimate business. He would wait. +In the final analysis it was Peter's profound acquaintance with the +ways of the East which sealed his lips. In the heart of China one does +not strike at shadows, or shriek at sight of them. Not always. + +At his side between the covers lay a strong, naked dagger. Why the +mandarin had provided him with the weapon he did not know. + +A gray shadow entered the tent and backed noiselessly against the front +pole. Indeed, not a sound was created by his entrance, not even the +rustling whisper of bare feet on dry grass. It seemed very ominous, +mysterious, and ghostly. + +The gray shadow floated into the candle-light, which waved and quivered +a little as the still air was disturbed. Peter was conscious that he +was being acutely examined. Not a muscle of his face twitched. He +continued to breathe regularly, with the heaviness of a man steeped in +sleep. Tentatively he permitted his lids to raise. + +The intruder's back was toward him. He was bending with slow stealth +over the mandarin's face. What was the fellow doing? + +Peter caught the glint of metal, or glass. At the same time a +powerful, sickening odor spread through the tent. + +Peter groped for the naked dagger, bounded up from the couch with a +nervous cry, and burled the steel up to its costly jeweled hilt in the +foremost shoulder. + +Without a sound the man in gray turned part way round, and a shudder +ran through him, causing the folds of his garment to flap slightly. He +sank down with a sigh like wind stealing through a cavern, and his +fingers clawed feebly in the leaping shadow. + +Peter detected a tiny glass vial spilling out its dark, volatile fluid +upon the dust. He picked it up, but it was snatched from his hand. +The dull pig-eyes of Chang stared very close to his, with the +stupefaction of sleep still extending the irises into round dark pools. +The vial was in his hand, and he was sampling its odor, waving it +slowly back and forth under his wide nostrils. He shouted, and +turbaned men filed into the tent, and carried the gray figure away. + +The hand of Chang rested upon Peter's shoulder, and in a voice that +throbbed with the sonorousness of a Buddha temple-gong he said: + +"You have rendered me a service for which I can never sufficiently +repay you--for I value my life highly! In the morning your mind will +have forgotten what has taken place. Try to sleep now. You will +obey--promptly!" + +The candle sputtered and jumped, as if it were striving mightily to +lengthen its golden life if only for another minute; and went out. + + +From Chow Yang to Lun-Ling-Ting all the land could not provide costlier +raiment than Peter found at his bedside when the long, high-keyed cries +of the mule men opened his eyes upon another morning. + +When camp was broken up, long before the sun became hot, he was given a +small but able mule; and he rode down the valley toward India at +Chang's side. They moved at the head of a long, slow train, for here +bandits were not feared, despite the loneliness of the land through +which they were traveling. Farms became more scattered, more widely +separated by patches of broken, barren rock; and, finally, all traces +of the microscopic cultivation which gave Szechwan Province its lean +fruitfulness were left behind them. + +The mandarin rode for many miles in silence, occasionally changing +reins, looking steadily and gloomily ahead of him, with his attention +riveted, it seemed, upon the sharp and ceaseless clatter of his mule's +hoofs and the twisting rock road. + +Peter's mind was fixed upon the problem which crept hourly nearer. His +head was cast between his shoulders as if the weight of a sorrowful +world rested upon that narrow, well-proportioned skull, with its +covering of shining light hair. + +He loved his task as a man might love a selfish and thoughtless woman, +who demanded and craftily accepted all that he could give, to the last +ounce of his gold and the final drop of his blood. It was a thankless +task, yet it had grace. + +It was well past mid-morning before Chang spoke the first word. + +"A grateful dream came into my sleep last night. For years I have +fought in the darkness with a man who has the heart of Satan himself. +He has robbed me. Time after time he has sent into my camp his spies. +Some were more adroit than others. But none so adroit as the coolie +from Len Yang." + +Peter repressed his surprise, and merely winked his eyes thoughtfully a +number of times. Chang went on: + +"In this dream last night a young man was given into my keeping whose +spirit and manliness have not yet been soiled. His gratitude was +immediate. In return for the acts which grew out of that gratitude, I +am prepared to give him anything that is mine, or in my power, whether +he desires wealth, or position, or my friendship." + +"The young man," said Peter gravely, "desires neither wealth nor +position. If he has been of service to the man who befriended him, +that is enough." + +"Should he desire a favor of any kind----" + +"Then help him to reach his enemy, who is your enemy, who is the Gray +Dragon of Len Yang!" + +"In jest----" + +"In all seriousness!" said Peter. + +"It is death to enter Len Yang!" + +"My mind is made up, mandarin!" + +They had entered a narrow ravine, and on both sides of the slender +trail rose up sharp elbows of hard rock. Peter's head was inclined a +little to the right in an attitude he unconsciously assumed when +listening for important words of man or wireless machine. + +"It is the folly of adventurous youth," rang out the melodious and +sincere voice of the mandarin. "It is a quest for a grail which will +end in a pool of your own blood! Come into India with me!" + +"But I decided--long ago--mandarin!" + +"Your life is your life," said the mandarin sadly. "The City of Stolen +Lives is beyond the mountain. _Ch'ing_!" + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +A road as white and straight as a silver bar led directly between the +black, jutting shoulders of the hills to the gates of Len Yang. + +Peter, with his heart beating a wild symphony of anticipation and fear, +drew rein. + +The small mule panted from the long desperate climb, his plump sides +filling and caving as he drank in the sharp evening air. + +Close behind the city's faded green walls towered the mountain ranges +of Tibet, cold, gloomy, and vague in the purple mystery of their +uncertain distances. They were like chained giants, brooding over the +wrongs committed in the City of Stolen Lives, sullen in their mighty +helplessness. + +In the rays of the swollen sun the close-packed hovels enclosed within +the moss-covered walls seemed to rest upon a blurring background of +vermilion earth. + +As Peter clicked his tongue and urged the tired little animal down the +slope, he recalled the fragment of the description that had been given +him of this place. Hideous people, with staring eyes, dripping the +blood-red slime of the cinnabar-mines--leprosy, filth, vermin-- + +His palace! It stood out above the carmine ruck like a cube of purest +ivory in a bleeding wound. Its marble outrivaled the whiteness of the +Taj Mahal. It was a thing of snow-white beauty, like a dove poising +for flight above a gory battlefield. And it was crowned by a dome of +lapis lazuli, bluer than the South Pacific under a melting sun! But +its base, Peter knew, was stained red, a blood-red which had seeped up +and up from the carmine clay. + +The gate to the city was down, and by the grace of his blue-satin robe +Peter was permitted to enter. + +And instantly he was obsessed with the flaming color of that man's +unappeased passion. Red--red! The hovels were spattered with the red +clay. The man, the skinny, wretched creature who begged for a moment +of his gracious mercy at the gate, dripped in ruby filth. The mule +sank and wallowed in vermilion mire. + +Scrawny, undernourished children, naked, or in rags that afforded +little more protection than nakedness, thrust their starved, +red-smeared faces up at him, and gibed and howled. + +And above all this arose the white majesty of his palace--the throne of +the Gray Dragon! + +Peter urged the mule up the scarlet alley to a clearing in which he +found coolies by the thousands, trudging moodily from a central orifice +that continued to disgorge more and more of them. The dreadful, +reeking creatures blinked and gaped as if stupefied by the rosy light +of the dying day. + +Some carried lanterns of modern pattern; others bore picks and shovels +and iron buckets, and they seemed to pass on interminably, to be +engulfed in the lanes which ran in all directions from the clearing. + +It was as though the earth were vomiting up the vilest of its +creatures. And in the same light it was consuming others of equal +vileness. Down into the red maws of the shaft an endless chain of men +and women and children were descending. + +Quite suddenly the light gave way, and Peter was aware that the night +of the mountains was creeping out over the city, blotting out its +disfigurements, replacing the hideous redness with a velvety black. + +At the shaft's entrance a sharp spot of dazzling light sprang into +being. It was an electric arc light! Somehow this apparition struck +through the horror that saturated him, and he sighed as if his mind had +relinquished a clinging nightmare. + +Professionally now he gave this section of Len Yang another scrutiny. +Thick cables sagged between stumpy poles like clusters of black snakes, +all converging at the mine's entrance. His acute ears were registering +a dull hum, indicating the imminence of high-geared machinery or of +dynamos. + +At the further side of the red shaft, now crusted with the night's +shades, and garishly illuminated by the diamond whiteness of the frosty +arc, he made out a deep, wide ditch, where flowed slowly a ruddy +current, supplied from a short fat pipe. + +Peter believed that electric pumps sucked out the red seepage waters +from the mine and lifted them to the bloody ditch. + +On impulse he lifted his eyes to the darkening heavens, and he knew now +that the threads of this, his greatest adventure, were being drawn to a +meeting point; for he detected in the sun's last refracted rays the +bronze glint of aerial wires! What lay at the base of the antenna he +could guess accurately. He hastened to the base of the nearest aerial +mast--a pole reaching like a dark needle into the sky--and found there +a low, dark building of varnished pine with a small door of eroded, +green brass. + +The rain-washed pine, the complete absence of windows, and the +austerity of the massive brass door contributed to a personality of +dignified and pessimistic aloofness. The building occupied a place to +itself, as if its reserve were not to be tampered with, as if its dark +and sullen mystery were not meant for the prying eyes of passing +strangers. + +Peter knocked brazenly upon the door, and it clanked shallowly, giving +forth no inward echo. He waited expectantly. + +It yawned open to the accompaniment of grumbled curses in a distinctly +tenor whine. + +A man with a white, shocked face stared at him from the threshold. The +countenance was long, tapering, and it ended nowhere. Dull, mocking +eyes with a burned-out look in them stared unblinkingly into Peter's +face. + +Peter could have shouted in recognition of the weak face, but he +compressed his lips and bowed respectfully instead. + +"What the hell do you want?" growled the man on the threshold. + +"May Buddha bring the thousandth blessing to the soul of your virtuous +mother," said Peter in solemn, benedictive tones. "It is my pleasure +to desire entrance." + +"Speak English, eh?" shrilled the man. "Dammit! Then come in!" And +to this invitation he added blasphemy in Peter's own tongue that made +his heart turn sour. It was the useless, raving blasphemy of a +weakling. It was the man as Peter had known him of old. But a little +worse. He still wore what remained of his Marconi uniform, tattered, +grease-stained coat and trousers, with the ragged white and blue +emblems of the steamship line by which he had been employed before he +had disappeared. His bony hands trembled incessantly, and his face had +the chalky pastiness native to the opium eater. + +Peter, reflecting upon the honor which that uniform had always meant +for him, felt like knocking this chattering, wild-eyed creature down +and trampling upon him. But he bowed respectfully. The door clanged +behind him, and his eye absorbed in an instant the details of the +ponderously high-powered electrical apparatus. + +"Speak God's language, eh?" whined the man. "Sit down and don't stare +so. Sit down. Sit down." + +"A mandarin never seats himself, O high one, until thrice invited." + +"Thrice, four, five times, I tell you to sit down!" he babbled. "Men, +even rat-eaters like you, who speak my language, are too rare to let go +by. Mandarin?" + +He stepped back and eyed his guest with stupid humor. + +"I say, men who speak my language are rare. Nights I listen to fools +on this machine, and tell them what I please. What is the news from +outside? What is the news from home?" + +"From where?" + +"From America!" He stumbled over the words, and took in his breath +with a long, trembling hiss between his yellow teeth. + +"It is many years since I visited that strange land, O great one! It +is many, many years, indeed, since I studied for the craft which you +now perform so honorably." + +"You--what was that?" + +"I, too, studied to your honorable craft, my son. But it was denied +me. Buddha decreed that I should preach his doctrines. It is my life +to bring a little hope, a little gladness into the hearts----" + +"You stand there and tell me that you know the code?" cried the +white-faced man shrilly. + +"Such was my good fortune," Peter replied gravely. + +"Well, I believe you're a dam' liar, you Chink!" scoffed the other, who +was swinging in nervousness or irritation from side to side. + +Peter shrugged his shoulders, and permitted his gaze to fondle the +monstrous transmission coil. + +"I'll show you!" railed the man. "I'll give you a free chance, I will! +Now, listen to me. Tell me what I say." He pursed his lips and +whistled a series of staccato dots and dashes. + +"What you have said," replied Peter in a deep voice, "is true, O high +one!" + +"What did I say?" + +"You said: 'China, it is the hell-hole of the world!' Do I speak the +truth?" + +Peter thought that this crazy man--whose name had formerly been +Harrison--was preparing to leap at him. But Harrison only sprang to +his side and seized his hands in a clammy, excited grip. Tears of an +exultant origin glittered in the man's eyes, now luminous. + +"You stay with me, do you hear?" he babbled. "You stay here. I'll +make it worth your while! I'll see you have money. I'll see----" + +"But I have no need of money, O high one!" interrupted Peter in a +somewhat resentful tone, striving to mask his eagerness. + +"You stay!" cried Harrison. + +"Lotus eater!" Peter said, knowing his ground perfectly. + +"What if I am?" demanded Harrison defiantly. "So are you! So are we +all! So is everybody who lives in this rotten country!" + +"To the sick, all are sick," Peter quoted sorrowfully. + +"Rot! As long as I must have opium, there's nothing more to be said. +Now, I pry my eyes open with matches to stay awake. With you here----" + +His thin voice trailed off. He had confessed what Peter already knew. +It was the blurted confession, and the blurted plea, of a mind that was +half consumed by drugs. A diseased mind which spoke the naked truth, +which caught at no deception, which was tormented by its own gnawings +and cravings to such an extent that it had lost the function of +suspecting. Suspicion of a low, distorted sort might come later; but +at its present ebb this mind was far too greedy to gain its own small +ends to grope beyond. + +The lids of Harrison's smoldering eyes drew down, and they were blue, a +sickly, pallid blue. With their descent his face became a death-mask. +But Peter knew from many an observation that such signs were deceptive; +knew that opium was a powerful and sustaining drug; knew that Harrison, +while weak and stupid and raving, was very much alive! + +"There is little work to be done," went on the thin voice. "Only at +night. Say you will stay with me!" he pleaded. + +Peter permitted himself to frown, as if he had reached a negative +decision. Harrison, torn by desire, flung himself down on his ragged +knees, and sobbed on Peter's hand. Peter pushed him away loathfully. + +"What is my task?" + +Harrison sank back on his heels, oblivious of the wet streak which ran +down from his eyes on either side of his thin, sharp nose, and delved +nervously into his pocket. He withdrew a lump of black gum, about the +size of a black walnut, broke off a fragment with his finger-nails, and +masticated it slowly. He smirked sagely. + +"He won't care. Why should he care?" + +"Who, my son?" + +"That man--that man who owns Len Yang, and me, and these rat-eaters. +All _he_ wants is results." + +"Ah, yes. He owns other mines?" + +"What does _he_ care about the mines? Of course he directs the other +mines by wireless. He owns a sixth of the world. _He_ does. He is +rich. Rich! You and I are poor fools. He gives me opium"--Harrison +glared and gulped--"and he does not ask questions." + +"Wise men learn without asking questions, my son," said Peter gravely. + +"Certainly they do! He knows everything, and he never asks a question. +Not a one! He answers them, _he_ does!" + +"You have asked him questions?" + +"I? Humph! What an innocent fool you are, in spite of that gold on +your collar! Have I seen him to ask questions?" + +"That is what I meant." + +"Not I. He is no fool. You may be the Gray Dragon for all of me. No +one in Len Yang sees him. No one dares! It is death to see that man! +Didn't I try? But only once!" + +"You did try?" + +"That was enough. I got as far as the first step of the ivory palace. +Some one clubbed me! I was sick. I thought I was going to die! There +is a scar on my neck. It never seems to heal!" + +The senile whine trailed off into a thin, abusive whimper. His bony +jaws moved slowly and meditatively. He went on: + +"He is crazy, too. Women! Beautiful women for the mines! +Men--men--men everywhere know the price he will pay. In pure silver!" + +"He pays well, my son?" + +"A thousand taels, if he is satisfied. That is where this hole got its +name. You know the name--the City of Stolen Lives? It should be the +City of Lost Hope. For none ever leave. The mines swallow them up. +What becomes of them?" + +"Ah! What does become of the stolen lives?" + +The sunken eyes stared playfully at him. "What is a thousand taels to +him? He is rich, I tell you! They say his cellar is filled with +gold--pure gold; that his rooms and halls run and drip with gold, just +as his rat-eaters run and drip with the cinnabar poison. And the +wireless--he has stations, and this is the best. Mine is the best. I +see to that, let me tell you!" + +"To be sure!" + +"These hunters, these men who know his price for beautiful women--he +will have none other--and who are paid a thousand taels----" + +"Where did you say these stations are?" + +"In all parts. There is a station in Afghanistan, between Kabul and +Jalalabad, and one in Bengal, in the Khasi Hills, and another in +northern Szechwan Province, and one in Siam, on the Bang Pakong +River----" + +"A station on the Bang Pakong?" + +"Yes, I tell you. All over. These hunters find a woman, a lovely +girl; and they must describe their prize in a few words. He is sly! +The fewer the better. If the words appeal to him, he has me tell them +to come. Lucky devils! A thousand taels to the lucky devils! Some +day I myself may become a hunter." + +"It is tempting," agreed Peter. "But why does he want beautiful young +girls for his mine, my son?" + +Harrison ignored the question. + +"To-night I will listen. You can watch me. Then you can see how +simple it is. It is time." + +Peter was aware that the door had opened and closed behind his back, +and now he heard the faint scraping of a sandaled foot, heavy with the +red slime. A Chinese, in the severe black of an attendant, stood +looking down at him distrustfully. His eyebrows were shaved, and a +mustache drooped down to his sharp, flat chin like sea-weed. + +He asked Harrison a sharp question in a dialect that smacked of the +guttural Tibetan. + +"He wants to know where you came from," translated Harrison irritably. + +"From Wenchow. A mandarin. He should know." + +The man in severe black bowed respectfully, and Peter looked at him +frigidly. + +Harrison slipped the Murdock receivers over his ears, and his voice +went on in a weak, garrulous and meaningless whimper. + +"Static--static--static. It is horrible to-night. I cannot hear these +fellows. Ah! Afghanistan has nothing, nor Bengal. Hey, you fool, I +cannot hear this fellow in Szechwan. He has a message. Yes, you, I +cannot hear him. Not a word! He is faint, like a bad whisper. They +will beat me again if I cannot hear!" + +He tried again, forcing the rubber knobs against his ears until they +seemed to sink into his head. + +"Have you good hearing?" + +"I will try," said Peter. + +"Then sit here. You must hear him, or we will both be beaten. This +fellow goes straight to _him_." + +Peter slipped into the vacated chair and strapped down the receivers. +A long, faint whisper, as indistinguishable as the lisp of leaves on a +distant hill, trickled into his ears. Ordinarily he would have given +up such a station in disgust, and waited for the air to clear. Now he +wanted to establish his ability, to demonstrate the acuteness of +hearing for which he was famous. + +Behind him the black-garbed attendant muttered, and Peter scowled at +him to be silent. + +With deftness that might have surprised that wretch, Harrison, had his +wits been more alert, he raised and closed switches for transmission, +and rapped out in a quick, professional "O.K." + +He cocked his head to one side, as he always did when listening to +far-away signals, and a pad and pencil were slid under his hand. + +The world and its noises and the tense, eager figures behind him, +retreated and became nothing. In all eternity there was but one +thing--the message from the whispering Szechwan station. + +His pencil trailed lightly, without a sound, across the smooth paper. + + +A message for L. Y. An American girl. Brown hair. Eyes with the +moon's mystery. Lips like a new-born rose. Enchantingly young. + + +The blood boiled into Peter's brain, and the pencil slipped from +fingers that were like ice. There was only one girl in the world who +answered to that description. Eileen Lorimer! She had been captured +again, and brought back to China! + +He grabbed for the paper. It was gone. Gone, too, was the +black-garbed attendant, hastening to his master. + +Harrison was pawing his shoulder with a skinny, white hand, and making +noises in his throat. + +"You lucky fool! He'll give you _cumshaw_. God, you have sharp ears! +Only one man I ever knew had such sharp ears. He always gives +_cumshaw_. _Na-mien-pu-liao-pa_! You must divide with me. That is +only fair. But--what difference? Here you can enter, but you can +never leave. You have no use for silver. I have." + +The face of Eileen Lorimer swam out of Peter's crazed mind. Miss Vost, +that lovely innocent-eyed creature, fitted the same description! + +Peter stared stupidly at the massive transmission key, and disdained a +reply. Miss Vost--and the red mines! He shuddered. + +Harrison was whining again at his ear. "He says yes. Yes! Tell that +fellow yes, and be quick. The Gray Dragon will give him an extra +thousand taels for haste. Oh, the lucky fool! Two thousand taels! +Tell him, or shall I?" + +How could Peter say no? The ghastly white face was staring at him +suspiciously now. + +While he hesitated Harrison pushed him aside, and his fingers flew up +and down on the black rubber knob. "Yes--yes--yes. Send her in a +hurry. A thousand taels bonus. The lucky devil!" + +Out of Peter's anguish came but one solution, and that vague and +indecisive. He must wait and watch for Miss Vost, and take what +drastic measures he could devise to recapture her when the time came. + +The pallid lips trembled again at his ear. "Here! You must divide +with me. A bag of silver. _Yin_! A bag of it! Listen to the chink +of it!" + +Peter seized the yellow pouch and thrust it under his silken blouse. +He was beginning to realize that he had been exceptionally lucky in +catching the signals of the Szechwan station. He was vastly more +important now than this wretch who plucked at his arm. + +"Give me my half!" whined Harrison. + +Peter doubled his fist. + +"Give me my half!" Harrison clung to his arm and shook him irritably. + +Peter hit him squarely in the mouth. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +As night melted into day and day was swallowed up by night, the problem +which confronted Peter took on more serious and baffling proportions. +His hope of entering the ivory palace was dismissed. It was imperative +for him to give up the idea of entering, of piercing the lines of armed +guards and reaching the room where the master of the City of Stolen +Lives held forth until some later time. + +That had been his earlier ambition, but the necessity of discarding the +original plan became hourly more important with the drawing near of the +girl captive. + +If he could deliver Miss Vost from this dreadful city, that would be +more than an ample reward for his long, adventurous quest. + +He could not sleep. Perched on an ancient leather stool upon the roof +of the wireless building, he kept a nightly and a daily watch with his +eyes fixed upon the drawbridge. A week went by. Food was carried up +to him, and he scarcely touched it. The rims of his eyes became +scarlet from sleeplessness, and he muttered constantly, like a man on +the verge of insanity, as his eyes wandered back and forth over the red +filth, from the shadowy bridge to the shining white of the palace. + +Drearily, like souls lost and wandering in a half world, the prisoners +of Len Yang trudged to the scarlet maws of the mine and were engulfed +for long, pitiless hours, and were disgorged, staggering and blinking, +in Tibet's angry evening sun. + +The woeful sight would madden any man. And yet each day new souls were +born to the grim red light of Len Yang's day, and clinging remorsefully +to the hell which was their lot, other bleeding souls departed, and +their shrunken bodies fed to the scarlet trough, where they were washed +into oblivion in some sightless cavern below. + + +It was a bitterly cold night, with the wind blowing hard from the ice +and snow on the Tibetan peaks, when Peter's long vigilance was +rewarded. A booming at the gate, followed by querulous shouts, aroused +him from his lethargy. He looked out over the crenelated wall, but the +cold moonlight revealed a vacant street. + +The booming and shouting persisted, and Peter was sure that Miss Vost +had come, for in cities of China only an extraordinary event causes +drawbridges to be lowered. + +He slipped down the creaking ladder into the wireless-room. Harrison +was in a torpor, muttering inanely and pleadingly as his long, white +fingers opened and closed, perhaps upon imagined gold. + +Peter opened the heavy brass door, and let himself into the deserted +street. The jeweled sandals with which Chang had provided him sank +deep into the red mire, and remained there. + +He sped on, until he reached the black shadow of the great green wall. +Suddenly the bridge gave way with many creakings and groanings and +Peter saw the moonlight upon the silvery white road beyond. + +A group of figures, mounted on mules, with many pack-mules in +attendance, made a grotesque blot of shadow. Then a shrill scream. + +Hoofs trampled hollowly upon the loose, rattling boards, and the +cavalcade marched in. + +A slim figure in a long, gray cloak rode on the foremost mule. Peter, +aided by the black shadow, crept to her side. + +"Miss Vost! Miss Vost!" he called softly. "It is Peter, Peter Moore!" + +He heard her gasp in surprise, and her moan went into his heart like a +ragged knife. + +Peter tried to keep abreast, but the red clay dragged him back. Behind +him some one shouted. They would emerge into the sharp moonlight in +another second. + +"Help me! Oh, help me!" she sobbed. "He's following! He is too late!" + +She was carried out into the moonlight. At the same time, countless +figures seemed to rise from the ground--from nowhere--and in every +direction Peter was blocked. The stench of Len Yang's miserable +inhabitants crept from these figures upon the chill night air. + +Naked, unclean shoulders brushed him; moist, slimy hands pressed him +back. But he was not harmed; he was simply pushed backward and +backward until his bare foot encountered the first board of the bridge +which was still lowered. + +Behind him an order was hissed. He placed his back to the surging +shadows. Coils of heavy rope were unfolding. The drawbridge was being +raised. + +Down the white road, veering drunkenly from one side to the other, came +a leaping black dot. + +The drawbridge creaked, the ropes became taut, and the far end lifted +an inch at a time. + +Peter shouted, but no one heeded him. His breath pumped in and out of +his lungs in short, anguished gulps. He leaped out upon the bridge, +and shouted again. The creaking ceased; the span became stationary. + +The drunken dot leaped into the form of a giant upon a galloping mule +which swept upon them in a confusion of dust. Hoofs pounded on the +bridge; the giant on the mule drew rein, and to Peter it was given to +look upon the face of the man he thought dead. The raging eyes of +Bobbie MacLaurin swept from his face to his muddy feet. + +"Moore! Where have they taken her?" ripped out the giant on the mule. + +"Dismount and follow me. To the white palace! Are you armed?" + +"And ready to shoot every dam' yellow snake in all of China!" + +He jumped heavily to the boards, and Peter caught the gleam of +steel-tipped bullets in the narrow strap which was slung from shoulder +to waist. + +The foreman of the rope-pullers dared to raise his head, and Bobbie +kicked him with his heavy-shod foot in the stomach, and the coolie +bounded up and backward, and lay draped limply over the side. + +As they ran under the broad, dark arch into the street, he gave Peter +in one hand the thick butt of an army automatic, and in the other a +half-dozen loaded clips. + +And they began blazing their way to the palace steps. Weird figures +sprang up from the muck, and were shot back to earth. + +They reached the hill top, and the green moon of Tibet scored the roof +of the white palace. + +A handful of guards, with rifles and swords, rushed down the broad, low +flight. + +The two men flung themselves upon the clay, while high-powered bullets +plunked on either side of them or soughed overhead. The two automatics +blazed in shattering chorus. The guards parted, backed up, some ran +away, others fell, and Peter felt the sudden burn of screaming lead +across his shoulder. He slipped another clip of cartridges into the +steel butt; they leaped up and raced to the white steps. A rifle +spurted and roared in the black shadow. Bobbie groaned, staggered, and +climbed on. Now they were guided by a woman's sharp cries issuing from +an areaway. And they stopped in amazement before a majestic +white-marble portal. + +With two coolies struggling to pinion her arms, the girl was kicking, +scratching, biting with the fire of a wildcat, dragging them toward the +broad, white veranda. + +Bobbie shot the foremost of them through the brain, and the other, +gibbering terribly, vanished into the shadow. + +Peter caught Miss Vost by one hand and raced down the steps. Bobbie, +holding his head in a grotesque gesture, ran and staggered behind them. + +Bobbie waved his free arm savagely. "Don't wait for me! Get her out +of this place! Don't take your eyes from her till you reach Wenchow!" + +He wheeled and shot three times at a figure which had stolen up behind +him. The figure spun about and seemed to melt into a hole in the earth. + +Peter wrapped his arm about Bobbie's waist and dragged him down the +hill. Miss Vost, as he realized after that demonstration in the +areaway, could handle herself. + +The bridge was up. Lights glowed from hovel ways like evil red eyes. +Peter released the rope and the bridge sprang down to the road with a +boom that shook the solid walls. Bobbie's mule nosed toward them, and +Peter all but shot the friendly little animal! + +Between Peter and Miss Vost, who was chattering and weeping as if her +heart was breaking, their wounded companion was lifted into the saddle. +They crossed the bridge, and the bridge was whipped up behind them. + +Not until they attained the brow of the hill did they look back upon +the gloomy walls, now black and peaceful under the high clear moon. +And it was not until then that Peter marveled upon their easy escape, +upon the snatching up of the bridge as they left. Why had no shots +been fired at them as they climbed the silver road? + +They trusted to no providence other than flight. All night long they +hastened toward the highway which led to Ching-Fu--and India. And they +had no breath to spare for mere words. At any moment the long arm of +the Gray Dragon might reach out and pluck them back. + +Only once they paused, while Peter ripped out the satin lining of his +robe and bound up the wound in Bobbie's dazed head. + +Miss Vost sat down upon a moss-covered rock and wept. She made no +effort to help him, but stared and wiped her eyes with her hands. + +A misty, rosy dawn found them above the valley in which ran the +connecting road between Ching-Fu and the Irriwaddi. + +Miss Vost was the first to see the camp-fires of a caravan. She +laughed, then cried, and she tottered toward Peter, who stood there, a +lean weird figure in his tattered blue robe and his tangled beard. + +She extended her arms slightly as she approached, and her gray eyes +were luminous with a soft and gentle fire. + +Bobbie staggered away from the mule's heaving sides, with one hand +fumbling weakly at the satin bandage, and in his eyes, too, was the +look that rarely comes into the eyes of men. + +In a single glance Peter could see to the very depths of that man's +unselfish soul. It was like glancing into the light of a golden autumn +morning. + +Miss Vost lifted both of Peter's hands, and one was still blue from the +back-fire of the automatic. She lifted them to her lips and kissed +them solemnly. With a little fluttering sigh she looked up at Bobbie, +standing beside her and towering above her like a strong hill. + +They looked long at one another, and Peter felt for a moment curiously +negligible. He had cause to feel that his presence was absolutely +unessential when, with a happy, soft little laugh, Miss Vost sprang up +and was crushed in the cradle of Bobbie's great arms. + +Peter looked down into the green valley with tears standing in his +grave, blue eyes. The caravan was slowly winding out upon the trail. +In five weeks it would leave Kalikan, the last soil of China, on the +frontier of India. + +Peter felt exceedingly happy as he hastened down the hillside to catch +the caravan. + + + + +PART II + +THE BITTER FOUNTAIN + + +CHAPTER I + + She bends over her work once more: + "I will weave a fragment of verse among the flowers of his robe, + and perhaps its words will tell him to return." + --LI-TAI-PE. + + +The newly arrived wireless operator of the Java, China, and Japan +liner, _Persian Gulf_, deposited his elbows upon the promenade +deck-rail, and cast a side-long glance at the Chinese coolie who had +taken up a similar position about a bumboat's length aft. And the +coolie returned his deliberate stare with a look of dreamy interest, +then quickly shifted his glance to the city which smoldered and +vibrated across Batavia's glinting, steel-blue harbor. + +Without turning his head the wireless man continued to watch sharply +the casual movements of this Chinese, quite as he had been observing +him since they had left Tandjong Priok in the company's launch and come +out to the _Persian Gulf_ together. + +He had suspected the fellow from the very first, and he was prepared, +on the defensive; yet he was willing and eager to take the offensive +should this son of the yellow empire so much as show the haft of his +kris, or whisper a word of counsel in his ear. The latter he feared +quite as much as the former, for it would mean many things. + +As the fellow sidled a little closer, Peter was aware that the man was +making queer signals with his slanting eyes for the purpose of +attracting his attention, without arousing the curiosity or interest of +any persons who might be observing the two. + +Whereupon Peter turned on his left heel, walked to the other's side and +gave him a stare of deliberate hostility. + +The coolie moved backward a few inches by flexing his body; his feet +remained as they were. And as Peter ran his eye from the black crown +hat to the faded blue jacket, the black-sateen pants, which were +clipped about the ankles, giving them a mild pantaloon effect, and to +the black slippers with their thick buck-soles, the coolie smiled. + +It was a smile of arrogance, of self-satisfaction. Indeed, it was the +smile of a hunter who has winged his prey, and smiles an instant to +watch it squirm before administering the death-shot. + +"You wanchee my?" inquired Peter succinctly. + +"You allatime go Hong Kong way?" replied the coolie, his smile becoming +a little more civil, while he measured Peter's length, breadth, and +seemed to estimate his brawn. + +It was a foolish question, for the _Persian Gulf_, as everybody in +Batavia knew quite well, made a no-stop run from the Javanese port to +Hong Kong. Peter indicated this fact impatiently. + +"No go Hong Kong way?" persisted the coolie, not relaxing that devilish +grin. "_Maskee_ Hong Kong. _Nidzen yang giang_?" + +The wheezy old whistle of the _Persian Gulf_ told the world in +unmistakable accents that sailing time was nigh. The _Persian Gulf_ +was not a new boat or a fast boat, and she sailed in the intermediate +service south of Java. Yet she was stout, and typhoons meant very +little to her as yet. + +"Why not?" demanded Peter in the tones of an interlocutor. + +The coolie simply lifted the flap of his blue tunic, and Peter was +given the singular glimpse of a bone-hafted knife, the blade of which +he could guess lay flat against the man's paunch. + +Still the Chinese smiled, without avarice. Plainly he was stating the +case as it was known to him, reciting a lesson, as it were, which had +been taught him by one skilled in the ways of killing and of espionage. + +The facts of this case were that Peter Moore should immediately +postpone or give up entirely his trip to Hong Kong for reasons best +known to the powers arrayed against him. And strangely enough, Hong +Kong was one of the two cities in China where Peter had pressing +business. + +It made him furious, this knowledge that the man of Len Yang had picked +up the trail again. + +So Peter glanced up and down the deck to see if there would be any +witness to his act, and there was only one, a passenger. The Chinese +was still smiling, but by degrees that smile was becoming more evil and +sour. He was perplexed at the wireless operator's furtive examination +of the promenade deck. Yet he was not kept in the dark regarding +Peter's intentions much longer than it would have taken him to utter +the Chinese equivalent of Jack Robinson. + +With an energetic swoop, Peter seized him by the nearest arm and leg, +and in the next breath the coolie was shooting through an awful void, +tumbling head over heels like a bag of loose rice, straight for the +oily bosom of Batavia's harbor! + +So much for Peter's slight knowledge of jiu-jitsu. + +He was angrily at a loss to account for the appearance of this trailer, +for he had been watchful every moment since escaping from the green +walls of that blood-tinted city, and he was positive that he had shaken +off pursuit. Yet somewhere along that trail, which ran from Len Yang +to Bhamo, from Rangoon to Penang, and around the horn of Malacca, his +escape had been betrayed. + +The spies of Len Yang's master must have possessed divining rods which +plumbed the very secrets of Peter's soul. + +In Batavia Peter attended to a task long deferred. He despatched a +cablegram to Eileen Lorimer in Pasadena, California, advising her that +he was still on top, very much alive, and would some day, he hoped, pay +her a visit. + +He wondered what that gray-eyed little creature would say, what she +would do, upon receipt of the message from far-away Java. It had been +many long months since their parting on the rain-soaked bund at +Shanghai. That scene was quite clear in his mind when he turned from +the Batavia cable office to negotiate his plan with the wireless man of +the _Persian Gulf_. + +Peter found the man willing, if not positively eager, to negotiate--a +circumstance that Peter forecasted in his mind as soon as his eyes had +dwelt a fleeting moment upon the pudgy white face with its greedy, +small, black eyes. The man was quite willing to lose himself in the +hills behind Batavia until the _Persian Gulf_ was hull down on the +deep-blue horizon, upon a consideration of gold. + +Peter could have paid his passage to Hong-Kong, and achieved his ends +quite as handily as in his present role of wireless operator. But his +fingers had begun to itch again for the heavy brass transmission-key, +and his ears were yearning for the drone of radio voices across the +ethereal void. + +It was on sailing morning that he was given definite evidence in the +person of the Chinese coolie that his zigzagged trail had been picked +up again by those alert spies of Len Yang's monarch. + +He steamed out to the high black side of the steamer in the company's +passenger-launch, gazing back at the drowsy city, quite sure that the +pursuit was off, when he felt the glinting black eyes of the coolie +boring into him from the tiny cabin doorway. + +His suspicions kindled slowly, and he admitted them reluctantly. It +was the privilege of any Chinese coolie to stare at him, quite as it +was the privilege of a cat to stare at a king. But the seed of +mistrust was sown, and it was sown in fertile soil. + +Peter ignored the stare, however, until the launch puffed up alongside +the sea-ladder, then he gave the coolie a glance pregnant with +hostility and understanding. + +Taking the swaying steps three at a time, Peter hastened to his +stateroom, emerging about five minutes later in a white uniform, the +uniform of the J. C. & J. service, with a little gold at the collar, +bands of gold about the cuffs, and gold emblems of shooting sparks, +indicative of his caste, upon either arm. + +He looked for the coolie and found him on the starboard side of the +promenade deck. The subsequent events have already been partly +narrated. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +The coolie plunged into the water with a weltering splash which sent a +small spiral of spray almost to the deck. For a moment the man in the +water pedaled and flailed, vastly frightened, and gasping, above the +clang of the engine-room telegraph, for a rope. The black side of the +_Persian Gulf_ started to slide away from him. + +"You better make for shore!" shouted Peter between megaphonic hands. + +Several boatmen were poling in the coolie's direction, but all of them +refrained from slipping within reach of the thrashing hands. A +Javanese boatman can find more amusing and enjoyable scenes than an +angry Chinese coolie flailing about in the water; but he must travel +many miles to find them. + +"Swim to the _ma-fou_," Peter encouraged him. He knew there were +sharks in that emerald pond. + +His attention then was diverted by a flutter of white at his elbow. He +turned his head. The lonely passenger, a girl, was smiling +mischievously into his face. But in her very dark eyes there was a +blunt question. + +"Why did you do that?" she asked in a voice that rang with a low +musical quality. Her voice and her beauty were of the tropics, as were +the features which, molded together, gave form to that beauty; because +her hair and eyes were of a color, dark like walnut, and her olive skin +was like silk under silk, with the rosy color of her youth and fire +showing underneath. + +She was rather startling, especially her deep, dark and restless eyes. +It was by sense rather than by anything his eyes could base conclusions +upon that Peter realized her spirited personality, knew instinctively +that radiant and destructive fires burned behind the sombre, +questioning eyes. The full, red lips might have told him this much. + +And now these lips were forming a smile in which was a little humor and +a great deal of tenderness. + +Why there should be any element of tenderness in the stranger's smile +was a point that Peter was not prepared to analyze. He had been +subjected to the tender smiles of women, alas! on more than one +occasion; and it was part of Peter's nature to take these gifts +unquestioningly. He was not one to look a gift smile in the mouth! +Yet, if Peter had looked back upon his experience, he would have +admitted that such a smile was slightly premature, that it smacked of +sweet mystery. + +And it is whispered that richly clad young women do not ordinarily +smile with tenderness upon young ruffians who throw apparently peaceful +citizens from the decks of steamers into waters guarded by sharks. + +To carry this argument a step farther, it has always seemed an unfair +dispensation of nature that women should fall in love so desperately, +so suddenly, so unapologetically and in such numbers with Peter the +Brazen. + +The phenomenon cannot be explained in a breath, or in a paragraph, if +at all. While he was good to look upon, neither was Peter a god. +While he was at all times chivalrous, yet he was not painstakingly +thoughtful in the small matters which are supposed to advance the cause +of love at a high pace. Nor was he guided by a set of fixed rules such +as men are wont to employ at roulette and upon women. + +Peter did not understand women, yet he had a perfectly good working +basis, for he took all of them seriously, with gravity, and he gave +their opinions a willing ear and considerable deference. + +The rest is a mystery. Peter was neither particularly glib nor witty. +Instinctively he knew the values of the full moon, the stars, and he +had the look of a young man who has drunk at the fountain of life on +more than one occasion, finding the waters thereof bitter, with a trace +of sweetness and a decided tinge of novelty. + +Life was simply a great big adventure to Peter the Brazen; and he had +been shot, stabbed, and beaten into insensibility on many occasions, +and he was not unwilling for more. He dearly loved a dark mystery, and +he had a certain reluctant fondness for a woman's bright, deceptive +eyes. + +As from a great distance he heard the jeers of the Javanese boatmen and +the flounderings of the coolie as he looked now into the dark, deep +eyes of this pretty, smiling stranger. + +"Why did you do that?" she repeated softly. + +"Because I wanted to," returned Peter with his winning smile. + +"But there are sharks in there." This in a voice of gentle reproof. + +"I hope they eat him alive," said Peter, unabashed. + +"You threw him overboard just because you wanted to. And if you want +to, I'll go next, I suppose." + +"You might," laughed Peter. "When I have these spells I simply grab +the nearest person and over he goes. It is a terrible habit, isn't it?" + +"Perhaps he insulted you." + +"Or threatened me." + +"Ah!" Her sigh expressed that she understood everything. "May I ask: +Who are you?" + +"I? Peter Moore." + +"I mean, your uniform. You are one of the ship's officers, are you +not?" + +"The wireless operator. Shall we consider ourselves properly +introduced?" + +"My name is Romola Borria. I presume you are an American--or British." + +"American," informed Peter. "And you? Spanish _senorita_?" + +"I have no nationality," she replied easily. "I am what we call in +China, a 'B. I. C.'" + +"Born in China!" + +"Born in Canton, China. Father: Portuguese; mother: Australian. +Answer: What am I?" She laughed deliciously, and Peter was moved. + +They lingered long enough to see the coolie drag himself up on the +shore unassisted, and then separated, the girl to make ready for lunch +and to request the steward to assign them to adjoining seats at the +same table, and Peter to take a look at the register, the crew, and +what passengers might be on deck. + +The passengers, lounging in steamer-chairs awaiting the call to tiffin, +and the deck crew, strapping down the forward cargo booms and battening +the forward hatch, Peter gave a careful inspection, retaining their +images in an eye that was rapidly being trained along photographic +lines. + +It was a comparatively simple matter, Peter found, to remember peoples' +faces; the important point being to select some striking feature of the +countenance, and then persistently drive this feature home in his +memory. He knew that the human memory is a perverse organ, much +preferring to forget and lose than to retain. + +So he looked over the crew and found them to be quite Dutch and quite +self-satisfied, with no more than a slight but polite interest in him +and his presence. Wireless operators, as a rule, are self-effacing +individuals who inhabit dark cabins and have very little to say. + +He called at the purser's office and helped himself to the register, +finding the name of Romola Borria in full, impulsive handwriting, +giving her address as Hong Kong, Victoria; and a long list of Dutch +names, representing quite likely nothing more harmful than sugar and +coffee men, with perhaps a sprinkling of copra and pearl buyers. + +Peter then investigated the wireless cabin, which was situated aft on +the turn of the promenade deck, and commanding a not entirely inspiring +view of the cargo well and the steerage. + +Assuring himself that the wireless machine was in good working order, +Peter hooked back the door, turned on the electric fan to air the place +out, and with his elbows on the rail gave the steerage passengers a +looking over. + +He did not look far before his gaze stopped its traveling. + +Directly below him, sitting cross-legged on a hatch-cover, was a +Chinese or Eurasian girl whose face was colorless, whose lips were red, +and whose eyes, half-lidded, because of the dazzling sunlight, were of +an unusual blue-green shade. + +Had Peter wished to make inquiries regarding this maiden, he would have +found that she was from the Chinese settlement in Macassar, and on her +way to Canton, to pay a visit to a grandmother she had never seen. But +it was Peter's nature to spin little dreams of his own whenever he +contemplated exotic young women, to place them in settings of his own +manufacture. + +Her blue-black hair was parted in a white line that might have been +centered by the tip of her tiny nose and an unseen point on the nape of +her pretty neck. + +Peter could not know, as he studied her, how this innocent maid from +Macassar was destined to play an important and significant part in his +life, entering and leaving it like a gentle and caressing afternoon +monsoon. His guess, as he looked away, was that she was a woman of no +caste, from her garb; probably a river girl; more than likely, worse. +Yet there was an undeniable air of innocence and youth in her narrow +shoulders as she slowly rocked. Peter could see the tips of bright-red +sandals peeping from under each knee, and he guessed her to be about +eighteen. + +She caught sight of Peter, who had folded his arms and was resting +their elbows idly upon the teak rail, and their eyes met and lingered. +A light, indescribably sad and appealing, shone in the blue-green eyes, +which seemed to open larger and larger, until they became round pools +of darting, mysterious reflection. It was a moment in which Peter was +suspended in space. + +"I am afraid that wireless operators are not always discreet," purred a +low, sweet voice at his side. + +Peter smiled his grave smile, and vouchsafed nothing. The girl in the +steerage had returned to her sewing and was apparently quite oblivious +of his presence. And still that look of demure, wistful appeal stood +out in his memory. + +Romola Borria was murmuring something, the context of which was not +quite clear to him. + +"Eh? I beg pardon?" + +"It is quite dreadful, this traveling all alone," she remarked. + +"Yes," he admitted. "Sometimes I bore myself into a state of agony." + +"And it breeds such strange, such unexplainable desires and caprices," +the girl went on in her cultivated, honeyed tones. "Strangers +sometimes are so--so cold. For instance, yourself." + +"I?" exclaimed Peter, supporting himself on the stanchion. "Why, I'm +the friendliest man in the world!" + +Romola Borria pursed her lips and studied him analytically. + +"I wonder----" she began, and stopped, fretting her lip. "I should +like to ask you a very blunt and a very bold question." Her expression +was darkly puzzled. + +"Go right ahead," urged Peter amiably, "don't mind me." + +"Why I speak in this way," she explained, "is that since I ran away +from Hong Kong----" + +"Oh, you ran away from Hong Kong!" + +"Of course!" She said it in a way that indicated a certain lack of +understanding on his part. "Since I ran away from Hong Kong I have +been looking, looking for such--for such a man as you appear to be, +to--to confide in." + +"Don't you suppose a woman would do almost as well?" spoke Peter, who, +through experience, had grown to dislike the father-confessor role. + +"If you don't _care_ to listen----" she began, as though he had hurt +her. + +"I am all ears," stated Peter, with his most convincing smile. + +"And I have changed my mind," said Romola Borria with a disdainful toss +of her pretty head. "Besides, I think the Herr Captain would have a +word with you." + +The fat and happy captain of the _Persian Gulf_ occupied the breadth if +not the height of the doorway, wearing his boyish grin, and Peter +hastened to his side with a murmured apology to the girl as he left her. + +He merely desired to have transmitted an unimportant clearance message +to the Batavia office, to state that all was well and that the +thrust-bearing, repaired, was now performing "smoot'ly." + +Dropping the hard rubber head-phones over his ears, Peter listened to +the air, and in a moment the silver crash of the white spark came from +the doorway. + +Romola Borria stared long and venomously at the little Chinese maiden, +who was sewing away industriously as she rocked to and fro on the +hatch. Immersed in her own thoughts the girl, removing her quick eyes +from the flying needle, glanced up at the deep-blue sky, and, smiling, +shivered in a sort of ecstasy. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +At dinner Peter met the notables. It seemed the fat and handsome +captain had taken a fancy to him. And it was as Peter had deduced +earlier. These passengers were stodgy Dutchmen, each with a little +world of his own, and forming the sole orbit of that little world. For +the most part they were plantation owners escaping the seasonal heat +for the cool breezes of a vacation in Japan, boastful of their +possessions, smug in their Dutch self-complacency, and somewhat +gluttonous in their manner of eating. + +The fat captain beamed. The fat plantation owners gorged themselves +and jabbered. The three-piece orchestra played light opera that the +world had forgotten. The company became light-hearted as more frosty +bottles of that exotic drink, _arracka_, were disgorged by the _Persian +Gulf's_ excellent ice-box. And all the while, speaking in light, +soothing tones, Romola Borria gazed alluringly into the watchful eyes +of Peter Moore. + +At length the chairs were pushed back, and Peter, with this fairy-like +creature in a dinner-gown of most fetching pink gossamer clinging to +his arm, took to the deck for an after-dinner Abdullah. + +They chatted in low, confiding tones of the people in the dining-room. +They whispered in awe of the Southern Cross, which sparkled like frost +on the low horizon. She confessed that at night the moon was her god, +and Peter, feeling exalted under the influence of her exquisite charm, +the touch of the light fingers upon his arm which tingled and burned +under the subtle pressure, became bold and recited that verse of +"Mandalay" wherein "I kissed her where she stood." + +It was quite thrilling, quite delicious, and altogether quite too fine +to last. + +After a while, when they were passing the door of the wireless cabin, +Romola squeezed his arm lightly and expressed a desire to have him send +a message, a message she had quite forgotten. When Peter replied that +such a message would be costly, involving an expensive retransmission +by cable from Manila to Hong Kong, she only laughed. + +Peter snapped on the green-shaded light and handed her pad and pencil. +Dropping lightly to the couch which ran the length of the opposite +wall, she nibbled at the pencil's rubber, and her smooth brow was +darkened by a frown of perplexity. + +Peter, lowering the aerial switch, sent out an inquiring call for the +Manila station. The air was still as death. A dreary hush filled the +black receivers, and then, through this gloomy silence trickled a +far-away silver voice, the brisk, clear signals of Manila. + +He swiveled half around, and the girl nervously extended the pad of +radio blanks. + +The message was directed to Emiguel Borria, the Peak, Hong Kong, and it +contained the information that she would reach the Hong Kong anchorage +on the following Tuesday morning. The last sentence; "Do not meet me." + +Peter inclined his eyebrows slightly, but not impertinently, counted +the words and flashed them to the operator at Manila. + +This one shot back the following greeting: + +"Who are you? Only one man on the whole Pacific has a fist like that." + +Peter changed the manner of his sending, resorting to a long and +painful "drawl." + +"I am a little Chinese waif," Peter spelled out slowly, and smiled, +adding: "Good hunting to you, Smith!" He signed off. + +The silvery spark of Smith was quick in reply. + +"If you are Peter Moore, the Marconi people are scouring the earth +trying to find you. Are you Peter Moore?" + +"In China," replied Peter breezily, changing back to the inimitably +crisp sending for which he was famous, "we bite off people's noses who +are inquisitive. Good night, old-timer!" + +The voice of Manila screamed back in faint reprisal, but Peter dropped +the nickeled band to the ledge, and pivoted quickly, to face the girl. + +It was startling, the look she was giving him. Perhaps he had +completed the transmission before she was aware. At all events, when +Peter turned with a smile, her eyes bored straight into his with a +distorted look, a look that seemed cruel, as if it might have sprung +from a well of hate; and hard and glinting and black as polished jade. + +All of this vanished when she caught Peter's eyes, and it was as the +passage of a vision, unreal. In its place was an expression of +demureness, of gentle, almost fondling meekness. Had she been staring, +not at him, but beyond him, over the miles to a detestable scene, a +view of horror? It seemed more than likely. + +Then he observed that the door of the wireless room was closed. He +made as if to open it, but she interrupted him midway with a commanding +gesture of her white, small hand. + +"Lock it, and sit down here beside me." + +Somewhat dazed and greatly flabbergasted, Peter obeyed. + +He locked the door, then sat down beside her. She moved closer, took +his hand, wrapped both of hers tightly around it, and leaned toward him +until the breath from her parted lips was upon his throat, moist and +warm, and her eyes were great shining balls of limpid mystery and +dancing excitement, so close to his that he momentarily expected their +eyelashes to mingle. + +She caught her breath, and then, for such dramatic circumstances, made +a most ridiculous remark. She realized that herself, for she whipped +out: + +"It is a foolish question. But, Mr. Moore, do you believe in love at +first sight?" + +Peter's tense look dissolved into a smile of giddy relief. He was +expecting something quite frightful, and the clear wit of him found a +ready answer. + +"Foolish?" he chuckled. "Why, I'm the most devout worshiper at the +shrine! The shrine brags about me! It says to unbelievers: Now, if +you don't believe in love at first sight, just cast your orbs upon +Peter Moore, our most shining example. Allah, by Allah! The old +philanderer is assuredly of the faith!" + +"I am quite serious, Mr. Moore." + +"As I was afraid, Miss Borria. Seriously, if you must know it, then +here goes: As soon as I saw you I was mad about you! Call it +infatuation, call it a rush of blood to my foolish young head, call it +anything you like----" + +"Why don't you stop all this?" she broke him off. + +"All what?" he inquired innocently. + +"This--this life you are leading. This indolence. This constant +toying with danger. This empty life. This sham of adventure-love that +you affect. It will get you nothing. I know! I, too, thought it was +a great lark at first, and I played with fire; and you know just what +happens to the children who play with fire. + +"At first you skirt the surface, and then you go a little deeper, and +finally you can do nothing but struggle. It is a terrible feeling, to +find that your wonderful toy is killing you. Certain people in China, +Mr. Moore, are conducting practises that you of the western world frown +upon. And blundering upon these practices, as perhaps you have, you +believe you are very bold and daring, and you are thrilled as you rub +elbows with death, in tracing the dragons to their dens." + +"Dragons!" The syllables cracked from Peter's lips, and his wits, +which were wandering in channels of their own while this lecture +progressed, suddenly were bundled together, and he was alert and keenly +attentive. + +"Or call them what you will," went on the girl in a low-pitched +monotone. "I call them dragons, because the dragon is a filthy, +wretched symbol." + +"You have some knowledge of my encounters with--dragons?" put in Peter +as casually as he was able. + +"I profess to know nothing of your encounters with anybody," replied +the girl quietly and patiently. "I base my conclusions only on what I +have seen. This morning I saw you throw a Chinese coolie into the +harbor at Batavia. It happens that I have seen that coolie before, and +it also happens that I know a little--do not ask me what I know, for I +will never tell you--a little about the company that coolie keeps." + +"I guess you are getting a little beyond my depth," stated Peter +uncomfortably. "Would you mind sort of summing up what you've just +said?" + +"I mean, I want to try to persuade you that the life you have been +living is wrong. At the same time, I want you to help me, as only you +can help me, in putting a life of wretchedness behind me. It is asking +a great deal, a very great deal, but in return I will give you more +than you will ever realize, more than you can realize, for you cannot +realize the danger that surrounds your every movement, and will +continue to surround you until they--_they_--are assured that you have +decided to forget them." + +Peter shook his head, forgetting to wonder what an officer might think +upon finding the door locked. Would the jovial little captain be quite +so jovial viewing these incriminating circumstances? Not likely. But +Peter had dismissed the fat captain from his mind, together with all +other alien thoughts, as he concentrated upon the amazing words of this +exceedingly amazing and beautiful girl. She was looking down at the +chevron of gold sparks on his sleeve. + +"I can tell you but one more thing of consequence," she continued. "It +is this: Together we can stand; divided we will fall, just as surely as +the sun follows its track in the heavens. I have a plan that will +offend you--perhaps offend you terribly--but there is no other way. +When _they_ know that we have decided to forget them, we can breathe +easily. Our secrets, grown stale, are not harmful to them." + +"I am always open to any reasonable inducement," Peter said dryly. + +The eyes meeting his were quite wild. + +"How would you like to go to some lovely little place to have money, to +live comfortably, even luxuriously, with a woman of whom you could be +justly proud, and who would bend every power with the sole view of +making you happy?"--she was blushing hotly--"and all this woman would +demand in return would be your loyalty, your respect--and later your +love, if that were possible." + +"But this--this is--astounding!" Peter exclaimed. + +"I expected you to say that. But let me assure you, I have thought +this over. I have given it every possible consideration, and now I +know there is no other way. I want to leave China. I want to go away +forever and ever. I must leave." + +Her shoulders jerked nervously. + +"My life has been miserable--so miserable. And I am not brave enough +to go through with it alone. I am afraid, terribly afraid. And afraid +of myself, and of my weakness. I must be encouraged, must have some +one to make me strong and brave, and afterward to take the good in me +and bring it out, and kill the bad." + +She relinquished Peter's hand and thumped her chest with small fists. + +"There is good in me; but it has never been given a chance! I want a +man who will bring that good out, a man who will make me fine and true +and honorable. For such a man I would give everything--my life!" She +lowered her voice. "I would give my best--my love. When I saw you +lift the coolie, after he showed you his knife, I thought you were such +a man; and when I looked into your face I believed I had found such a +man. The rest--remains--for you to say." + +"Where do you want me to t-take you?" demanded Peter. + +"Ah! That is of so little importance! To Nara--Nagoya--to +Australia--America." + +She shrugged, as if to say, "and little I care." + +"Now I am offering you only two rewards for that sacrifice--your safety +against _them_--and money. You can name your price. I feel that you +will come to love me; but that can come, if it cares, any time. When +you want me--I will be waiting. I want you to consider this now. Now! +Will you? Tell me that you will!" + +"I--I don't know what to say!" stammered Peter in a husky voice. +"Are--you are not joking, are you, Miss Borria? You can't be! But +this is so serious! Shocking! Why, you never saw me before! Why +should you pick me for such a thing when you never saw me? You don't +know me. You don't know what a brute I might be. Why, I might be +married for all you know----" + +"I am reasonably sure," said the girl with some of her former serenity. + +"But this--this is unbelievable!" cried Peter. "You never saw me +before to-day. Why, you're a nice girl. You're not the kind of girl +who runs away with a man at first sight. You're not in love with me at +all. Not at all. Miss Borria----" + +A flame of hot suspicion shot athwart Peter's mind. He seized her +hands, glared into her eyes, dragged her to her feet. + +"See here!" he clamored. "Tell me what you really want. What's your +game, eh? You're a wise little bird, you are. I may look stupid, I +may not see all the way through this talk you've been giving me. +You're holding back. What is it? Come on! Out with it!" + +She was not disturbed in the least at his harshness, nor did she +seemingly disapprove of the rough way he handled her. + +"I am married," she said simply. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +To Peter this revelation was like the addition of a single grain to a +bucket brimming with sand. + +"Well, what of it?" he barked. + +"To a man who is fat and untidy, a man old enough to be my father, who +treats me as if I were a thief, or a dog. I loathe him. And he +detests me. You see"--she smiled ironically--"we are not very happy. +I ran away from him a month ago, from Hong Kong. I ran as far as +Singaraja, and now I have to go back because I have not the courage to +stay away. A stronger will would make me give him up. Would make me +go away, and stay. And I grabbed at you." + +"As a drowning man would grab at a straw." + +"Not at all! Perhaps, let us say, I had pictured such a man as you. +And then you came. He will beat me when I return." + +"No!" + +"Yes!" She pressed down the gauzy stuff which came up almost to her +throat in the form of a high "V." And across the rounded white curve +of her chest were four angry red stripes, the marks of a whip. + +He shuddered. "This is terrible." + +"Will you help me--now?" + +"What can I do? What can I do?" He was striving to adjust himself to +this exceedingly difficult situation. "But I don't understand how you +can place all this confidence in me." + +"Because when I saw you I knew you were a man who stopped at nothing." + +"But why--why does he beat you? It--it's incomprehensible!" + +He stared at the beautiful face, the long, white appealing face, and +the deep, dark eyes with their fringe of long lashes. If ever a girl +was meant to be loved and protected it was this one. + +"I know I am asking a great deal, far more than I have any right, and +not taking you into consideration at all. But you will help me. You +must. Have I talked to you in vain? Do--do you think I would make you +unhappy?" + +"That's not the question, not the question at all. But you don't know +me. We are perfect strangers!" + +That is what Peter had been trying to get out of his system all of this +time. Had he been thinking connectedly at this trying moment, not for +the life of him would he have uttered those words. He had convinced +himself that he was above and beyond all shallow conventions. And in +an unguarded moment this thought, which had been in and out of his +mind, popped out like a ghost from a closet. We are perfect strangers! + +"So is every man a stranger to his wife. What difference does time +make? Very little, I think. A day--a week--a month--a +year--twenty!--you and I would still be strangers, for that matter. +Who can see into any man's heart?" + +She stopped talking, and kneaded her hands as if in anguish. + +"And think! Do think of me!" + +"I am thinking of you," said Peter constrainedly. + +"We can go to Nara, if you like, to the little inn near the deer-park, +and be so happy--you and I. Think of Nara--in cherry-blossom time!" + +"I can't see the picture at all," said Peter dryly. "But since you've +elected me to be your--your Sir Galahad, I'll tell you what I will do." + +Nervously the girl was fumbling at her throat, where, suspended by a +fine gold chain, hung a cameo, a delicately carved rose, as red as her +lips, and as life-like. She nodded, quite as though her life hung by +that gold thread and depended at the high end upon his decision. + +"Your husband's nationality?" he asked abruptly. + +"He is a Portuguese gentleman, my father's cousin." + +"It would be possible for me, perhaps, to aid a lady in distress by +punishing the cause of it." + +"You mean----" + +"I will gladly undertake to thrash the gentleman, if it would do any +good." + +"No, no! That would not do." + +"Then there's no choice for me. Either I must accept or decline your +invitation." + +"I pray you will! I have told you frankly and quickly, because time is +valuable. We have none to lose. A steamer leaves for Formosa and Moji +the morning after we arrive--at daybreak. We would scarcely have time +to complete our plans, and embark." + +Peter raised his eyebrows. "Complete our plans?" he intoned. + +"Yes. We must raise money. You see, there is money, thousands of +dollars, always in that house. It would be necessary to--to take +whatever of it we needed. That is why I will need you, too." + +"I think," declared Peter with decision, "that we had better call this +a misdeal, and play another game for a while. In the first place, I +will not run away with you, because it is against my principles to run +away with a strange young woman. In the second place, stealing for +pleasure is one of the seven deadly sins that I conscientiously avoid. + +"Now that I have aired my views, now that I have proved to you I'm not +as fine and brave as you hoped me to be, let's shake hands and part the +best of friends--or the worst of enemies." + +The girl rose from the chair into which she had dropped when Peter +began his say. Alternately she was biting her upper and lower lips in +nervousness or irritation. She put her back to the door and braced her +hands against the white enameled panels. Her breast was heaving. She +was desperately pale, and little dots of perspiration shone on her +white forehead. And she was limp, as though his last remark had +drained the final drop of vitality from her. + +"I--I won't give you up," she said in a small, husky voice. "Besides, +you are wrong, wrong in saying and believing that stealing his money +would not be for a good cause. He is a brute, a monster, and worse +than a thief. I cannot tell you how he gets his money. I would not +dare to whisper it. You will be doing a fine and splendid thing in +taking his money. You will be freeing me! Does that sound like +heroics? I don't care if it does! But with that money you can buy my +soul out of bondage. You can make me happy. Won't you? Won't you +do--that--for me?" + +Peter stood there like a block of ice--melting rapidly! But he said +nothing. His thoughts were beyond the expression of clumsy words. + +Her dumb hand found the key, turned it. The door opened, and a sweet +breath of the cool sea air crept into the small room. + +For a moment her white, distraught face hung down on her breast like +that of a child who has been scolded without understanding why. Then +she darted out of the room. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +When Peter snapped off the switch he found that he was trembling, +trembling from his knees to his neck. With a feeling akin to guilt he +wiped the sweat from his face and walked unsteadily to the rail which +overhung the cargo-well. + +He lighted an Abdullah, and watched the little smoke pool, which the +wind snatched and tossed up into the booms and darkness. + +It must have been a nightmare, this scene just past. What an +incredible, a preposterous request for a woman to make! And the more +thought he fed to the enigma the more incredible and unreal it became. + +It was too big and complex a thought to hold all together in his tired +brain now. In the morning he would tackle it with some zest, with an +inner eye washed clean by a long sleep. Just now he felt the need of +relaxation, and as he smoked, his thoughts flitted afar, to come back +now and then, irresistibly drawn by the vivid picture painted in his +mind by Romola Borria. + +His eyes, commanders of his thoughts, traveled out over the stern, +which rose and sank with a ponderous, wallowing sound in the heaving +ground swells, and he made out the weaving and coiling, the lustrous +but dim windings of the phosphorescent wake. + +As he became more accustomed to the shadowy, pointed darkness of the +steerage cabins, he became aware of a small figure crouching on the +hatch-cover near the starboard rail. He studied this intently, and at +length he made out the long, black queue of the Chinese girl who had +stared at him in such bewitching fashion a little earlier in the day. + +And his mind was carried back at the thought of this small maiden to +the grim and red Tibetan city, whose memories now were scarcely more +than a confused and hideous dream. He pictured again the splendors of +the blue-domed white palace which reposed like a beast of prey atop the +red filth disgorged by the cinnabar mine. + +Peter's heart thumped in youthful resentment as the thought of that +evil spirit came to him now. When would he meet the Gray Dragon face +to face? When would he again penetrate the stronghold of that unhappy +red city? Who could say? Probably never. + +The small Chinese girl on the hatch-cover had found him staring at her, +and with a little shiver of surprise Peter made the discovery that she +was smiling archly at him; and she inclined her head. She was +beckoning? It seemed so, indeed. + +Because Peter was a youth of deep and subtle understandings, he did no +more than nod slightly, and forthwith descended the companion-ladder to +the well, and crossed the well to her side. + +Her eyes were given a queer little twinkle by the near-by electric +which burned dimly over the door of the engine-room galley, and she +motioned him to be seated. He squatted, Chinese fashion, and she took +a deep, sighing breath, holding out her hands with a quick gesture. + +Across her wrists and drooping to her knees and beyond them into the +shadow was a strip of heavy, deep-blue silk. All down its length were +stitched small, round dots of dark red. Peter knew this for a sarong, +an ornamental waist-sash, affected by most Javanese gentlemen and many +Australians and New Zealanders. + +While he hesitated, she laid this in his lap with a shy impulsiveness. + +"It is yours, sar," she informed Peter in English of a very strange +mold. She spoke in a rather high-pitched, bell-like voice, pure and +soft, and tinkling with queer little cadences. "It is yours, sar. I +made it for you." + +Indubitably the girl was Eurasian. Asiatic features predominated, with +the exception of her eyes, which were more round than oblique, from +which circumstance Peter could surmise that her Aryan blood, provided +she was a half-caste, came from her mother's side; the predominance of +the Mongolian in her features being due to an Asiatic father, a Chinese. + +The colorless face, relieved by the bright color of her lips, the +slightly oblique eyes, told him that; yet her accents were those of a +Javanese, a Malay from the south. + +"You made this--for me?" replied Peter, surprised. + +"Oh, yes, sar," said the tinkling little voice. + +"Well, that is fine. It is beautiful," he said, feeling his way with +prudence. "And how much do I owe you, small one?" + +She shook her head indignantly. + +"It is a geeft," she informed him. "I am no longer poor, my lord. I +can now give geefts. I like you. I give this to you." + +Peter was moved momentarily beyond speech. + +"You are very fine, _busar satu_," went on the tiny, musical voice. +"So is this sarong. You will wear it, great one, around thy middle?" + +"Around my middle, to be sure, small one," laughed Peter; "until my +middle is clay, or until the sarong is no more than a thread." + +"Well said, _busar satu_!" The girl giggled, bobbing her small head in +happy approval. "It is twice blessed: with my love and with my foolish +blood, for I pricked my finger on the wicked needle. But I covered +that spot with a red mata-ari (sun). You can never, never tell." + +"Assuredly not!" cried Peter gaily. + +"Let the sarong be wound about thy middle," commanded the Chinese +maiden. "Arise, sar, and wind it about thy middle." + +And Peter did rise, winding the sarong about his lean waist twice, +allowing one end to dangle down on his left side in a debonair and +striking fashion. If set off his slim figure in a rather bizarre way. + +"It's bully!" he exclaimed, pirouetting with one hand on his head after +the style of the matador. + +"It is bully!" she echoed, in such quaint reflection of his exclamation +that Peter laughed outright. "Now, sit down again, sar," she invited. +And when Peter had again disposed himself at the side of this +light-hearted young person, she went on: + +"I am coming a long, long way to visit my aged grandmother (may the +green-eyed gods grant her the twelve desires!) who lives Canton-way. +My dear father sells opium. He has grown rich in that trade, even +though the stupid eyes of the Dutch _babis_ are on him all the while. +When I have seen my ancient grandmother, and given her geefts, I will +go home, to the south, Macassar-way." + +"Now, where, oh where, do I fit in this scheme?" was what Peter +thought. "What have I that this maiden desires?" + +"Ah, _busar satu_!" the maiden was saying, deftly and unaffectedly +patting the sarong. "It is bully! And now----" + +"And now----" intoned Peter calmly, for even as a life pays for a life, +and an eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth, so does a gift pay for +a gift. + +"And now," went on the maid from Macassar, whose father had grown rich +in the opium-trade under the very eyes of the Dutch, "tell me but one +thing, my lord--is Hong Kong safe for such as I?" + +"When one is young and virtuous," spake Peter in the drone of an +ancient fortune-teller, "one keeps her eyes pinned on the front. One +hears nothing; and one becomes as discreet of tongue as the little blue +sphinx at Chow-Fen-Chu." + +"Those are the words of Confucius, the wise one," retorted the little +bell-like voice with a tinkling laugh. "I need no guide, then? I have +heard that China is unsafe. That is why I asked." + +"Small one," replied Peter, with a smile of gravity and with much +candor in his blue eyes, "in China, such a one as you are as safe as a +Javanese starling in a nest of hungry yellow snakes. You will travel +by daylight, or not at all. You will go from Kowloon to your venerable +grandmother by train. You will carry a knife, and you will use it +without hesitation. Have you such a knife?" + +The small head bowed vehemently. + +"In Hong-Kong you will go aboard a sampan and be rowed Kowloon-way, +from whence the train runs by the great river to Canton." + +"That will be safe, that sampan?" + +"I will make it safe, small one. For I will go with you as far as +Kowloon, if that is what you wish." + +"And does the brave one admire my sarong?" the small voice wavered. + +"It shames my ugly body," said Peter. "Now run along to bed--_kalak_!" +And he clapped his hands as the small figure bobbed out of sight, with +her long, black pigtail flopping this way and that. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +It came to Peter as he climbed up the iron-fretted steps to the lonely +promenade-deck that life had begun to take on its old golden glow, the +luster of the uncertain, the charm of women who found in him something +not undesirable. + +At this he smiled a little bit. He had never known, as far back as the +span of his adventures extended, a woman who deemed his companionship +as quite so valuable a thing as the mysterious and alluring Romola +Borria, the husband-beaten, incredible, and altogether dangerous young +woman who passionately besought him to accompany her on a pilgrimage of +forgetfulness into the flowery heart of dear old Japan. + +Ascending the ladder to the unoccupied deck, he was conscious of the +sweet drone of the monsoon, which blew off the shores of Annam over the +restless bosom of the China Sea, setting up a tuneful chant in the +_Persian Gulf's_ sober rigging, and kissing his cheeks with the ardor +of a despairing maiden. + +Peter the Brazen decided to take a turn or two round deck before going +to his bunk, to drink in a potion of this intoxicating, winelike night. +The wheel of fortune might whirl many times before he was again sailing +this most seductive of oceans. + +And he was a little intoxicated, too, with the wine of his youth. His +lips, immersed in the fountain, found very little bitterness there. +Life was earnest and grave, as the wiseacres said; but life was, on the +whole, sublime and poignantly sweet. A little bitterness, a little +dreary sadness, a pang at the heart now and again, served only to +interrupt the smooth regularity, the monotony, to add zest to the +nectar. + +When he had finished the cigarette, he flung the butt over the rail +into the gushing water, which swam south in its phosphorescent welter, +descended between decks to the stateroom that had been assigned to him, +and fitted the key to the lock. + +He felt decidedly young and foolishly exalted as he closed the door +after him and heard the lock click, for to few men is it given to have +two lovely young women in distress seek aid, all in the span of a few +hours. Perhaps these rosy events had served merely to feed oil to the +fires of his conceit; but Peter's was not a conceit that rankled +anybody. And there were always volunteers, hardened by the buffets of +this life, to cast water upon that same fire. + +So, humming a gay little tune, Peter snapped on the light, bathing the +milk-white room in a liquid mellowness, opened the port-hole, wound his +watch, hung it on the curtain-bar which ran lengthwise with his berth, +pushed the flowered curtains at either end as far back as they would +go, in order to have all the fresh air possible, and---- + +Peter gasped. He declared it was absolutely impossible. Such things +did not happen, even in this world of strange happenings and of +stranger stirrings below the surface of actual happenings. His +self-complacencies came shattering down about his ears like mountains +of senseless glitter, and he stooped to recover the object which was +lying upon, almost ready to tumble from, the rounded, neat edge of the +white berth. + +A rose of cameo! The hot breath from his lips, which drooped in +astonishment and chagrin, seemed to stir the delicate petals of the +exquisitely carved red rose which reposed in its mountain of soft gold +in the palm of his trembling hand. The fine gold chain, like a rope of +gold sand, trickled between his fingers and dangled, swinging from side +to side. + +The impossible thought pounded at the door of his brain and demanded +recognition. Romola Borria had been a visitor to his room. But why? +He had no secrets to conceal from the prying ears of any one, not now, +at all events, for he had destroyed all evidences depending upon the +excursion he had made from Shanghai to Len Yang, and from Len Yang to +Mandalay, to Rangoon, to Penang, Singapore, and Batavia. + +Naturally, his first impulsive thought was that Romola Borria was +somehow entangled with those who ruled the destinies of the hideous +mountain city, which crouched amidst the frosty emerald peaks on the +fringe of Tibet. He had felt the weight of that ominous hand on other +occasions, and its movements were ever the same. Night stealth, +warnings chalked on doors, the deliberate and cunning penetration of +his secrets; all of these were typical machinations of the Gray Dragon, +and of those who reported back to the Gray Dragon. + +No one would break into his stateroom who was not the tool of Len +Yang's unknown king. Thus the finger of accusation was brought to bear +tentatively upon Romola Borria. + +Yes, it was incredible that this girl, with those scarlet stripes +across her breast, could in any way be complicated with the wanton +designs of the beast in Len Yang. Yet here was evidence, damning her, +if not as a wilful tool of the cinnabar king, then at least as a +room-breaker. Why had she come into his room? And how? + +He searched the room, then dragged his suit-case from under the bunk to +the middle of the blue carpet, and spilled its contents angrily upon +the floor. It took him less than ten seconds to discover what was +missing; not his money, nor the few jewels he had collected in his +peregrinations, for they were untouched in the small leather bag. + +Peter looked again, carefully shaking each garment, hoping, and +refusing to hope, that the revolver would make its appearance. It was +an American revolver, an automatic, a gift from Bobbie MacLaurin. And +now this excellent weapon was missing. + +He felt that eyes were upon him, that ears were listening slyly to his +breathing, that lips were rustling in bated whispered comments upon the +fury with which he took this important loss. + +Snapping off the light, he plunged down the murky corridor, with the +guilty rose cameo clutched in his sweating hand, and came at length to +the purser's office. This dignitary was absent, at midnight lunch +probably; so Peter rifled the upper drawer in the desk, and brought out +the passenger-register, finding the name and room number he sought +after an instant of search. + +Carefully he replaced the ledger in its original position, closed the +drawer, and darted back up the corridor. + +In front of a room not far from his own he paused and rapped. His +knock, sharp and insistent, was one of practice, a summons which would +not be mistaken by the occupants of adjoining staterooms, nor was it +likely to disturb them. + +After a moment, light showed at the opened transom. Some one rustled +about within, and in another instant the door opened far enough to +admit a head from which dark masses of hair floated, framing a face +that was white and inquisitive. + +At sight of her midnight visitor Romola Borria opened her door wide and +smiled a little sleepily. She had paused long enough in arising to +slip into a negligee, a kimono of blackest satin, revealing at the +baglike sleeves and the fold which fell back from her throat a lining +of blood-red silk. + +One hand was caught up to her throat in a gesture of surprise, and the +other was concealed behind her, catching, as Peter surmised, nothing if +not his own automatic revolver, which had been loaded, ready for +instant use, immediately the safety-catch was released. + +She stared at him softly, with eyes still mirroring the depths of the +sleep from which he had so rudely aroused her, her delicate red lips +forming a curious smile. And she continued to smile more gently, more +tenderly, as she became quite conscious of his presence. + +"You have come to tell me that you will go to Japan with me," she +stated. + +Peter shook his head slowly, and with equal deliberateness lifted up +the small object in his hand until the light from the ceiling-lamp fell +directly upon it. + +"My cameo!" she exclaimed with a start of surprise. "Where did you +find it?" She reached impulsively for the ornament, but Peter closed +his fingers upon it firmly. + +"You have something to give me in return, I think," he said sternly. + +She was staring at the closed hand with something of despair and +fright, as if reluctant to believe this truth, while her fingers groped +at her throat to verify a loss apparently not before detected. + +She stepped back into the room and said: + +"Close the door. Come inside." + +He thought: If she had wanted to shoot me, she had plenty of chance +before. A shot in this room, a murder would fasten evidence upon her, +and besides, it would instantly arouse the occupants of the adjoining +staterooms, if not one of the deck crew on watch. + +So he entered and closed the door, presenting a full view of his broad, +white-uniformed back, and the gaudy-blue sarong about his waist. He +took more time than was necessary in closing the door and sliding the +bolt, to give her every opportunity to arrange this scene she desired. + +But the girl was only drawing the curtains over the port-hole, to keep +out prying eyes, when he turned about. + +She sat down on the edge of her berth, with her small white feet almost +touching the floor, and the huge blue automatic resting upon her knees. +It was unlikely that she did not appreciate fully the seductive charm +of the red and black gown which adapted itself in whatever pose to the +youthful curves of her body; and she permitted Peter to sit down on the +narrow couch opposite and to examine her and perhaps to speculate for a +number of seconds before she seemed to find her speech. + +Meekly her dark eyes encountered his. + +"I was afraid," she explained in a voice, low but free in her +remarkable self-possession. "I knew you would not care, and I hoped +that you would have a revolver in your room. So I went there. How did +I get in? I borrowed a pass-key from the purser on the plea that I had +left mine in my room. I hoped you would not miss it until we reached +Hong Kong, and I intended to return it then and explain to you. + +"My life," she added deprecatingly, "is in some slight danger, and, +like the small fool that I am--even though I am fully aware that no one +in the whole world cares whether I am living or dead--well, Mr. Moore, +for some reason I still persist in clinging to the small hope." + +She smiled wanly and earnestly, so Peter thought. A dozen impulses +militated against his believing a word of this glib explanation; his +common sense told him that he should seek further, that the explanation +was only half made; and yet it cannot be denied that she had gone +unerringly to his greatest weakness, perhaps his worst fault, his +belief in the sincerity of a woman in trouble. + +"Why didn't you ask me?" he demanded in his most apologetic voice, as +though he had wronged her beyond repair. "Why didn't you tell me you +were in danger? I'd have loaned you the revolver willingly--willingly!" + +"I did try to find you," she replied; "but the wireless room was dark. +You were nowhere on deck." + +Peter was aware that for some reason Romola Borria did not prefer to +share the secret of her real or fancied danger with him. He felt a +little dissatisfied, cheated, as though the straightforward answer for +which he had come had been turned into the counterfeit of evasion. + +The situation as it now had shaped itself demanded some sort of +decision. Without the whole truth he was reluctant to leave, and it +was imprudent to remain any longer. + +Romola, in this constrained pause in their conversation, feeling +perhaps the reason for his silence, lowered her dark lashes and drew up +her feet until they were concealed by the red folds of the kimono, and +she drew the satin more closely about her soft, white throat. + +"You have decided nothing, then?" she parried. + +"What decision I might have formed," he said, a trifle coolly, "has +been put off by--this. You see, I must admit it, this--this rather +complicates things for me. I'm in the dark altogether now, you see. I +wanted to help you, however I could. And then--then I find this cameo." + +She nodded absently, fingering the groove in the automatic's handle. + +"I'm afraid I took too much for granted," she said in a low voice. +"Don't you suppose my curiosity was aroused when you threw the coolie +overboard? I said nothing; rather, I asked you no questions; and I +thought that a man who was self-poised enough to meet his enemies in +that way would be--what shall I say?--charitable enough to overlook +such a----" She paused. "When I confessed that you and I are facing a +common enemy, that the same hands are eager to do away with both of us, +I thought that bond was sufficient, was strong enough, to justify what +might shock an ordinary man. I mean----" + +"I think I understand," Peter took her up in contrite tones. "I'll ask +nothing more. In the morning we will talk the other matter over. I +must have a little time. For the present, I want you to keep the +revolver, and--here is the cameo. Forgive me for being so +unreasonable, so--so selfish." + +He leaned over. She seemed uncertain a moment, then caught the gold +chain lightly from his hand. + +"And--your revolver," she said. "Those are the terms of the agreement, +I believe." + +"No, no," he protested. "I have no use for it; none whatever. You +keep it." + +But quite as resolutely Romola Borria shook her head and extended the +automatic, butt foremost, to him. "I insist," she said. + +"But you say you're in danger," he argued. + +"No. Not now. I have something else that will do quite as well. If +it is written that I am to die, why give Death cause to be angry? I am +a fatalist, you see. And I want you to take back your revolver, with +my apologies, and quite without any more explanation than I have given +you, please." + +"But----" began Peter. + +"Look," she said. + +In the small space of the stateroom he could not avoid bending so low +as to sense the warmth of her skin, in order to study the object toward +which she was directing his gaze. A sense of hot confusion permeated +him as her fingers lightly caressed his hand; her physical nearness +obsessed him. + +She had drawn back the fluffy pillow, and on the white sheet he +glimpsed a long, bright, and exceedingly dangerous-looking dagger, with +a jewel-incrusted hilt. + +The singular thing about this knife was the shape of the blade, which +was thin and with three sides, like a machinist's file. It would be a +good dagger to throw away after a killing because of the triangular +hole it would leave as a wound, a bit of evidence decidedly +incriminating. + +Peter straightened up, round-eyed, accepted the automatic, and slipped +it into his pocket, smoothing his coat and the sarong over the lump, +and approached the door. + +For a moment his heart beat in a wild desire, a desire to take her in +his arms as she stood so close and so quiet beside him, smiling +wistfully and a little sadly; and unaccountably she seemed to droop and +become small and limp and pitifully helpless in the face of him and of +all mankind. + +"Good night, Mr. Moore, and thank you so--much," she murmured. "And I +do hope you will forgive me for being a--a thief." + +He thought that she was on the point of kissing him, and his eyes swam +and became of a slightly deeper and more silky blue than a moment +before. But she faltered back, while the faintest suggestion of a sigh +came from her lips. + +In the next instant, as the door closed quietly behind him, Peter was +mighty glad that neither he nor she had yielded to impulse. He was +not, in the light of the literal version, the owner of a wholly +untarnished record, for he had given in to weakness, as most men do +give into weakness. + +But he was above temptation now, not because temptation was put behind +him, but because he had had the strength to resist; and it was his +full, deep desire to hold himself until that girl, far across the +Pacific, who inspired the finest and best in him, should bear the name +he bore. + +It was a splendid thing, that feeling. It gave him courage and +confidence, and took him quite light-heartedly, with head erect and +shoulders back, out of the dreariest of his moments. + +So, quick in a new and buoyant mood, Peter joggled the key in the lock +of his stateroom door, slipped in, and was before long dreaming of a +cottage built for two, of springtime in California, albeit snoring +almost loud enough to drown out the throb of the _Persian Gulf's_ old +but still useful engines. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +Because of the fatigue which possessed his every muscle, fatigue +springing from the arduous, the trying hours now past, Peter the Brazen +was sleeping the slumber of the worthy, when, at a somewhat later hour +in the night, some time before dawn crept out of the China Sea, a +figure, lean and gray, flitted past his stateroom on the narrow orlop +deck, peered in the darkened port-hole, and passed on. + +Awakened by an instinct developed to a remarkable degree by his +training of the past few months, Peter established himself upon one +elbow and looked and listened, wondering what sounds might be abroad +other than the peaceful churn of the engine. + +Quite as intuitively he slipped his hand under the pillow and +encountered the reassuring chill of the blued steel. Half withdrawing +this excellent weapon, he shifted his eyes, alternately from the door +to the port-hole, conscious of an imminent danger, a little stupefied +by his recent plunge into the depths of sleep, but growing more widely +awake, more alert and watchful, with the passage of each instant. + +The port-hole loomed gray and empty, one edge of it licked by the +yellow light of some not far distant deck-lamp. With his eye fastened +upon this scimitar of golden light, Peter was soon to witness an +unusual eclipse, a phenomenon which sent a shiver, an icy shiver, of +genuine consternation up and down his backbone. + +As he watched, a square of the yellow reflected light was blotted out, +as though a bar of some nature had cast its shadow athwart that +metallic gleam. This shadow then proceeded to slide first up and then +down the brass setting of the port-hole, and the shadow dwindled. + +As Peter sat up on the edge of his cot, gripping the square butt of the +automatic in his hand and tentatively fingering the trigger, the origin +of the shadow moved slowly, ever so slowly, into the range of his +perplexed and anxious vision. + +What appeared at first glance to be a cat-o'-nine-tails on a rather +thick stem, Peter made out to be, as he built some hasty comparisons, +the Maxim silencer attached either at the end of a revolver or of a +rifle; for the black cylinder on the muzzle was circumscribed at +regular intervals with small, sharp depressions, the clinch-marks of +the silencing chambers. + +As this specter crept up and over the edge of the port, Peter, with a +deliberate and cold smile, raised the automatic revolver, slipped out +of the berth with the stealth and litheness of a cat, crept into the +corner where the stateroom door was hinged, and leveled the weapon +until his eye ran along the dark obstruction of the barrel. + +Slowly and more slowly the silencer moved inward until the blunt end of +it was registered precisely upon a point where Peter's head would lie +if he were sleeping in a normal attitude. + +This amused him and perplexed him. All Peter wanted to see was the +head or even the eye of this early morning assassin, whereupon he would +take immediate steps to receive him with a warm cordiality that might +forestall future visitations of a kindred sort. + +In the space between heart-beats Peter stopped to inquire of himself +who his visitor might be. And even as he stopped to inquire, a bright, +angry, red flame spurted straight out from the mouth of the silencer, +and Peter would have willingly gambled his bottom dollar that the +bullet found its way into his pillow, a wager, as he later verified, +upon which he would have collected all of the money he was eager to +stake. + +The lance of yellow-red flame had occasioned no disturbance other than +a slight smack, comparable with the sharp clapping of a man's hands. + +In the second leaping flame Peter was far more interested. Having +delivered himself of one shot, the assassin could be depended upon to +make casual inquiries, and to drop at least one more bullet into the +darkness between the upper and lower berths, to make a clean job of it. + +And it was on the appearance of the inquiring head that Peter relied to +repay the intruder in his own metal, that metal taking the form of a +wingless messenger of nickel-sheathed lead. + +But the visitor was cautious, waiting, no doubt, for sounds of the +death struggle, provided the shot had not gone directly home, its home +being, as Peter shuddered to think, his own exceedingly useful brain. + +He waited a little longer before his guest apparently decided that the +time was come for his investigation; and thereupon a small, square head +with the black-tasseled hat of a Chinese coolie set upon it at a rakish +angle was framed by the port-hole. + +Smirking nervously, Peter released the safety catch and brought +pressure to bear slowly and firmly upon the trigger. + +_Click_! That was all. But it told a terrible story. The weapon was +out of commission, either unloaded or tampered with. And Peter's +panic-stricken thoughts leaped, even as the square head leaped away +from the window, to the Borria woman, to the cause of his desperate +helplessness. + +Romola Borria, then, had tampered with this revolver. Romola Borria +had plotted, that was sure, with the coolie outside the port-hole for +his assassination. That explained the visit to his room. That +explained her perturbation over his discovery of her visit, of her sly +and cool evasions and dissimulations. + +It was with these thoughts hammering in his brain that Peter dropped +out of range of the deadly porthole and squirmed, inching his way into +the doubtful shelter provided by the closet. At any instant he +expected another red tongue to burn the now still darkness above his +head, to experience the hot plunge of a bullet in some part of his +slightly clad anatomy. And then--death? An end of the glorious +adventures whose trail he had followed now for well upon ten years? + +And still the death bullet was withheld. Groping about in the darkness +with one hand as he loosened the magazine clip on the butt, and finding +that the clip of cartridges had been removed, he finally discovered the +whereabouts of the suit-case, and dragged it slowly toward him, with +his eyes pinned upon the vacant port. + +Fumbling among the numerous objects contained in the suit-case, his +fingers encountered at length a cartridge clip. He slipped this into +the magazine, and indulged in a silent grunt of relief as the clip +moved up into place. He drew back the rejecting mechanism, and heard +the soft, reassuring _snick_ of the cartridge as it slid from the +magazine into the chamber. + +Then sounds without demanded his attention, the sounds of a tussle, of +oaths spoken in a high, feminine tongue, in a language not his own. + +Peter would have shouted, but he had long ago learned the +inadvisability of shouting when such grim business as to-night's was +being negotiated. + +Slipping on his bath-robe, he opened the door and tentatively peered +out into the half-light of the orlop deck from the cross corridor +vestibule-way, for indications of a shambles. + +They were gone. The deck was deserted. But he caught his breath +sharply as he made out a long, dark shape which lay, with the inertness +of death, under his port-hole, blending with the shadows. He rolled +the man over upon his back, and dragged him by the heels under the +deck-light, and, dragging him, a dark trail spread out upon the boards, +and even as Peter examined the cold face, the spot broadened and a +trickle broke from it and crept down toward the gutter. + +Stabbed? More than likely. Pausing only long enough to reassure +himself that this one was the assassin whose square head had been +framed by the port, Peter looked for a wound, and shortly he found the +wound, and Peter was not greatly astounded at the proportions thereof. + +It was a small wound, running entirely through the neck from a point +below the left ear to one slightly below and to the right of the locked +jaw. Upon close scrutiny the death wound proved to be small and +thorough and of a triangular pattern. + +Just why he had expected to find that triangular wound Peter was unable +to explain even to himself, but he was quite as sure that Romola +Borria's hand was in this latest development as he had been sure a +moment before that her steady, small hand had deliberately removed the +clip of cartridges from the butt of the automatic, to render him +helpless in the face of his enemies. + +Silently contemplating the stiffening victim of Romola Borria's +triangular dagger, Peter heard the rustle of silk garments, and looked +up in time to observe the slender person of Romola Borria herself, +attired exactly as he had left her a few hours previous, detach itself +from the corridor vestibule-way which led to his stateroom. She +approached him. + +A thousand questions and accusations swam to his lips, but she was +speaking in low, impassioned tones. + +"I knocked at your door. God! I thought he had killed you! I was +afraid. For a moment I thought you were dead." + +"You stabbed him," said Peter in an expressionless voice. + +She nodded, and drew a long, sobbing breath. + +"Yes. He tried to shoot you. I saw him pass my window. I was +waiting. I watched. I knew he would try. Oh, I'm so glad----" + +"You knew? You knew that?" + +"Yes, yes. He was the--the mate of the coolie you threw overboard in +Batavia. You know, they always travel in pairs. You didn't know that?" + +"No; I did not know. But I could have defended myself easily enough if +it had not been for----" + +"Your clip of cartridges? Can you forgive me? Can you ever forgive me +for taking them out? I took them out. Oh, Mr. Moore, believe me, I am +concealing nothing! I did remove the clip, and in my carelessness I +forgot to give them back to you when you left my room." + +"I see. Have you them?" + +"Yes." + +"Please give them to me. You have not by any chance, in another of +those careless moods of yours, happened to tamper with the bullets, +have you?" + +"Mr. Moore----" she gasped, clutching her white hands to her breast in +indignation. + +"You _are_ clever," said Peter sarcastically. "You're altogether too +damn clever. What your game is, I'm not going to take the trouble to +ask. You--you----" + +"Oh, Mr. Moore!" She caught his arm. + +He cast it away. + +"Didn't tamper with the bullets, eh?" he went on in a deep, sullen +voice. "Well, Miss Borria, here is what I think of your word. Here is +how much I trust you." + +And with a single motion Peter whipped all seven cartridges from the +clip and tossed them into the sea. He snarled again: + +"You _are_ clever, damn clever. Poor, poor little thing! Still want +to go to Japan with me, my dear?" + +"I do," stated the girl, whose eyes were dry and burning. + +"Sure! That's the stuff," railed Peter bitingly; "whatever you do, +stick to your story." + +He grabbed her wrist, and her glance should have softened granite. + +"For example," he sniffed; "that neat little cock-and-bull story you +made up about your cruel, brutal husband. Expect me to believe that, +too, eh?" + +"Not if you don't care to," said the girl faintly. + +Peter knocked away her hand, the hand which seemed always to fumble at +her throat in moments of strain. He pulled down the black kimono and +dragged her under the light, forcing her back against the white cabin. +He looked. + +The white, soft curve of her chest was devoid of all marks. It was as +white as that portion of a woman's body is said to be, by the singing +poets, as white as alabaster, and devoid of angry stripes. + +Peter seized both limp wrists in one of his hands. + +"By God, you _are_ clever!" he scoffed. "Now, Miss Enigma, you spurt +out your story, and the true story, or, by Heaven, I'll call the +skipper! I'll have you put in irons--for murder!" + +She hung her head, then flung it back and eyed him with the sullen fire +of a cornered animal. + +"You forget I saved your life," she said. + +As if they were red hot, Peter dropped her hands, and they fell at her +sides like limp rags. + +"I--I----" he stammered, and backed away a step. "Good God!" he +exploded. "Then explain this; explain why you took the clip from my +automatic. Explain why you put up that story of a brutal husband, and +showed me scars on your breast to prove it--then washed them off. And +why--why you killed this man who would have murdered me." + +"I will explain what I am able to," she said in a small, tired voice. +"I took the clips from the revolver because--because I didn't want you +to shoot me. I know _their_ methods far better than you seem to; and I +knew I could handle this coolie myself far better than you could; and I +wanted to run no risk of being shot myself in attending to him. + +"As for the 'brutal-husband story,' every word of that is the truth. +If you must know, I used rouge for the scars. Since you are so +outspoken, I will pay you back in the same cloth. There are scars on +my body, on my back and my legs." + +Her face was as red as a poppy. + +"And I killed this man because--well," she snapped, "perhaps because I +hate you." + +Had she cut him with a whip, Peter could not have felt more hurt, more +humiliated, more ashamed, for gratitude was far from being a stranger +to him. + +He half extended his arms in mute apology, and, surprised, he found her +lips caressing his, her warm arms about his neck. He kissed +her--once--and put her away from him; and that guiding star of his in +California could be thankful that Romola Borria's embrace was rather +more forgiving than insinuating. + +"We must get rid of this coolie," she said, brushing the clusters of +dark hair from her face. "I will help you, if you like. But over he +goes!" + +"But the blood." + +"Call a deck-boy. Tell him as little as you need. You are one of the +ship's officers. He will not question you." + +He hesitated. + +"Can you forgive me for this--way I have acted, my--my ingratitude?" + +"Forgiveness seems to be a woman's principal role in life," she said +with a tired smile. "Yes. I am sorry, too, that we misunderstood. +Good-night, my dear." + +And Peter was all alone, although his aloneness was modified to a +certain extent by the corpse at his feet. The dead weight he lifted +with some difficulty to the railing, pushed hard, and heard the muffled +splash. Quickly he got into his uniform, slipped his naked feet into +looped sandals, and sought the forecastle. + +The occupants of this odorous place were sawing wood in an +unsynchronous chorus. No one seemed to be about, so he seized a pail +half filled with sujee, a block of holystone, and a stiff broom. + +With these implements he occupied himself for fully a half-hour, until +the spots on the deck had faded to a satisfactory whiteness. The +revolver with Maxim silencer attached he discovered, after a long +search, some distance away in the deck-gutter. + +He meditated at length upon the advisability of consigning this grim +trophy to the China Sea. Yet it is a sad commentary upon his native +shrewdness that Peter had not yet recovered from his boyish enthusiasm +for collecting souvenirs. + +At last he decided to retain it, and he dropped it through the +port-hole upon the couch, thereupon forgetting all about it until the +weapon was called to his attention on the ensuing morning. + +With all evidences of the crime removed, he replaced the pail, the +stone, and the broom in the forecastle locker, and sneaked back to his +stateroom. He locked the door, barricaded the port-hole with the +pink-flowered curtains--those symbols which had reminded him earlier of +springtime in California--and examined his pillow. + +It had been an exceedingly neat shot. The bullet had bored clean +through, had struck the metal L-beam of the bunk, and rebounded into a +pile of bedclothes. Dented and scorched, Peter examined this little +pellet of lead, balancing it in the palm of his hand. + +"Every bullet has its billet," he quoted, and he was glad indeed that +the billet in this case had not been his vulnerable cerebrum. + +Snapping off the light, he drew the sheet up to his neck and lay there +pondering, listening to the whine of the ventilator-fan. + +The haggard, distressed face of Romola Borria swam upon the screen of +his imagination. This woman commanded his admiration and respect. +Despite all dissemblings, all evasions, all actual and evident signs of +the double-cross, he confided to his other self that he was glad he had +kissed her. What can be so deliciously harmless as a kiss? he asked +himself. + +And wiser men than Peter have answered: What can be so harmful? + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +Night brings counsel, say the French. Only in sleep does one mine the +gold of truth, said Confucius. + +When Peter was aroused by the golden dawn streaming through the +swinging port-glass upon his eyes the cobwebs were gone from his brain, +his eyes were clear and of a bright sea-blue, and he was bubbling with +enthusiasm for the new-born day. + +His ablutions were simple: a brisk scrubbing of his gleaming, white +teeth, a dousing of his hands and face in bracing, cold water, with a +subsequent soaping and rinsing of same; followed by a hoeing process at +the mercy of a not-too-keen Japanese imitation of an American +safety-razor. + +Assured that the deck below his port-hole was spotless, he ventured to +the dining-room, half filled and buzzing with excitement. + +He was given to understand by a dozen gesticulating passengers that +some time in the course of the night a deck-passenger, a Chinese +coolie, from Buitenzorg to Hong Kong, or Macao, had fallen overboard, +leaving no trace. + +It was whispered that the helpless one had been done away with by foul +means. And Peter became conscious during the meal that his fat and +jovial little captain was looking at him and through him with a glance +that could not be denied or for long avoided. + +Wondering what his Herr Captain might know of the particulars of last +night's doings, Peter sucked a mangosteen slowly, arranging his +thoughts, card-indexing his alibis, and making cool preparations for an +official cross-questioning. Clever lying out of his difficulty was the +order, or the alternative for Peter was the irons. + +When the fat fingers of Mynheer the Captain at length dabbled in the +lacquered finger-bowl, after rounding out his fourth pomelo, Peter got +up slowly and walked thoughtfully to the foot of the staircase. Here +the captain caught up with him, touched his elbow lightly, and together +they proceeded to the promenade-deck, which was shining redly in places +where the wetness of the washing down had not yet been evaporated by +the warm, fresh wind. + +Mynheer the Captain fell into place at Peter's side, gripped his fat +Javanese cigar between his teeth, and caught his fat wrists together +stolidly behind his back, and his low, wide brow slowly beetled. + +"Mynheer," he began in a somewhat constrained voice, low and richly +guttural, "it iss known to you vat took place on der ship some dam +during der nacht? Ja?" + +"I overheard the passengers talking about a coolie falling overboard +last night, sir," replied Peter guardedly. As long as no direct +accusation came, he felt safer. He was reasonably sure, basing his +opinion of skippers on many past encounters, that this one would go +typically to his subject. In his growing cock-sureness, Peter expected +no rapier-play. It would be a case, he felt sure, of all the cards on +the table at once; a slam-bang, as it were. + +"You know nodding of dot business, young man?" + +"Nothing at all, Myn Captain." + +"Dot iss strange. Dot iss strange," muttered the captain as they +rounded the forward cabin and made their way in slow, measured strides +down the port side. "I haf seen you come aboard yesterday, mynheer; +und I haf seen you t'row over der side a coolie, a coolie who wass wit' +der coolie who dis'ppeared last nacht. Why did you t'row him over der +side, eh?" + +"He threatened me with his knife," replied Peter without an instant's +hesitation. "_Mynheer_, he was a bad Chink, a killer." + +"_Ja_. _Tot ver vlomme_! All of 'em are bad Chinks." + +"Why should he stab me?" intoned Peter. "I never saw him before. I am +a peaceful citizen. The only interest I have on this ship, Mynheer +Captain, is the wireless apparatus." + +"_Ja_? Dot iss gude to hear, young man. I haf liked you--how does one +say it?--immensely. Der oder man wass no gude. He is gude rittance. +You intend to stay wit' us. Ja?" + +"I hope so," said Peter heartily and with vast relief. + +"You like dis ship, eh?" + +"Very much, indeed." + +"And I vant you to stay, young man. I vant you to stay joost as long +as you feel like staying. But I vant to ask you one t'ing, joost one +t'ing." + +"I'll do anything you say, sir." + +The fat, jovial skipper of the _Persian Gulf_ eyed Peter with beady, +cunning eyes, and Peter was suddenly conscious of a sinking sensation. + +"Joost one t'ing. Better, first I should say, ven you t'row overboard +der coolies you dislike, it vould be best not to keep--vat are dey +called--der soufenirs. Sooch t'ings as peestols." + +"But, _mynheer_----" + +The fat hand waved him to silence. + +"Bot' of dem vas bad Chinks. I know. I know bot' of dose coolies a +long, long time. T'ieves and blood men. _Tot ver vlomme_! It iss +gude rittance, as you say. Young man, I haf nodding but one more t'ing +to tell you. I say, I like you--immensely. I vant you very much to +stay. But der next time coolies are to be t'rown over der side, I will +be pleased to haf you ask my permission." + +Peter stared hard at the fat little man, with a quick glaze of +gratitude over his eyes. The skipper left him, doubling back in the +direction of the wheel-house. And something in the unsteadiness of the +broad, plump shoulders gave to Peter in his perplexity the not +inaccurate notion that the fat little man had enjoyed his joke and was +giggling to such an extent that it almost interfered with his dignified +strut. + +Before buckling down to the day's business he made sure of one thing. +Gone from his stateroom was the revolver with its Maxim silencer. + +Because the wireless room at sea is a sort of lounging-room for those +passengers who are bored from reading, or poker, or promenading, or +simply are incompetent to amuse themselves without external assistance, +Peter ignored the dozen pair of curious and interested eyes which were +focussed on his white uniform as he passed, with those telltale +chevrons of golden sparks at the sleeves, strode into the wireless +cabin, hastily closed the door, locked it, and thereupon gave his +attention to the void. + +He was not surprised to hear the shrill yap of the Manila station +dinning in the receivers, and having no desire to allow his fair name +to be besmirched by what might be professional inattention to duty, he +gave Manila a crackling response, and told him to shoot and shoot fast, +as he had a stack of business on hand, which was the truth. + +Steamship and commercial messages were awaiting his nimble fingers, a +half-dozen of them, in a neat little pile where the purser had left +them to attract his attention as soon as he came on duty. + +Manila's first message, with a Hong Kong dateline, and via the +Philippine cable, was a service message, directed to Peter Moore, +"probably aboard the steamer _Persian Gulf_, at sea." The context of +this greeting was that Peter should report directly upon arrival in +Hong Kong to J. B. Whalen, representative of the Marconi Company of +America, residence, Peak Hotel. + +Following this transmission the Manila operator was anxious to know +whether or not this was Peter Moore at the key; that he had been given +instructions by the night man, who claimed to be a bosom companion of +Peter Moore's, to make inquiries regarding Peter Moore's whereabouts +during the past few months. + +He further expressed a profane desire to know, provided the man at the +key was Peter Moore, how in Hades he was, _where_ in Tophet he had been +keeping himself, and _why_ in Gehenna he had so mysteriously vanished +from the face of this glorious earth. + +"But why all the hubbub about Peter Moore?" flashed back Peter to the +inquisitive Manila operator, who was only about two hundred miles +distant by now and rather faint with the coming up of the sun. + +"Are--you--Peter--Moore?" came the faint scream. + +"No, no, no!" shrieked the voluptuous white spark of the _Persian Gulf_. + +"Is--he--on--board?" + +"No, no, no!" rapped Peter making no effort to disguise that inimitable +sending of his. + +"You--are--a--double-barreled liar!" said the Manila spark with +vehement emphasis. "No operator on the Pacific has that fist. You +might as well try to disguise the color of your eyes!" + +Manila tapped his key, making a long series of thoughtful little double +dots, the operator's way of letting his listener know he is still on +the job, and thinking. Then: + +"Why did you leave the _Vandalia_ at Shanghai?" + +"I never left the _Vandalia_ anywhere," retorted Peter. "I've just +come up from Singapore and Singaraja way. I am taking the _Persian +Gulf_ to Hong Kong, and back to Batavia." + +"No--you're--not," stated Manila's high-toned spark. "You're going to +be pinched as soon as you land in Hong Kong for deserting your ship at +Shanghai. That's a secret, for old friendship's sake." + +It was now Peter's turn to tap off a singularly long row of little +double dots. + +"It may be a secret, but only a thousand stations are listening in," he +said at length. "But, thanks, old-timer, just the same. If they pinch +Peter Moore in Hong Kong, they will have to extradite him from Kowloon. +In other words, they will have to go some. Besides, what Peter does in +Shanghai cannot be laid against him in Hong Kong. The law's the law." + +A savage tenor whine here broke in upon Manila's laughing answer, the +Hi! Hi! Hi! of the amused radio man; and Peter listened in some +annoyance to the peremptory summons of a United States gunboat, +probably nosing around somewhere south of Mindanao. + +"Stand by, Manila," shrilled this one. "Message for the _Persian +Gulf_." He broke off with a nimble signature. + +"Good morning, little stranger," roared Peter's stridulent machine. +"You're pretty far from home. Won't you get your feet wet? The +ocean's pretty dewy this morning. Well, what do _you_ want? Shoot it, +and shoot fast. Peter Moore's at the key, and the faster you shoot +them the better Peter likes them." + +The gunboat stuttered angrily. + +"A message for Peter Moore, operator in charge, steamer _Persian Gulf_, +at sea. Report immediately upon arrival in Hong Kong to American +consul for orders. (Signed) B. P. Eckles, commanding officer, U. S. S. +_Buffalo_." + +To which Peter composed the following pertinent reply: + +"To Commander Eckles, U. S. S. _Buffalo_, somewhere south of Mindanao. +What for? (Signed) Peter Moore." + +The promptness of the reply to this indicated that the recrudescence of +Peter Moore, dead or alive, was of sufficient interest to command the +presence of the gunboat's commander in the wireless house. In effect, +Peter now realized that his confession had got him into considerable +hot water. + +Back came the _Buffalo's_ nervous answer: "To Peter Moore, operator in +charge, steamer _Persian Gulf_, at sea. Orders. Obey them. (Signed) +B. P. Eckles." + +Peter cut out the formalities. "Please ask the commander what's the +trouble." + +And out of the void cracked the retort: "He says, ask the American +consul at Hong Kong." + +There seemed nothing much to do aside from attending to the accumulated +business on hand. In Hong Kong he could only decide which of the two +he would honor first, the Marconi supervisor or the American consul; +for in strange lands one falls into the custom of complying with the +requests of his countrymen. + +But Peter was beginning to feel a little of the old-time thrill. It +was fine to have the fellows recognize that lightning fist of his; fine +to have their homage. For the stumbling signals of both Manila and the +_Buffalo_ were homage of the most straightforward sort. + +For Peter Moore as wireless operator was swift of the swiftest; he +despatched with a lightning lilt, and the keenness of his ears, for +which he was famous on more than one ocean, made it possible for him to +receive signals with rarely the necessity for a repeat. + +Manila, obeying orders, was standing by, and Peter, tightening a screw +to bring the silver contacts of the massive transmission-key in better +alignment, despatched his string at the highest speed of which he was +capable. As long as his listeners knew he was Peter Moore, he might as +well give them, he decided, a sample of the celebrated Peter Moore +sending. + +For five minutes the little wireless cabin roared with the +undiminishing _rat-tat-tat_ of his spark explosions, and Manila, a navy +man of the old school, rattled back a series of proud O.K.'s. + +Proud? Because Peter Moore, of the old _Vandalia_, of the _Sierra_, +and a dozen other ships, was at the key. And an operator who said +"O.K." at the termination of one of Peter's inspired lightning +transmissions had every right to be proud, as any wireless operator who +has ever copied thirty-three words a minute will bear me witness. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +When Peter emerged from the wireless room, having completed his +business for the morning, he found Romola Borria with elbows on the +rail gazing thoughtfully at a small Chinese girl who sat cross-legged +on the hatch cover immersed in her sewing. + +And Peter marveled at the freshness of Romola Borria's appearance, at +the clarity of her sparkling brown eyes, the sweet pinkness of her +complexion, and the ease and radiance of her tender smile. + +"You look troubled," she said, as her smile was replaced by a look of +tender concern. "What is it?" She lowered her voice to a confidential +undertone. "Last night's affair, _desu-ka_?" + +Peter shook his head with a grave smile. + +"I am discovered, Miss Borria. That is to say, I have just given +myself away to the Manila navy station, not to speak of the commander +of a gunboat, not far from us, off the coast of Mindanao. It +seems"--he made a wry face--"Peter Moore is not popular with the +authorities for deserting a certain ship in Shanghai." + +"The _Vandalia_!" said the girl, and suddenly bit her lip, as though +she would have liked to retract the statement. + +Peter sank down on his elbows beside her, until his face was very close +to hers, and his expression was shrewd and cunning. + +"Miss Borria," he remarked stiffly, "I told you last night you're +clever; and now you've given me just one more reason to stick to my +guns; one more reason to believe that you know more than you're +supposed to know. Now, let's be perfectly frank--for once. Let's not +erase any more rouge stripes, so to speak. Won't you please tell me +just what you do know about my activities in this neighborhood?" + +His outflung gesture indicated the whole of Asia. + +The girl pursed her lips and a hard twinkle, like that of a frosty +arc-light upon diamonds, came into her eyes. "Yes, Mr. Moore," she +said vigorously, "I will. But you must promise--promise faithfully--to +ask no questions. Will you do that?" + +Peter nodded with a willingness that was far from assumed. + +Romola Borria placed the tips of her slender, white fingers together +and looked down at them pensively. "Well," she said, looking up and +raising her voice slightly, "you escaped from the liner _Vandalia_ in +the middle of the Whang-poo River, at night, in a deep fog, in a +sampan, with a young woman named Eileen Lorimer in your arms. This +occurred after you had delivered her from the hands of certain men, +whom I prefer to call, perhaps mysteriously, by the plain word _them_. + +"You sent this young lady home on the _Manchuria_, or the _Mongolia_, I +forget just which. That night on the bund near the French legation, +you met, quite by accident, another young lady who found your +companionship quite desirable. Her name was Miss Amy Vost, a bright +little thing." + +"You don't happen to know," put in Peter ironically, "what Miss Lorimer +had for breakfast this morning, by any chance?" + +"At last accounts she was studying for a doctor's degree in the +university at San Friole, Mr. Moore." + +"Indeed!" It was on the tip of Peter's tongue to tell this astounding +Romola Borria that she was nothing short of a mind-reader. Instead, he +nodded his head for her to continue. + +"As I was saying, you met Miss Vost, quite by accident, and danced with +her at a fancy dress ball at the Astor House. You wore the costume of +a Japanese merchant, I believe, thinking, a little fatuously, if you +will permit me, that those garments were a disguise. A little later in +the bar at the Palace Hotel, after you left Miss Vost, you met a sea +captain, ex-first mate of the Toyo Kisen Kaisha steamer, the _Sunyado +Maru_. He was an old friend. + +"With Captain MacLaurin and Miss Vost you made a trip on the +Yangtze-Kiang in a little river steamer, the _Hankow_, which foundered +in the rapids just below Ching-Fu. This occurred after you had stabbed +and killed one of their most trusted spies. + +"When the _Hankow_ sank, you followed what now appears to be your +professional habit of a trustworthy gallant, by taking a lady in +distress into your arms, and swam the whirlpools to the little village +across the river from Ching-Fu. Then Miss Vost was met by her father, +an incurable missionary from Wenchow, and by devious routes, well known +to _them_, you joined a caravan, owned by a garrulous old thief who +calls himself a mandarin, the Mandarin Chang, who told you many lies, +to amuse himself-- + +"Of course they were lies, Mr. Moore. Chang is one of _his_ most +trusted henchmen. He even permitted you to kill one of his coolies. +The coolie would have died anyway; he was beginning to learn too much. +But it tickled Chang, and _him_, to let you have this chance, to see +how far you would go. And Chang had orders to help you reach Len Yang. +It gave you confidence in yourself, did it not?" + +"I don't believe a word," declared Peter in a daze. He refused to +believe that Chang, kindly old Chang, was in league with that man, too. + +"Then you entered Len Yang, the City of Stolen Lives, and _he_ watched +you, and when you heard a difficult wireless message on the instruments +at the mine, _he_ gave you a present of money--five hundred taels, +wasn't it?--hoping, perhaps, that you would 'give up your foolishness,' +as he expressed it, and settle down to take the place of the +opium-befuddled wireless man you fooled so cleverly. _He_ valued you, +Mr. Moore, you see, and he was not in the least afraid of you! + +"A dozen times, yes, a hundred times, he could have killed you. But he +preferred to sit back and stroke those long, yellow, mandarin mustaches +of his, and watch you, as a cat watches a foolish mouse. I can see him +laughing now. Yes! I have seen him, and I have heard him laugh. It +is a hideous, cackling laugh. Quite unearthly! How he did laugh at +you when you rescued Miss Vost, dear little clinging Miss Vost, from +the jaws of his white palace! + +"But he let you go; and he and his thousand sharpshooters who lined the +great, green walls, when you and Captain MacLaurin and Miss Vost +galloped bravely out, with one poor little mule! A thousand rifles, I +say, were leveled upon you in that bright moonlight, Mr. Moore. But +_he_ said--_no_!" + +Peter looked up at the stolid rigging of the _Persian Gulf_, at the +sunlight dancing brightly on the blue waves, which foamed at their +crests like fresh, boiling milk; at the passengers sleeping or reading +in their deck chairs; and he refused to believe that this was not a +dream. But the level voice of Romola Borria purred on: + +"Then you joined a caravan for India, and, for a little while, they +thought your trail was lost. But you reappeared in Mandalay, attired +as a street fakir; and you limped all the way to Rangoon. Why did you +limp, Mr. Moore?" + +"A mule stamped on my foot, coming through the Merchants' Pass into +Bengal." + +"It healed rapidly, no doubt, for you were very active from that time +on. You took passage to Penang, to Singapore, doubling back to Penang, +and again to Singapore, and caught a blue-funnel steamer for Batavia." + +"But, Miss Borria," writhed Peter, "why, with all this knowledge, +hasn't he done away with me? You know. _He_ knows. You've had your +chance. You could have killed me in your stateroom last night. +Please----" And Peter cast the golden robe of the adventurer +temporarily from him, becoming for the moment nothing more than a +terribly earnest, terribly concerned young man. + +"I gave you an inkling last night," replied Romola Borria composedly. +"Until you left Batavia _he_ believed that you had given up your +nonsense. The coolie you threw overboard in Batavia was there, not to +stab you, but to warn you away from China. Those warnings, of which +you have had many, are now things of the past. You have thrown down +the glove to him once too often. He is through toying. + +"It was great fun for him, and he enjoyed it. He treats his enemies +that way--for a while. You have now entered upon the second stage of +enmity with him. Last night was a sample of what you may expect from +now on. Only the sheerest luck saved you from the coolie's bullet--and +my almost-too-tardy intervention." + +Peter gave her a hard, thoughtful and a thoroughly respectful stare. + +"I take it," he said, "that you are a special emissary, a sort of +minister plenipotentiary, from the Gray Dragon. As a matter of fact, +you are here simply to persuade me to correct my erring ways; to +persuade me to give you my promise for _him_ that I will put China and +Len Yang forever out of my plans." + +"Express it any way you please, Mr. Moore. I have told you about all +that I am able. I know this game, if you will permit me, a little, +just a little better than you do, Mr. Moore. I know when fun stops and +downright danger begins. The moment you put your foot in China, you +are putting your foot in a trap from which you can never, never so long +as you are permitted to live, extricate yourself. And, believe me, +seriously, that will not be for long. A day? Perhaps. An hour? Very +likely not any longer than that. + +"Call me a special emissary if you choose. Perhaps I am. Perhaps I am +only a friend, who desires above everything else to help you avoid a +most certain and a most unpleasant death. I have given you your +opportunity. From my heart I gave you, and I still do give you, the +chance to leave--with me. Yes; I mean that. Your promise, backed by +your word of honor, is a passport to safety for both of us. Your +refusal, I might as well confess, means to me--death! Won't you stop +and consider? Won't you say--yes?" + +Peter's head had snapped back during this epilogue; his white-clad +shoulders were squared, and his blue eyes were lighted by a fire that +might have made a Crusader envious. + +"You may report to him," said he, "that I have listened to his +proposal; that I have considered it calmly; and that, as long as the +gauntlet is down--it is--_down_! I want but one thing: a man's chance +at that beast. You can tell him just that from me, Miss Borria. I am +sorry." + +She seemed on the point of uttering a final word, a word that might +have been of the greatest importance to Peter the Brazen; but the word +never got beyond her lips. + +Into her eyes crept a look of despair, of mute horror. She half raised +her hand; withdrew it. Her shoulders sagged. She staggered to a deck +chair, and sank into it, with her head back, her eyes closed, her long, +dark lashes lying upon cheeks that had become marble. + +Standing there with his eyes glued to the blue of the sea, Peter the +Brazen felt the confidence oozing from him as water oozes out of a +leaky pail. He felt himself in the presence of a relentless power +which was slowly settling down upon him, crushing him, and overpowering +him. + +It occurred to him as his thoughts raced willy-nilly, to flash a call +of help to the gunboat which prowled south of Luzon, a call which would +have met with a response swift and energetic. + +Yet that impulse smacked of the blunderer. It would put an end forever +to his high plan, now boiling more strongly than ever before, in the +back of his racked brain: to meet and some day put down the beast in +Len Yang. + +A bright, waving hand distracted his attention from the sea. The maid +from Macassar was endeavoring to attract him. He looked down with a +pale, haggard smile. + +"You have not forgotten--Kowloon, _busar satu_?" said her tinkling +little voice. + +"Not I, small one!" Peter called back in accents that entirely lacked +their accustomed gaiety. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +During the remainder of the voyage Romola Borria did not once, so far +as Peter was aware, leave her stateroom. Her meals were sent there, +and there she remained, sending out word in response to his inquiries +that she was ill, could see no one--not that Peter, after that latest +astounding interview, cared particularly to renew the friendship. He +was simply thoughtful. + +Yet he felt a little angry at his demonstration of frank selfishness, +and not a little uneasy at the uncanny precision of her recital of his +recent history, an uneasiness which grew, until he found himself +waiting with growing concern for the rock-bound shore-line of Hong Kong +to thrust its black-and-green shoulders above the horizon. + +The _Persian Gulf_ anchored outside at night, and in the morning +steamed slowly in amidst the maze of masts, of sampans and junks, which +latter lay with their sterns pointing grotesquely upward, resembling +nothing so closely as great brown hawks which had flown down from a +Brobdingnagian heaven, to select with greater convenience and +fastidiousness what prey might fall within reach of their talons. + +Peter was aware that many of these junks were pirate ships, audacious +enough to pole into Victoria Harbor under the very guns of the forts, +under the noses of battleships of every nation. + +When the launch from quarantine swung alongside, Peter went below and +changed from the uniform to a light, fresh suit of Shantung silk, a +soft collar, a soft Bangkok hat, and comfortable, low walking shoes, +not neglecting to knot about his waist the blue sarong. + +The steerage passengers were lined up when he came above a little +later, sticking out their tongues for the eagle-eyed doctors, and +giggling at a proceeding serious enough, had they known it, to send +every mother's son and daughter of them back to the land whence they +came, if they displayed so much as a slight blemish, for Hong Kong was +then in the throes of her latest cholera scare. + +Satisfied at length that the eyes and tongues of the steerage and deck +passengers gave satisfactorily robust testimony, the doctors came up to +the first-class passengers, who stood in line on the promenade deck; +and Peter saw the change that had come over Romola Borria. + +Her face bore the pallor of the grave. Her large, lustrous eyes were +sunken, and lines seemed to have been engraved in a face that had +previously been as smooth and fair as a rose in bloom. + +He felt panic-stricken as she recognized him with an almost +imperceptible nod, and he stared at her a trifle longer than was +necessary, with his lips slightly ajar, his nails biting into his +palms, and he sensed rather than saw, that her beauty had been +transformed into one of gray melancholy. + +At that juncture, a tinkling voice shrilled up at him from the after +cargo-well, and Peter turned to see his small charge, the maid from +Macassar, smiling as she waited for him beside a small pile of silken +bundles of the rainbow's own colors. He had not forgotten the Eurasian +girl, but he desired to have a parting word with Romola Borria. + +He called over the rail, and instructed her of the black pigtail to +wait for him in a sampan, and he yelled down to one of the dozens of +struggling and babbling coolies, whose sampans swarmed like a horde of +cockroaches at the ladder's lower extremity. + +Romola Borria, alone, was awaiting him, adjusting her gloves, at the +doorway of the wireless cabin when he made his way back to that quarter +of the ship. She greeted him with a slow, grave smile; and by that +smile Peter was given to know how she had suffered. + +Her face again became a mask, a mask of death, indeed, as her lids +fluttered down and then raised; and her eyes were tired. + +He extended his hand, trying to inject some of his accustomed +cheerfulness into the gesture and into the smile which somehow would +not form naturally on his lips. + +"This--is _adieu_--or _au revoir_?" he said solemnly. + +"I hope--_au revoir_," she replied dully. "So, after all, you refuse +to take my counsel, my advice, seriously?" + +Peter shrugged. "I'm rather afraid I can't," he said. "You see, I'm +young. And you can say to yourself, or out loud without fear of +hurting my feelings, that I am--foolish. I guess it is one of the +hardships of being young--this having to be foolish. Wasn't it to-day +that I was to become immortal, with a knife through my floating ribs, +or a bullet in my heart? + +"As I grow older I will become more serious, with balance. Perish the +thought! But in the end--shucks! Confucius, wasn't it--that dear old +philosopher who could never find a king to try out his theories on--who +said: + + "The great mountain must crumble. + The strong beam must break. + The wise man must wither away like a plant." + + +She nodded. + +"I am afraid you will never become serious, Mr. Moore. And perhaps +that is one of the reasons why I've grown so--so fond of you in this +short while. If I could take life--and death--as stoically, as +happily, as you--oh, God!" + +She shut her eyes. Tears were in their rims when she opened them again. + +"Mr. Moore, I'll make a foolish confession, too, now. It is--I love +you. And in return----" + +"I think you're the bravest girl in the world," said Peter, taking her +hands with a movement of quick penitence. "You--you're a brick." + +"I guess I am," she sighed, looking moodily away. "A brick of clay! +Perhaps it is best to walk into the arms of your enemies the way you +do, with your head back and eyes shining and a smile of contempt on +your lips. If I only could!" + +"Why speak of death on a day like this?" said Peter lightly. "Life is +so beautiful. See those red-and-yellow blossoms on the hill, near the +governor's place, and the poor little brats on that sampan, thinking +they're the happiest kids in the world. What hurts them, hurts them; +what pleases them, pleases them. They're happy because they don't +bother to anticipate. And think of life, beautiful old life, brimming +over with excitement and the mystery of the very next moment!" + +"If I could only see that next moment!" + +"Ugh! What a dreary monotony life would become!" + +"But we could be sure. We could prepare for--for--well----" She threw +up her head defiantly. "For death, I'll say." + +"But please don't let's talk of death. Let's talk of the fine time you +and I are going to have when we see each other again." + +"Will there be another time, Peter?" + +"Why, of course! You name that time; any time, any place. We'll eat +and drink and chatter like a couple of parrots. And you will forget +all this--this that is behind us." + +Her teeth clicked. + +"To-night," she said quickly. "I'll meet you. Let me see. On the +Desvoeux Road side of the Hong Kong Hotel balcony, the restaurant, +upstairs, you know." + +"Right!" agreed Peter with enthusiasm. "Will we let husband go along?" + +Her face suddenly darkened. She shook her head. + +"I will be alone. So will you, at seven o'clock. You'll be there, +without fail?" + +A coolie guarded her luggage near by impatiently. They could hear the +sobbing of the J. C. J. passenger launch as it rounded the starboard +counter. + +"I forget," said Peter, with his flashing smile. "I'll be dead in an +hour. The steel trap of China, you know." + +"Please don't jest." + +"I'll tell you what I will do. I'll put a tag on my lapel, saying, +deliver this corpse to the Desvoeux Road balcony of the Hong Kong Hotel +restaurant at seven sharp to-night! Without fail! C. O. D.!" + +These last words were addressed to the empty wireless cabin doorway. +The white skirt of Romola Borria flashed like a taunting signal as she +hastened out of his sight with the boy who carried her grips. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +Wearing a slight frown, Peter made his way through piles of +indiscriminate luggage to the port ladder, where his sampan and the +maid from Macassar were waiting. + +As he descended this contrivance he scanned the other sampans warily, +and in one of these he saw a head which protruded from a low cabin. +The sampan was a little larger than the others, and it darted in and +out on the edge of the waiting ones. + +The head vanished the instant Peter detected it, but it made a sharp +image in his memory, a face he would have difficulty in forgetting. It +was a long, chalk-white face, topped by a black fedora hat--a face +garnished at the thin gray lips by a mustache, black and spikelike, +resembling nothing more closely than the coal-black mustache affected +by the old-time melodrama villains. + +An hour of life? Did this man have concealed under his black coat the +knife which had been directed by the beast in Len Yang to seek out his +heart, to snuff out his existence, the existence of a trifling enemy? + +As Peter reached the shelving at the foot of the ladder the thought +grew and blossomed, and the picture was not a pleasant one. The man in +the sampan, as Peter could judge by his face, would probably prove to +be a tall and muscular individual. + +And then Peter caught sight of another face, but the owner of it +remained above-board. This man was stout and gray, with a face more +subtly malignant. It was a red face, cut deep at the eyes, and in the +region of the large purple nose, with lines of weather or dissipation. +Blue eyes burned out of the red face, faded blue eyes, that were, +despite their lack of lustre, sharp and cunning. + +The hand of its owner beckoned imperiously for Peter, and he shouted +his name; and Peter was assured that in the other hand was concealed +the knife or the pistol of his doom. + +With these not altogether pleasant ideas commanding his brain he jumped +into the sampan in which the maid from Macassar was smilingly waiting. + +Peter saw that his coolie was big and broad, with muscles which stood +out like ropes on his thick, sun-burned arms and legs. He gave the +coolie his instructions, as the sampan occupied by the red-faced man +was all the while endeavoring to wiggle closer. Again the man called +Peter by name, peremptorily, but Peter paid no heed. + +"To Kowloon. Chop-chop!" shouted Peter. "_Cumshaw_. Savvy?" He +displayed in his palm three silver dollars and the coolie bent his back +to the sweep, the sampan heeling out from the black ironside like a +thing alive. + +Behind them, as this manoeuvre was executed, Peter saw the two duly +accredited agents of the Gray Dragon fall in line. But Peter had +selected with wisdom. The coolie verified with the passage of every +moment the power his ropy muscles implied. Inch by inch, and yard by +yard, they drew, away from the pursuing sampans. + +Then something resembling the scream of an enraged parrot sang over +their heads, and he instinctively ducked, turning to see from which of +the sampans this greeting had come. + +A faint puff of light-blue smoke sailed down the wind between the two. +Which one? It was difficult to say. + +They were beginning to leave the pursuit decidedly in the lurch now. +Peter's coolie, with his long legs braced far apart on the +running-boards, bent his back, swaying like a mighty metronome from +port to starboard, from starboard to port, whipping the water into an +angry, milky foam. + +The pursuers crept up and fell back by fits and starts; slowly the +distance widened. + +The girl crouched down in the cabin, and Peter, with his automatic in +his hand, waited for another tell-tale puff of blue smoke. + +Finally this puff occurred, low on the deck of the larger craft. The +bullet plunked into the water not two feet from the sweep, and the +coolie, inspired by the knowledge that he, too, was inextricably +wrapped up in this race of life and death, sweated, and shouted in the +savage "Hi! Ho! Hay! Ho!" of the coolie who dearly loves his work. + +Satisfied as to the origin of both bullets, Peter took careful aim at +the yellow sampan and emptied his magazine, slipping another clip of +cartridges into the oblong hole as he watched for the result. + +The yellow sampan veered far from her course, and a sweep floated on +the surface some few yards aft. Then the sampan lay as if dead. But +the other plunged on after. + +This exciting race and the blast of Peter's automatic now attracted the +earnest attention of a gray little river gunboat, just down from +up-stream, and inured to such incidents as this. + +A one-pound shell snarled overhead, struck the water a hundred yards +further on, near the Kowloon shore, and sent up a foaming white pillar. + +The pier at Kowloon loomed close and more close. It was unlikely that +the gunboat would follow up the shot with another, and in this guess, +Peter, as the French say, "had reason." + +The fires under the gunboat's boilers were drawn, and there was no time +for the launching of a cutter. + +A great contentment settled down upon Peter's heart when he saw that +the oncoming sampan could not reach the pier until he and his charge +were out of sight, or out of reach, at least. + +He examined his watch. The gods were with him. It lacked three +minutes of train-time. + +It was only a hope that he and the girl would be safe on board the +Canton train before the red-faced man could catch up. + +The sampan rubbed the green timbers of the Kowloon landing stage. +Peter tossed up the girl's luggage in one large armful, lifted her by +the armpits to the floor of the pier, and relieved himself hastily of +four dollars (Mexican), by which the grunting coolie was gratefully, +and for some few hours, richer. + +They dashed to the first-class compartment, and Peter dragged the girl +in beside him. + +"To Canton, too?" she inquired in surprise. + +Peter nodded. He slammed the door. A whistle screamed, and the +station of Kowloon, together with the glittering waters of the blue +bay, and the white city of Hong Kong, across the bay, all began moving, +first slowly, then with acceleration, as the morning express for Canton +slid out on the best-laid pair of rails in southern China. + +Had his red-faced pursuer caught up in time? Peter prayed not. He was +tingling with the thrill of the chase; and he turned his attention to +the small maiden who sat cuddled close to his side, with hands folded +demurely before her, imprisoning between them the overlap of his +flaunting blue sarong. + +"We are safe, brave one?" she was desirous of knowing. + +He patted her hand reassuringly, and she caught at it, lowering her +green-blue eyes to the dusty floor, and sighing. + +Peter might have paused in his rapid meditations long enough to be +aware that, here he was, dropped--plump--into the center of another +ring of romance; nothing having separated him from his last love but +two misdirected revolver shots, the warning boom of a gunboat's bow +cannon, and a mad chase across Victoria Bay. + +Holding hands breaks no known law; yet Peter was not entirely aware +that he was committing this act, as his eyes, set and hard, stared out +of the window at the passing pagodas with their funny turned-up roofs. + +His mind was working on other matters. Perhaps for the first time +since the _Persian Gulf_ had dropped anchor to the white sand of +Victoria Harbor's bottom, he began to realize the grim seriousness of +Romola Borria's warning. He was hemmed in. He was helpless. + +An hour to live! An hour alive! But he was willing to make the very +best of that hour. + +Absently, then by degrees not so absently, he alternately squeezed and +loosened the small, cool hands of the maid from Macassar. And she +returned the pressure with a timid confidence that made him stop and +consider for a moment something that had entirely slipped his mind +during the past few days. + +Was he playing quite squarely with Eileen Lorimer? Had he been +observing perhaps the word but not the letter of his self-assumed oath? +On the other hand, mightn't it be possible that Eileen Lorimer had +ceased to care for him? With time and the miles stretching between +them, wasn't it quite possible that she had shaken herself, recognized +her interest in him as one only of passing infatuation, and, perhaps +already, had given her love to some other? + +A silly little rhyme of years ago occurred to him: + + Love me close! Love me tight! _But_ + Love me when I'm out of sight! + + +And perhaps because Peter had fallen into one of his reasoning moods, +he asked himself whether it was fair to carry the flirtation any +further with the girl snuggled beside him. He knew that the hearts of +Oriental girls open somewhat more widely to the touch of affection than +their Western sisters. And it was not in the nature of women of the +East to indulge extensively in the Western form of idle flirtation. +The lowering of the eyelids, the flickering of a smile, had meaning and +depth in this land. + +Was this girl flirting with him, or was hers a deeper interest? That +was the question! He took the latter view. + +And because he knew, from his own experience, that the hearts of lovers +sometimes break at parting, he finally relinquished the cool, small +hands and thrust his own deep into his pockets. + +There was no good reason, apart from his own selfishness, why he should +give a pang of any form to the trustful young heart which fluttered so +close at his side. + +"Where does your aged grandmother live, small one?" he asked her +briskly, in the most unsentimental tones imaginable. + +"I have the address here, _birahi_," she replied, diving into her satin +blouse and producing a slip of rice paper upon which was scrawled a +number of dead-black symbols of the Chinese written language. + +"A rickshaw man can find the place, of course," he said. "Now, look +into my eyes, small one, and listen to what I say." + +"I listen closely, _birahi_," said the small one. + +"I want you to stop calling me _birahi_. I am not your love, can never +be your love, nor can you ever be mine." + +"But why, _bi_--my brave one?" + +"Because--because, I am a wicked one, an _orang gila_, a destroyer of +good, a man of no heart, or worse, a black one." + +"Oh, Allah, what lies!" giggled the maid. + +"Yes, and a liar, too," declared Peter venomously, permitting his fair +features to darken with the blackest of looks. Was she flirting with +him? "A man who never told the truth in his life. A bad, bad man," he +finished lamely. + +"But why are you telling such things to me, my brave one?" came the +provocative answer. + +She _was_ flirting with him. + +Nevertheless, he merely grunted and relapsed again into the form of +meditative lethargy which of late had grown habitual if not popular +with him. + +A little after noon the train thundered into the narrow, dirty streets +of China's most flourishing city, geographically, the New Orleans of +the Celestial Empire; namely, Canton, on the Pearl River. + +As Peter and his somewhat amused young charge emerged into the street +he cast a furtive glance back toward the station, and was dumfounded to +glimpse, not two yards away, the man with the red, deeply marked face. +His blue eyes were ablaze, and he advanced upon Peter threateningly. + +It was a situation demanding decisive, direct action. Peter, hastily +instructing the girl to hold two rickshaws, leaped at his pursuer with +doubled fists, even as the man delved significantly into his hip-pocket. + +Peter let him have it squarely on the blunt nub of his red jaw, aiming +as he sprang. + +His antagonist went down in a cursing heap, sprawling back with the +look in his washed-out eyes of a steer which has been hit squarely in +the center of the brow. + +He fell back on his hands and lay still, dazed, muttering, and +struggling to regain the use of his members. + +Before he could recover Peter was up and away, springing lightly into +the rickshaw. They turned and darted up one narrow, dirty alley into a +narrower and dirtier one, the two coolies shouting in blasphemous +chorus to clear the way as they advanced. + +After a quarter of an hour of twisting and splashing and turning, the +coolies stopped in front of a shop of clay-blue stone. + +Paying off the coolies, Peter entered, holding the door for the girl, +and sliding the bolt as he closed it after her. + +He found himself in the presence of a very old, very yellow, and very +wrinkled Chinese woman, who smiled upon the two of them perplexedly, +nodding and smirking, as her frizzled white pigtail flopped and +fluttered about in the clutter on the shelves behind her. + +It was a shop for an antique collector to discover, gorged with objects +of bronze, of carved sandalwood, of teak, grotesque and very old, of +shining red and blue and yellow beads, of old gold and old silver. + +On the low, narrow counter she had placed a shallow red tray filled +with pearls; imitations, no doubt, but exquisite, perfect, of all +shapes; bulbular, pear, button, and of most enticing colors. + +But the small girl was babbling, and a look of the most profound +surprise came slowly into the old woman's face. A little pearl-like +tear sparkled in either of her old eyes, and she gathered this +cherished grand-daughter from far away Macassar into her thin arms. + +At that sight Peter felt himself out of place, an intruder, an +interloper. The scene was not meant for his eyes. He was an alien in +a strange land. + +As he hesitated, conjuring up words of parting with his little friend, +he gasped. Peering through the thick window-pane in the door was the +red-faced man, and his look sent a curdle of fear into Peter's brave +heart. Would he shoot through the pane? + +The girl, too, saw. She chattered a long moment to her wrinkled +grandmother, and this latter leaped to the door and shot a second +strong bolt. She pointed excitedly to a rear door, low and green, set +deep in the blue stone. + +Peter leaped toward it. Half opening this, he saw a tiny garden +surrounded by low, gray walls. He paused. The maid from Macassar was +behind him. She followed him out and closed the door. + +"_Birahi_," she said in her tinkling voice, and with gravity far in +advance of her summers, "we must part now--forever?" + +He nodded, as he searched the wall for a likely place to jump. "It is +the penalty of friendship, _birahi_. You do not mind if I call you +_birahi_ in our last moment together?" + +"No. No." + +"I am curious, so curious, my brave one, about the red-faced man, and +the one with the black coat. But we women are meant for silence. +_Birahi_, I have played no part--I have been like a dead lily--a +burden. Perhaps, if you are in great danger----" + +"I am in great danger, small one. The red toad wants my life, and you +must detain him." + +"I will talk to him! But the others, the black-coated one--what of +them? They would like the feel of your blood on their hands, too!" + +Peter nodded anxiously. He was thinking of Romola Borria. + +"I will do anything," declared the maid from Macassar patiently. + +"Has your grandmother a sampan, a trustworthy coolie?" + +"Aie, _birahi_! She is rich!" + +"Then have that coolie be at the Hong Kong landing stage with his +sampan at midnight. Have him wait until morning. If I do not come by +dawn he will return immediately to Canton. By dawn, if I am not there, +it will mean----" + +"Death?" The small voice was tremulous. + +Peter nodded. + +"If the _fokie_ returns with that message, you will write a short +note----" + +"To one you love?" + +"To one I love. In America. The name is Eileen Lorimer; the address, +Pasadena, California. You will say simply, 'Peter Moore is dead.'" + +"Ah! I must not say that. It will break her heart! But you must go +now, my brave one. I will talk to the red toad!" + +The green door closed softly; and Peter was left to work out the +problem of his escape, which he did in an exceedingly short space of +time. Even as he took the fence in a single bound he fancied he could +hear the panting of the red-faced man at his heels. + +He found himself in a crooked alleyway, which forked out of sight at a +near-by bend. Speeding to this point, he came out upon a somewhat +broader thoroughfare. He looked hastily for a rickshaw but none was in +sight. + +So he ran blindly on, resorting at intervals to his old trick of +doubling back, to confuse his pursuers. He did this so well that +before long he had lost his sense of direction, and the sun having gone +from the sight of man behind a mass of dark and portentous clouds. + +At length he came to the City of the Dead, and sped on past the +ivy-covered wall, circling, doubling back, and giving what pursuit +there might have been a most tortuous trail to follow. + +He was hooted at and jeered at by coolies and shrieking children, but +he ran on, putting the miles behind him, and finally dropped into a +slow trot, breathing like a spent race-horse. + +At the pottery field he found a rickshaw, estimated that he still had +time to spare to make the Hong Kong train, and was driven to the +station. Dead or alive, he had promised to deliver himself to Romola +Borria at the Hong Kong Hotel at seven. + +Visions of the malignant face of his red-featured enemy were constantly +in his mind. + +But he breathed more easily as the train chugged out of the grim, gray +station. He sank back in the seat, letting his thoughts wander where +they would, and beginning to feel, as the miles were unspun, that he +was at least one jump ahead of the red death which had threatened him +since his departure from the friendly shelter of the _Persian Gulf_. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +The shadows were lengthening, the sky was of a deeper and vaster blue, +when the train came to a creaking stop in the Kowloon Station. + +Peter emerged, scanning the passengers warily, but catching not a +glimpse of his red-faced enemy. What did that one have in store for +him now? This chase was becoming a game of hide-and-seek. But in Hong +Kong he would feel safer. Hong Kong was a haunt of civilized men and +of able Sikh policemen, who detested the yellow men of China. + +He took the ferry-boat across the bay to the city, which rose tier upon +tier of white from the purple water; and he made his way afoot to the +American consulate. + +With auspicious celerity the sad-eyed clerk bowed him into the presence +of an elderly gentleman with white side whiskers and an inveterate +habit of stroking a long and angular nose. + +This personage permitted his shrewd, grave eyes to take in Peter from +his blond hair to his tan walking shoes, and with a respectful mien +Peter prepared his wits for a sharp and digging cross-examination. + +"I have been advised," began the American consul, giving to Peter's +blue eyes a look of curiosity in which was mingled not a little +unconcealed admiration, as he might have looked upon the person of +Pancho Villa, had that other miscreant stepped into his gloomy +office--"I have been advised," he repeated importantly, "by the +commander of the auxiliary cruiser _Buffalo_ that you contemplated a +visit to Hong Kong." + +He sank back and stared, and it took Peter several moments to become +aware that the content of the remark was not nearly so important as its +pronunciation. The remark was somewhat obvious. The American consul +desired Peter to make the opening. + +Peter inclined his head as he slowly digested the statement. + +"I was told by Commander Eckles to report to you," he replied +respectfully, "for orders." + +The American consul laid his hands firmly upon the edge of the mahogany +desk. + +"My orders, Mr. Moore, are that you leave China immediately. I +trust----" + +"Why?" said Peter in a dry voice. + +"That is a matter which, unfortunately, I cannot discuss with you. The +order comes, I am permitted to inform you, from the highest of +diplomatic quarters. To be exact, from Peking, and from the American +ambassador, to be more specific." + +It was crystal clear to Peter that the American consul was not +cognizant of what might be behind those orders from the American +ambassador; yet his face, for all of its diplomatic masking, told Peter +plainly that the American consul was not entirely averse to learning. + +"Have I been interfering with the lawful pursuits of the Chinese +Empire?" he inquired ironically. + +The American consul stroked his long nose pensively. + +"Well--perhaps," he said. "On the whole, that is something you can +best explain yourself, Mr. Moore. If you should care to give me your +side of the question, ah----" + +"I haven't a thing to say," rejoined Peter. "If the United States +Government chooses to believe that my presence is inimical to its +interests in China----" + +"Pressure might have been brought to bear from another quarter." + +"Quite so," admitted Peter. + +"Now, if you should desire to make me acquainted with your pursuits +during the past--ah--few months, let us say, it is within the bounds of +possibility that I might somehow rescind this drastic--ah--order. +Suffice it to say, that I shall be glad to put my every power at your +aid. As you are an American, it is my duty and my pleasure, sir, if +you will permit me, to do all within my power, my somewhat restricted +power, if I may qualify that statement, to reinstate you in the good +graces of those--ah--good gentlemen in Peking." + +It was all too evident that, back and beyond the friendly intentions of +this official, was a hungry desire for information regarding this young +man whose dark activities had been recognized by the high powers to an +extent sufficient to set in motion the complicated and bulky wheels of +diplomacy. + +Peter shook his head respectfully, and the consul permitted his +reluctantly admiring and inquisitive gaze to travel up and down the +romantic and now international figure. + +"I am able to say nothing," he expressed himself quietly. "If the +American ambassador has decreed that I ought to go home--home I go! +I'll confess right now that I did not intend to go home when I stepped +into this office, but I do respect, and I will respect, the authority +of that order." + +"If the President, for example, should request you to +continue--ah--what you have been doing, for the good, let us say, of +humanity, you would continue without hesitation, Mr. Moore?" + +Peter gave the long, pale face a sharp scrutiny. Did this +innocent-faced man know more than he intimated, or was he merely +applying the soft, velvet screws of diplomacy, endeavoring to squeeze +out a little information? + +"I certainly would." + +The consul rose, with a bland smile, and extended his hand. + +"It has been gratifying to know one who has become such a singular, +and, permit me to add, such a trying figure, in diplomatic circles, +during the past week. Good-day, sir!" + +Peter walked down Desvoeux road in a state of mental detachment. A +week! Only a week had passed since he had sailed from Batavia, a week +since he had thrown overboard the emissary of the Gray Dragon. He +concluded that in more than one way could his presence be dismissed +from the land of darkness and distrust. + +How had the Gray Dragon brought pressure upon the American ambassador, +a man of the highest repute, of sterling and patriotic qualities? The +answer seemed to be, that the coils of the Gray Dragon extended +everywhere, like an inky fluid which had leaked into every crevice and +crack of all Asia. + +He was still under orders to pay a visit to J. B. Whalen, the Marconi +supervisor. That cross-examination he was glad to postpone. + +He called at the office of the Pacific Mail, and found that the _King +of Asia_ was due to leave for the United States the following morning +at dawn. He made a deposit on a reservation. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +The hour lacked a few minutes of seven when Peter ascended in the lift +to the second floor of the Hong-Kong Hotel and made his way between the +closely packed tables to the Desvoeux Road balcony. + +Romola Borria was not yet in evidence. + +He selected a table which commanded a view of the entrance, toyed with +the menu card, absent-mindedly ordered a Scotch highball, and slowly +scrutinized the occupants of the tables in his neighborhood. He felt +vaguely annoyed, slightly uneasy, without being able to sift out the +cause. + +For a moment he regretted his audacity in encountering the curious eyes +of Hong Kong society, a society in which there would inevitably be +present a number of his enemies. It cannot be denied that a number of +eyes studied him leisurely and at some pains, over teacups, +wine-glasses, and fans. + +But these were for the larger part women, and Peter was more or less +immune to the curious, bright-eyed glances of this sex. + +His attire was somewhat rakish for the occasion; and it appeared that +sarongs were not being sported by the more refined class of male +diners, who affected as a mass the sombre black of dinner jackets. At +all Hong Kong hotels the custom is evening dress for dinner, and Peter +felt shabby and shoddy in his silk suit, his low shoes, his soft collar. + +An orchestra of noble proportions struggled effectively in the moist, +warm atmosphere somewhere in its concealment behind a distant palm +arbor with "Un Peu d'Amour," and also out of Peter's sight, an +impassioned and metallic tenor was sobbing: + + "Jaw-s-s-st a lee-e-e-edle lof-f-ff-- + A le-e-e-edle ke-e-e-e-e-e-s--" + + +And Peter in his perturbation wished that both blatant orchestra and +impassioned tenor were concealed behind a sound-proof stone wall. + +He was tossing off the dregs of the highball when there occurred a +low-voiced murmur at his side, and he arose to confront the pale, worn +face of Romola. She gave him her hand limply, and settled down across +from him, her eyes darting from table to table, and occasionally +nodding rather stiffly and impersonally as she recognized some one. + +"You see"--he smiled at her, as she settled back and fostered upon him +a look of brooding tenderness--"you see, my dear, I am here, untagged. +Nearly twelve hours have passed since you sounded that note of ominous +warning. I have yet to feel the thrill, just before I die, of that +dagger sliding between my ribs." + +She accepted this with a nod almost indifferent. + +"Simply because I have persuaded them to extend your parole to one +o'clock. If you linger in China, you have--and need I say that the +same applies to me--six more hours in which to jest, to laugh, to +love--to live!" + +"For which I am, as always in the face of favors, duly grateful," said +Peter in high humor. "None the less I have this day, since we parted +this morning, indulged in one pistol duel between sampans, with one of +your admirable confreres----" + +"Yes, I heard of that. But it stopped there. You winged his sampan +coolie." + +"And at the Canton station, if I may be pardoned for contradicting, I +encountered the red-faced one. To tell you what you may already know, +I punched him in the jaw, dog-gone him!" + +She seemed to be distressed. + +"You must be mistaken." + +Peter shook his head forcibly. "A choleric gentleman born with the +habit of reaching for his hip-pocket," he amplified. + +She studied him with wide, speculative eyes. "He must be from the +north. Some of them I do not know. But all of them have been +informed." + +"To permit me to live and love until one to-morrow morning?" + +She nodded. + +The aspiring and perspiring orchestra and the impassioned tenor had +again reached the chorus of "Un Peu d'Amour." + + "I could ge-e-e-eve you al-l-l my life for the-e-e-e-s--" + + +"Badly sung, but appropriate," commented Romola Borria. + +Peter's countenance became a question mark. + +"It may mean that I am giving you all my life for--this," she explained. + +"For these few minutes, when we were to chatter, and make love, and be +happy?" Peter demanded indignantly. "My dear----" He reached out for +her hand, and she let him fondle it, not reluctantly. "I'd give all my +life, too, for these few minutes with you. Do you know--you're +perfectly adorable to-night! There's something--something irresistible +about you--to me!" + +"To you?" + +"Yes," he said in a deep voice, and sincerely. "I'd come all the way +'round the world, and lay my life at your feet--thus." And he placed +his knuckles on the white cloth, as if they were knees. + +"Ah! But you don't mean that!" + +"When I'm in love, I mean everything!" + +"I know. You are fickle. Miss Lorimer--Miss--Vost--Romola--they come, +they love, they are gone, quite as fatefully and systematically as life +follows death, and death follows life." + +"I do wish you wouldn't talk about death in that flippant manner," he +gibed, wondering how under the sun he might get her out of this gloomy +mood. + +"But death is in my mind always--Peter. When you have gone through----" + +"Romola, I refuse to be lectured." + +"Very well; I refuse to talk of anything but love and death." + +"Excellent, my own love! Tell me now how it feels when _you_ are in +the heavenly condition." + +"Most hopeless, Peter; because death, you see, is so close upon the +heels of my love." + +"Meaning--me?" + +"No--my heart. The death of love and the death--of life follow my +love. Now I want to pick up the threads of a moment ago. Peter, don't +hold my hand. That woman is--staring. You said--you said, you would +come away around the world to see me, to help me, possibly, if I were +in trouble. You weren't serious." + +"Cross my heart!" + +"On the _Persian Gulf_ that day--that day I told you something of your +recent adventures and your apparently miraculous escapes, I intended to +ask you----" + +"Seeress, I am all ears----" + +"I intended asking you a favor, a most important one, an +alternative----" + +"The trip to Nara?" + +"Yes; an alternative to that. Tell me truly how much at heart you hate +the man at Len Yang. Wait. Don't answer me yet. At heart, do you +really hate him, as you pretend, or are you simply bowing down to your +vanity, to the pride you seem to take in these quixotic deeds? For one +thing, there is very little money in what you are doing. If you should +approach these adventures a little differently, perhaps, you might put +yourself in a position to be rewarded for the troubles you take, the +dangers you risk. I mean that." + +"I admit I'm not a money hater," frowned Peter, striving without much +success to feel her trend. + +"It would be so easy for you to make all the money you need in only a +few years by--how shall I say it?--by 'being nice.' Wait! I have not +finished. You said I was a special emissary from him. You hit the +mark more squarely than you thought. Oh, I admit it! I was sent to +Batavia to meet you, to intercept you, and, to be quite frank, to ask +you your terms." + +"From _him_?" + +"Yes. He has observed you. He can use you, and oh!--how badly he +wants you and your boldness and that unconquerable fire of yours! He +needs you! He wants you, more than any man he has known! And he will +pay you! Name your price! A half million gold a year? Bah! It is a +drop to him!" + +"Don't," begged Peter in a whisper. "Please--don't--go on." + +His face had become almost as white as the tablecloth, and his lips +were trembling, ashen. + +"God! I put my confidence in you, time after time, and each time you +show me treachery, deeper, more hideous, than before. Please don't +continue. I'm trying, as hard as I know how, to appreciate your +position in this wretched mess--and trying to find some excuse for it. +For you! And it's hard. Damned, brutally hard. Let's part! Let's +forget! Let's be just memories to each other--Romola!" + +Her face, too, had lost its color, like life fading from a rose when +the stem is snapped. Her hand sought her throat and groped there, as +it always did in her moments of nervousness, and she drummed on the +cloth with a silver knife. She stared curiously at him, with the other +light dying hard. + +"Then I can only hope--a slender hope--to bring you back to the favor I +asked you originally, and I place that before you now, my request for +that favor--my final hope. You cannot refuse that. You cannot! You +profess to be chivalrous. Now, let me--test you!" + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +"Romola, I said no to Nara long ago." + +She threw up her head. + +"A woman should need to be informed but once that her love is not +wanted. This is not what I meant." + +"Ah! Another scheme! Your little brain is nothing short of an idea +machine. Remarkable! Go on." + +"No," she said, rather sullenly, at this flow of bitterness, "a +variation of my plan. If you will not accompany me to Nara, then I +must go alone. I must have money. Do you understand? I am penniless. +The _King of Asia_ leaves for Japan to-morrow, at dawn. I will never +return to China. Will you--help me?" + +"What do you mean by that? Will I break into the house and help you +rob?" + +"There is no other way. The money is in a desk, locked. I am not +strong enough to break the lock. You can. Then, too, there are some +papers of mine----" + +"Romola, will this give you the contentment you desire?" he said +sternly. + +"I--I think so. I hope so." + +"Then I will help you." + +"Oh, Peter, how can I----" + +He lifted his hand. "You see, my dear, you can't frighten me--easily. +You can't bribe me, Romola. But you can appeal to my weakness----" + +"A woman in distress--your weakness!" But there was no mockery in +either her voice or her eyes. It was more like a whisper of regret. + +"Romola, will you answer a question?" + +"I'll try!" + +"Why are beautiful women--girls--from all parts of the world stolen--to +work in that mine?" + +Romola looked at him queerly. "I do not know, Peter." + +They attacked the dinner, and by deft stages Peter led the conversation +to a lighter vein. It was nearly ten when they left, the dining-room +was all but deserted and they departed in high spirits, her arm within +his, her smile happy and apparently genuine. + +"We must wait until midnight," she informed him. "He will be asleep; +the servants will have retired." + +Peter suggested a rickshaw ride through the Chinese city to while away +the hours in between, but the girl demurred, and amended the suggestion +to a street-car ride to Causeway Bay. He consented, and they caught a +car in front of the hotel, and climbed to seats on the roof. + +He felt gay, excited by the thrill of their impending danger. She was +moody. In the bright moonlight on the crystal beach at Causeway Bay he +tried to make her dance with him. But she pushed his arms away, and +Peter, suddenly feeling the weight of some dark influence, he knew not +what, fell silent, and they rode back to the base of the peak road +having very little to say. + +At a few minutes past midnight they alighted from sedan chairs in the +hairpin trail beside the incline railway station at the peak, and as +they faced each other, the moon, white and gaunt, slipped from sight +behind a billowing black cloud, and the heavens were black and the +night was dark around them. + +She took his arm, leading him past the murky walls of the old fort, and +on up and up the sloping, rocky road, dimly revealed at intervals by +points of mysterious light. + +They came at length to a high, black hedge, and, groping cautiously +along this for a number of yards, found a ragged cleft. He held the +branches aside while she climbed through with a faint rustle of silken +underskirts. He followed after. + +By the dim, ghostly glow of the clouds behind which the moon was +floating he made out ominous shapes, scrawny trees and low, stunted +bushes. + +Hand in hand, with his heart beating very loudly and his breath burning +dry in his throat, they approached the desolate, gloomy house--her home! + +A low veranda, perhaps a sun-parlor, extended along the wing, and +toward this slight elevation the girl stealthily led him, without so +much as the cracking of a dry twig underfoot, peering from left to +right for indications that their visit was betrayed. + +But the house was still, and large and gloomy, and as silent as the +halls of death. + +They climbed upon the low veranda. The girl ran her fingers along the +French window which gave upon the hedged enclosure, and drew back upon +greased hinges the window, slowly, inch by inch, until it yawned, wide +open. + +He followed her into a room, dark as black velvet, weighted with the +indescribable, musty odors of an Oriental abode, and possessed of an +almost sensuous gloom, a mystic dreariness, a largeness which knew no +dimensions. + +As Peter cautiously advanced he was impressed, almost startled, by the +sense of vastness, and he was aware of great, looming proportions. + +Close at hand a clock ticked, slowly, drearily, as if the release of +each metallic click of the ancient cogs were to be the last, beating +like the rattling heart of a man in the arms of death. This noise, +like a great clatter, seemed to fill all space. + +And he was alone. + +Suddenly a yellow light glowed in the dark recesses of the high +ceiling, and Peter sprang back with his hand on the instant inside his +coat, where depended in its leather shoulder-sling the automatic. + +Across the great room the girl raised a steady hand, indicating a desk +of gigantic size, of ironwood or lignum-vitae. + +He found himself occupying the center of an enormous mandarin rug, with +letterings and grotesque designs in rich blood-reds, and blues and +yellows and browns. He gave the room a moment's survey before falling +to the task. + +The walls of this cavern were of satin, priceless rugs, which hung +without a quiver in the breathless gloom. Massive furniture, chairs, +tables, settees, of teak, of ebony and dark mahogany, with deep +carvings, glaring gargoyles and hideous masks, were arranged with an +apparent lack of plan. + +And against the far wall, with a face like the gibbous moon, stood a +massive clock of carved rosewood, clacking ponderously, almost +painfully, as if each tick were to be its last. + +Peter crouched before the desk, examining the heavy lock on the drawer, +and accepted from the girl's hand a tool, a thick, short, blunt chisel. +He inserted the blunt edge of this instrument in the narrow crack, +and---- + +A muffled sob, a moan, a stifled cry! + +He sprang to his feet, with his hand diving into his coat, and the +fingers he wrapped about the butt of the automatic were as cold as ice. + +Romola Borria was cringing, shrinking as if to efface herself from a +terrible scene, against the French window, and staring at him with a +look of wild imploration, of horror, of--death! + +From three unwavering spots along the wall to his left glittered the +blue muzzles of revolvers! + +Peter dropped to his knees, leaped backward, pointed by instinct, and +fired at the lone yellow light in the ceiling. + +Darkness. An unseen body moved. Metal rattled distantly upon wood. +And metal clanked upon metal. Darkness, black as the grave, and as +ominous. + +A white, round spot remained fixed upon his retina, slowly fading. The +face of the clock. The hands, like black daggers, had pointed to ten +minutes of one. Ten minutes of life! Ten minutes to live! Or--less? + +Silence, broken only by the reluctant _click-clack, click-clack_ of the +rosewood clock. + +If he could reach the window! Then a low, convulsed sobbing occurred +close to his ear. The girl groped for his arm. She was shaking, +shaking so that his arm trembled under it. + +"Your final card!" he whispered. "The final trick! God! Now, damn +you, get me out of this!" + +"I can't. I--I---- Oh, God! Kill me! I gave you every chance. They +forced me--forced me to bring you here. They would have strangled me, +just as they strangled the other!" She seemed to steady herself while +he listened in growing horror. + +"Safe!" he groaned. "Safety for you. Death--for me! You--you led me +into their hands, and I--I trusted you. I trusted you!" + +She laid a cold, moist hand over his lips, this devil-woman. + +"Hush! If they, if he, so much as guessed that I cared for you, that I +loved you, it would mean my death. I was forced--forced to bring you +here. Don't you understand? And if he even guessed. But you had your +chance. You had your chance!" + +Almost hysterically she was endeavoring to extenuate her crime, her +treason. + +"Stand up and face them. Meet your death! Escape is--impossible! +Impossible! They are watching you like a rat. In a moment they know +you can stand this strain no longer! Face them, I say! Show them +that----" + +Peter pushed her away from him in loathing, and she lay still, only +whimpering. + +Yet the devils of darkness--where were they? And slowly, yet more +slowly, the rosewood clock ticked off its seconds. It should be nearly +one. At one---- + +A fighting chance? + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +On his hands and knees he crouched, and began crawling, an inch at a +time, toward the French window, dragging the automatic over the thick +satin carpet. He reached the window. It was still ajar. Far, far +below twinkled the lights of Hong Kong, of ships anchored in the bay, +and the glitter of Kowloon across the bay. Out there was life! + +A board creaked near him, toward the heart of that darkened vault. He +spun about, aimed blindly, fired! + +The floor shook as an unseen shape collapsed and writhed within reach +of his hand. In his grasp, was the oily, thick queue of a coolie. + +And suddenly, as he groped, the wall spat out angry tongues of +corrosive red flame. + +A white-hot iron seemed to shoot through the flesh of his left arm. +The pain reached his shoulder. His left arm was useless--the bone +cracked! + +Groaning, he pushed himself back. His knees struck the sill, slid +over, and he felt the coarse, peeled paint of the veranda. He reached +the ledge--dropped to the ground, and in dropping, the revolver spilled +from his hand as it caught on a projecting ledge of the floor, bounded +off into the darkness. + +He groveled to retrieve it, muttering as his hands probed through the +tufted grass. + +Light glimmered in the room above. There occurred sounds of a +struggle, of feet scraping, a muffled oath, a short scream. + +Peter leaped back, looking up, prepared to dash for the road. + +A yellow light within the room silhouetted the slender figure of Romola +Borria against the French window. Her arms went out in frantic appeal +to the darkness, to him. + +"Wait!" she cried in an awful voice. "I love you! Wait!" + +At that confession, a hand seemingly suspended in space was elevated +slowly behind her. The hand paused high above her head. A face +appeared in the luminous space above her head, an evil face, carved +with a hideous brutality, wearing an ominous snarl; and above the +writhing lips of this one was a black growth, a mustache, pointed, like +twin black daggers. + +Emiguel Borria, ardent tool of the Gray Dragon? Emiguel Borria, +husband of the girl Romola? + +Emiguel Borria, in whose lifting hand Peter now caught the glint of a +revolver, attempted to crowd the girl to one side. But she held her +ground, and then this woman who had on a half-dozen successive +occasions tricked and deceived Peter, who had deliberately and on her +own confession lured him into this trap, upset, womanlike, the +elaborate plan of her master. + +In a frenzy she spun upon Emiguel Borria, seized the white barrel of +the revolver in her two hands and forced it against his side. Tiny red +flames spurted out on either side of the cylinder and smeared in a +smoky circle where the muzzle was momentarily buried in the tangled +black coat. And Emiguel Borria seemed to sink into the great room and +entirely out of Peter's sight. + +Romola leaned far into the darkness. + +"Run! Run! For your life!" + +And as Peter started to run, out of the compound for the dubious safety +of the cloistered road, other men of the Gray Dragon, posted for such a +contingency, let loose a shower of bullets from adjoining windows. + +But the gods were for the time being on the side of Peter. These shots +all went wild. + +Shuddering, with teeth chattering and eyes popping, Peter dove through +the matted hedge, dashed into the street, and down the street, lighted +at intervals with its pin-points of mysterious light. + +He came to the incline station, and his footsteps seemed weighted, +dragging. And the clock in the station, as he dashed past, showed one +o'clock. + +He plunged down the first sharp twist of the hair-pin trail, fell, +picked himself up dusty and dizzy, with his left arm swinging +grotesquely as he ran. + +And behind him, riding like the dawn wind, he seemed to feel the +presence of a companion, of a silent rickshaw which rattled with a +grisly occupant; and a voice, the voice of Romola Borria, shrill and +terrible in his ear, cried: "Wait! Oh, wait!" + +But the spectre was more real than Peter could imagine. + +It was quite awful, quite absurd, the way Peter stumbled and plunged +and fell and stumbled on down the hill; past the reservoirs which +glittered greenly under their guardian lights. + +How he managed to reach Queen's Road in that dreadful state I cannot +describe. He dashed down the center of the deserted road, with rudely +awakened Sikhs calling excitedly upon Allah, to stop, to stop! + +But on he sped, straight down the center of the mud roadway, past the +Hong Kong Hotel, now darkened for the night, and past the bund. + +Would the sampan be waiting? Otherwise he was now bolting headlong +upon the waiting knives of the Gray Dragon's men. No sampan in the +whole of Victoria Harbor was safe to-night, but one. Would the one be +waiting? Upon that single hope he was staking his safety, his dash for +life. + +He sped out upon the jetty. + +Where could he seek refuge? The _Persian Gulf_? The _King of Asia_? +The transpacific liner lay far out in a pool of great black, glittering +under sharp, white arc-lights forward and aft as cargo was lifted from +obscure lighters and stowed into her capacious hold. + +Yet he must go quickly, for in all China there was no safety for him +this night. + +A shadow leaped out upon the jetty close upon his heels. But Peter did +not see this ghost. + +The sampan coolie, asleep upon the small foredeck of his home, shivered +and muttered in his strange dreams. By his garb and by the richness of +the large sampan's upholsterings Peter guessed this to be the craft +sent to him by the small Chinese girl. + +Peter leaped aboard, awakening the _fokie_ with a cry. + +Dark knobs arose from the low cabin hatchway, and by the yellow lamps +of the jetty Peter made these out to be the heads of the maid from +Macassar and her old grandmother. + +A _dong_ was burning in the cabin, and Peter followed the girl into the +small cabin of scrubbed and polished teak, while the old woman gibbered +in sharp command to the _fokie_. + +Crouching like a beast at last cornered, Peter, by the shooting rays of +the _dong_, glared dazedly into an angry red face, a face that was +limned and pounded by the elements, from which stared two blue, +bloodshot eyes. + +The girl said nothing as she nestled at his side, and Peter permitted +his head to sink between his hands. + +Yet, strange to say, the red-faced man did not fire, made no motion of +stabbing him. + +Peter looked up, snarling defiance. + +"You've got me cornered," he whispered harshly. "It's after one +o'clock. The parole is up. Why prolong the agony? Damn you, I'm +unarmed!" He shut his eyes again. + +Again there was no premonitory click, no seep of steel upon scabbard. + +The red-faced man seized his shoulder, shook him. + +"Say, you young prize-fighter," he sputtered, "you drunk? Crazy? Or +just temporarily off your nut? Who in thunder said anything about +prolonging the agony? What agony are you talking about? Why the devil +'ve you been dodging me all over South China to-day? You dog-gone +young wildcat, you! I've got an assignment for you. The _King of +Asia's_ wireless man is laid up in the Peak Hospital with typhoid. I +want you to take her back to Frisco! Blast your young hide, anyhow!" + +The wizen face of the girl's grandmother appeared in the hatchway. She +seemed annoyed, angry. She said something in the Cantonese dialect, +which Peter did not understand. + +"A sampan is following," translated the girl in her tiny voice, "but we +are nearly there. In a moment you will be safe." + +"Where?" demanded Peter, staring over the red-faced man's shoulder for +a glimpse of the other sampan. + +"The _King of Asia_," she told him. "In a moment, _birahi_, in a +moment." + +Her tones were those of a little mother. + +But Peter was staring anxiously into the red face, trying to decipher +an explanation. + +"I told the red-faced one to be here, too, at midnight," the girl was +whispering in his ear. "He came. He is a friend. Your fears were +wrong, _birahi_." + +The sampan lurched, scraping and tapping along a surface rough and +metallic. + +The yellow face of the old woman again appeared in the hatchway. A bar +of keen, white light thrust its way into the cabin. It came from +somewhere above. No longer could Peter hear the groan and swish of the +sweep, and the cabin no longer keeled from side to side. He guessed +that the sampan was alongside. + +The old woman motioned for him to come out. + +"I am not coming aboard; I am going back to my hotel," said the +red-faced man. "You will not leave this ship? You will promise me +that?" + +"I will promise," said Peter gravely. "You, I presume, are Mr. J. B. +Whalen, the Marconi supervisor?" + +The red-faced man nodded. As if by some prearranged plan, Whalen, +after slight hesitation, climbed out of the cabin, leaving Peter alone +with this very small, very gentle benefactor of his. He wanted to +thank her, and he tried. But she put her fingers over his lips. + +"You are going to the one you love, _birahi_," she said in her tinkling +little voice. "Before we part, I want you--I want you to----" and she +hesitated. "Come now, my brave one," she added with an attempt at +briskness. "You must go. Hurry!" + +Peter found the side ladder of the _King of Asia_ dangling from the +upper glow of the liner's high deck. He put his foot on the lower rung +and paused. A vast number of apologies, of thanks and good-byes +demanded utterance, but he felt confused. The slight relaxation of the +past few minutes had left him exhausted, and his brain was encased in +fog. + +He remembered that the little maid from Macassar had wanted him to do +something, possibly some favor. The glow high above him seemed to +swim. His injured arm was beginning to throb with a low and persistent +pain. And the climb to the deck seemed a tremendous undertaking. + +"You were saying," he began huskily, as she reached out to steady the +ladder. "You wanted me----" + +"Just this, my brave one." And she reached up on tiptoes and kissed +him ever so lightly upon his lips. "When you think of me, _birahi_, +close your eyes and dream. For I--I might have loved you!" + +Half-way up the black precipice, Peter stopped and looked down. For a +moment his befuddled senses refused to register what now occupied the +space at the ladder's end. + +The sampan was no longer there; another had taken its place, a sampan +long and as black as the night which encompassed it. + +Wide, dark eyes stared up across the space into his, and these were set +in a chalky-white face, grim, fearful--startling! + +It was Romola Borria. Her white arms were upheld in a gesture of +entreaty. Her lips were moving. + +Peter descended a step, and stopped, swaying slightly. + +"What--what----" he began. + +"He is dead!" came the whisper from the small deck. "I killed him! I +killed him! Do you hear me? I am free! Free! Why do you stare at me +so? I am ready to go. But you must ask me! I will not follow you. I +will not!" + +And Peter, clutching with a sick and sinking feeling at the hard rope, +found that his lips and tongue were working, but that no sound other +than a dull muttering issued from his mouth. Momentarily he was +dumb--paralyzed. + +"I am not a tool of the Gray Dragon," went on the vehement whisper. "I +am not!" + +And to Peter came full realization that Romola Borria was lying, or +endeavoring to trick him, for the last time. + +"Go back--there," he managed to stammer at last. "Go back! I won't +have you! I'm through with this damned place." + +Painfully he climbed up a few rungs. + +Then the voice of Romola, no longer a whisper, but loud, broken, +despairing, came to him for the last time: + +"You are leaving me--leaving me--for her--for Eileen!" + +Peter made no reply. He continued his laborious climb; first one foot, +then a groping few inches upward along the hard rope with his right +hand, and then the other foot. Nor did he once again look down. + +He finally gained the deck. It was blazing with incandescent and +arc-lights. Under-officers and deckhands were pacing about, giving +attention to the loading. Donkey engines hissed, coughed, and rattled, +as the yellow booms creaked out, up and in with their snares of bales +and crates which vanished like swooping birds of prey into the noisy +hatchways. + +Peter took in the bustling scene with a long sigh of relief. He still +heard that lonely, anguished voice; the black sampan still rested on +his eyes, heaving on the flood tide upon which the great ship strained, +as if eager to be gone. And out there--out there--beyond the black +heart of mystery and the night, was the clean dawn--the rain-washed +spaces of the shimmering sea. + +But he could not look down again. He would not. For a while--or +forever--he had had his fill of China. Before him now lay the freedom +of the open sea, the sunshine of life--and his homeland! + +Peter the Brazen had drunk all too indulgently at the bitter fountain. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +In the months which had passed since their romantic parting on the bund +at Shanghai, Peter the Brazen had founded all of his roseate notions of +Eileen Lorimer upon the one-sided data furnished by those spirited few +hours. + +He had thought of her as a lonely little creature, sole inhabitant of a +world apart, to which he would some time go and claim her. + +He had not taken into his calculations at any time such prosaic objects +as parents, brothers, sisters, and, more vital than all, other young +men who might have found the same qualities in Eileen to adore as had +attracted and bound him. + +When, from a long-distance telephone-booth in the Hotel St. Francis, he +finally was connected with the Lorimer residence in Pasadena, it was to +hear the gruff, masculine accents of a person who claimed to be her +father, and who was brusque and impulsive in his inquiries regarding +Peter's identity. + +Peter did not know, or realize, that Mr. Lorimer would have willingly +cut off his right hand for the young man who had restored his daughter +to him nearly a year before. He was simply struck more or less dumb, +with a schoolboy sort of feeling, when he was aware that, five hundred +miles overland, a gruff father wanted righteously to know his business. + +By adroit parrying, without giving out his identity, Peter at length +secured the information he wanted. Romola Borria had been truthful; +Eileen was attending the university at San Friole. + +With her San Friole address jotted down in the back of his red +note-book, Peter endeavored to be connected with Miss Lorimer by +telephone. After a trying pause the long-distance operator advised him +that the residence in question did not possess a telephone. + +Quartering what remained of his capital by the costly Pasadena call, +Peter resorted to the telegraph stand, and waited in the lobby for an +answer. + +The first of the several bits of unpalatable news he was to be given +during the day was delivered to him as he waited, when, unnoticed at +first, a Chinese gentleman, a Mr. San Toy Fong, a passenger from +Shanghai on the _King of Asia_, came out of the dining-room and +occupied a chair at his side, cordially and candidly revealing an +identity which Peter had suspected during the entire voyage. + +"Mr. Moore," the emissary began in a low, confident voice, "I am +returning to China to-night on the _Chenyo Maru_. Before I sail, if +there is some message----" + +Peter shook a slow decision. "I'm through with China, through with Len +Yang, through with wireless. I intend settling down on my little ranch +near Santa Cruz. That may save your trailers annoyance." + +The polished Chinese gentleman smiled. "Evidently you are not aware +that your little ranch is no longer in your possession. You see, Mr. +Moore, when we are interested in a person, we take pains to exhaust the +tiniest details. Your ranch was sold about three months ago; in a +moment of absent-mindedness, perhaps, you neglected to pay the taxes. +However, if you but say the word----" + +"Thank you," Peter headed him off in a tired and indifferent voice. +"You've saved me a trip for nothing. After all, the property is +probably better off in other hands. Now I have nothing in the world to +worry about but myself. _Bon voyage_, Mr. Fong! And my respects +to----" + +But San Toy Fong had departed. + +After an exasperating wait, a bell-boy brought to Peter a telegraphic +reply to his San Friole message, which read: + +"Take the twelve-thirty train. Will meet you at station." + +And it was signed by Eileen Lorimer. + +Peter was again conscious of his diminishing funds when he peeled off a +bill at the railroad ticket-window and paid the round-trip fare. But +any thoughts upon his possible financial embarrassment were set aside +as the train rolled out into the open country, and his mind pictured +his reception at the hands of the young woman who meant quite as much +to him as life. + +He pictured a dozen greetings, each different and each the same, with +Eileen in every case weeping with joy at beholding him, and wrapping +her slim, warm arms about his neck. + +He became more nervous and excited as the villages passed by, and +presently the trim concrete structure lettered in gold and black as San +Friole came into sight around a curve. + +Alighting, he gave his grips to a boy with instructions to have them +checked; and he looked eagerly among the crowd of students for the +lovely face of Eileen. + +At length he discovered her, and simultaneously she must have +discovered him; for she elbowed her way through the mob, flushed and +breathless, and seized his hands, looking at him with eyes that seemed +to glow. + +And to Peter the Brazen she was quite the same Eileen as the girl of a +year ago; no older, and quite as lovely, with the same pretty flush in +her cheeks, the same rosebud mouth, the same sweet and lovable +expression. + +The little speech he had prepared on the train would not leave his +lips; and he could only look, with the color heating his cheeks, as +Eileen smiled tenderly and a little meekly, as she had smiled when they +parted at the consulate in Shanghai over a year before. + +He began to realize, even as he considered and reconsidered his motive, +that she was mutely begging him not to kiss her at this time. Perhaps +the pressure of her fingers, a subtle pressure away from her instead of +toward her, gave him this understanding. + +He became aware gradually of another presence, as he was jostled from +this side to that by other new arrivals, conscious of the sidelong look +that Eileen was giving another man. + +With a slight feeling of resentment, Peter examined this interloper, +finding himself gazing into the unfriendly, tanned face of a man of +about his own age, with keen, sharp, brown eyes, a dimple in his chin, +and a thick, blue book under his arm. Through a maze Peter heard his +name spoken, then the words "Professor Hodgson;" and he found himself +shaking hands briskly with the invader. + +Then Peter excused himself, returning with the baggage-checks, and he +discovered both Eileen and Professor Hodgson examining him with the +frank curiosity that one might bestow upon some wandering minstrel, a +foreigner, an alien. He felt, as the odd member of any triangle is +sure to feel, that he was a lone bird; that Eileen and her glowering +professor were drawn together by some bond unknown to him, but whose +nature he warmly resented. + +And thus began the crumbling of the rosy crystalline little world that +Peter had created for the sole occupation of Eileen Lorimer. + +As the three walked slowly down the station platform, he felt the +tension, the exaggerated repugnance, which any outdone suitor is bound +to feel toward his successful rival. He felt sick and useless, and +somehow he wished he was back aboard the train again. He had blown his +dream-bubble, rapturously contemplating the shining, dancing, +multicolored surface as it expanded and became of size. And this +bubble had been rudely pricked. + +He felt Eileen's light hand upon his arm, and he heard her voice +suddenly become weighted with feminine importance. She was saying: + +"Mr. Moore and I have a great deal to talk over. You will excuse me, +won't you, until to-night?" + +Professor Hodgson, frowning, nodded courteously. "Perhaps Mr. Moore +would like to go, if he cares to stag it. I'm afraid every girl in +town has been invited by now." + +"Stag what?" queried Peter in a dry voice. + +"There's to be a St. Valentine's ball to-night," enthused the girl. +"St. Valentine's Day is the fourteenth, you know. I'm sure you'd enjoy +it! You'll go, won't you?" + +"But--but----" stammered Peter. "I had hoped that you and I could +spend the evening by ourselves." + +"Oh, but I couldn't do that!" cried Eileen, with reproach in her big, +gray eyes. "Professor Hodgson invited me ages ago! Can't we talk this +afternoon and to-morrow. I'll cut classes all day. Please go! I'll +give you every other dance! The professor won't mind. He's an old +dear!" + +The old dear frowned a shade more darkly, and Peter derived some +encouragement from the sign. + +"I'll go on that condition," said Peter gaily. "Every other dance with +Miss Lorimer!" + +"That's fine!" Professor Hodgson rejoined. "Have you a costume?" + +"Your wireless uniform!" cried Eileen. "You look wonderful in that!" + +Professor Hodgson was preparing to remove his dour look from their +vicinity. "I'll be around at eight," he said. "See you later, Mr. +Moore." + +"So-long!" Peter retorted affably, and Eileen squeezed his arm ever so +lightly. + +"I want to talk to you all afternoon!" she declared with her adorable +smile, when the professor was out of earshot. "Shall we take a +car-ride?" + +They climbed into the front seat of an open car, and Peter was glad +when the girl linked her arm through his and snuggled close to his side. + +"I want you to tell me everything from the very beginning," she said +with a bright smile. "I want to know why you left me so suddenly in +Shanghai. I had a hundred questions to ask. You were mean!" + +"You can begin wherever you please," said Peter amiably. + +"Then, why," demanded Eileen, giving him a hungry little look, "didn't +you let me stay in Shanghai?" + +"Because I was in love with you," Peter replied abruptly. "You were in +danger. So was I. I wanted to get you out of China as quickly as +possible, because, you see, my dear, the man who had his agents kidnap +you, and who was having you transported to China on the _Vandalia_, +would have recaptured you without difficulty. Do you mind if I tell +you, Eileen, that it broke my heart when I realized that we wouldn't +see one another for goodness knows how long a time?" + +Eileen glanced pensively at the green lawns and the flower-gardens +which flowed past the car, and her eyes returned to his face with a +question in them. Her hand snuggled into his. + +"Tell me the truth, Peter. You thought I was just an innocent, +helpless little thing, now didn't you? You said to yourself, 'I'll get +myself into all sorts of trouble with her on my hands.' Didn't you say +that to yourself, Peter?" + +"I did. You're right. You were not made for that place. If you'll +let me, I'll tell you what you were made for." + +"You needn't," said Eileen with a sigh. "Because I know. You are +going to tell me that I am just the right size for a bungalow for two, +of which you are the second, and that I need some big man like yourself +to have around, to shield and protect me, to smooth and round off the +sharp corners of this harsh old life." + +"How did you guess?" gasped Peter. + +"Maybe your eyes said that when you told me to go home that day, and +maybe other men have told me the same thing! Anyway, that is what you +have come here to tell me--or haven't you?--that you are all ready now +to leave behind the terribly wicked and adventurous life you've been +leading, and settle down, and live respectably forever after! Isn't +that the truth?" + +"You're something of a mind-reader." + +"No, I'm not. But I have sense. Peter, I still think, just as I +thought that terrible night when you slid down the rope from the +_Vandalia_ with me dangling from your neck, that dreadful night on the +Whang-poo in the fog, that you're the finest and bravest man on earth. +That's why I let you make love to me on the bund; because--well, +because I wanted you to come back!" + +"In return," Peter responded with enthusiasm, "I have kept you next to +my heart all of that time, thinking of you every time I felt +discouraged, looking upon you always as a refuge, exactly as you say, +when China got the best of me." + +"Has China got the best of you, Peter?" + +"It has! I was chased out of the Yellow Empire with a broken arm, by +agents of the same man who tried to kidnap you. I removed the splints +only this morning. Since I saw you, I have paid a visit to the +dreadful red city where you were being taken, escaped, and made my way +through India and the Straits Settlements and back to Hong Kong." + +"And they shot you!" + +He nodded, and she shivered again, while the fingers against his palm +stirred. + +"I've put China behind me forever, I hope, and now, a little older, a +little wiser, and very weary, I've come to lay the same worthless old +heart at your dear little feet!" + +"And the worthless old feet will have to kick the dear, big heart +aside," said Eileen sadly. "Oh, Peter," she exclaimed, suddenly +contrite as she saw the look of pain that came into his face, "you know +I wouldn't hurt you for anything in the world! But I am in earnest, +deadly in earnest, Peter! I refuse positively to have you consider me +any longer as a poor, helpless, clinging little thing, made only to be +petted and protected! I'm not like that, Peter! If you'd only +written, I would have told you. You're not afraid of anything in the +world; nor am I! I love adventure quite as much as you do, Peter, and +the moment you told me, back there in Shanghai, that I must hurry home +because it wasn't safe, I made up my mind that I would equip myself to +go into some of those wonderful adventures with you! Professor +Hodgson, the Chinese language professor, is an expert shot with a +revolver, and I've wheedled him into giving me lessons. That's for +self-protection. Then the Japanese woman who is general chambermaid in +my rooming-house is teaching me jiu-jitsu. + +"In addition to that, I'm studying for a doctor's degree. When the +course is finished I am going to join you in China. We'll invade that +dreadful mining city alone, just you and I, and we'll make it the most +wonderful place in China! You see, Peter, I intend to be a medical +missionary; and you won't have to worry your dear old brain about me +the least bit. If you won't take me, I'll go by myself!" + +"Sweetheart," Peter declared with difficulty, "you are talking through +your hat!" + +She shrugged and smiled. "Won't you take me?" + +"You know I'd fetch you the man in the moon if you wanted him badly +enough!" + +"And you'll get that silly old notion of a bungalow for two out of your +head?" + +"I'll try. It will be a hard job. And, Eileen----" + +"Yes, Peter?" + +"You don't care about this Professor Hodgson, do you?" + +"Oh, no, Peter! Once or twice he's tried to make love, and you could +see, couldn't you, how furious he was when we left him?" + +"I thought my goose was cooked," sighed Peter. + +"Silly old goose!" said Eileen, squeezing his thumb. + +With shaken but immeasurably higher notions of this girl, whose +appealing gray eyes suffocated him with longing, Peter helped his +charge to alight when the end of the car line was reached, and at her +suggestion they tramped through the blossoming California fields, back +to the village, talking seriously most of the way upon that ardent +subject which lay warmly upon both of their young hearts. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +There was a noticeable ripple when Eileen Lorimer walked into the +ballroom that evening in the winsome attire of a Quaker maid, with +Professor Hodgson, as Pierrot, on one side, and the tall, commanding +figure of Peter the Brazen, in a spick-and-span white-and-gold uniform +of the Pacific Mail Line, on the other. + +For Peter the Brazen, in any garb, was that type of man at whom any +normal woman would have looked twice--or, if only once, just twice as +long. + +Knotted about his lean waist was a flaunting blue sarong. The sarong +gave to his straight, white figure the deft touch of romance. It +verified the adventurous blue of his deep-set eyes, and the stubborn +outward thrust of his tanned, smooth-shaven jaw. + +When the young women of Eileen's acquaintance, to whom had been +whispered some of the details of this man's thrilling past, crowded +about for introductions, Peter had little difficulty in filling the +remaining half of his program. + +And when the music started for the second event Peter recovered his +flushed and glowing Quaker maiden from the reluctant arms of Professor +Hodgson, upon whom had fallen, like a dark shroud, a gloom heavy and +profound, and the man who had that morning said good-by forever to +China and the wireless game and to ships and the sea, found himself +floating in and out upon a sea of gold, with a sprite from elf-land +dazzling him with her rosebud smile. + +He would have liked to shock their beholders then and there by kissing +her squarely upon that smile! And all the while, from the side line, +Professor Hodgson, the professor of Chinese, watched their every +movement with a face as long and as gray as an alley in the fog. + +A little later in the evening, when Peter looked for his partner, a +Miss Somebody or Other, whose penciled name had been smudged on his +program so that it had become an unintelligible blue, he looked in vain. + +He looked then among the dancers for the face of his Quaker maiden, +and, unable to see her in the syncopating throng, elected to hunt for +her, despite the known fact that she was in the company of his defeated +rival, the professor. + +Peter searched the refreshment room futilely, and decided that the pair +had probably retired to the palm garden, where Eileen was possibly +engaged to the best of her ability in soothing the ruffled feelings of +her revolver and Chinese instructor. + +As Peter parted the golden velvet hangings which shrouded the entrance +to the dimly lighted conservatory, he espied a half-dozen couples +disposed on as many small benches under the drooping fronds in varied +attitudes of tete-a-tete. + +The curtains fell in alignment behind him; he caught the angry glare of +two brown eyes from a bench, and realized that Eileen's versatile +professor was not yet pacified. At Professor Hodgson's side, with her +back toward Peter, was a young woman attired in Quaker costume. Her +head was not intimately close to that of the young professor; but it +was close. + +As Peter started to cross the waxed floor to her side, he saw Hodgson's +head dip low; saw the girl apparently yield herself into his arms; and +as Peter stopped, stock-still, he saw the long arms of the professor +wrap themselves about the slim shoulders, drawing the hidden face +toward him until the lips met his. + +In that dreadful instant the heart of Peter the Brazen deliberately +skipped a beat. Black swam into his eyes, and he trembled, then became +stiff, as his gaze was glued to that ghastly pantomime. He hesitated, +then leaped across the intervening distance. + +Both Eileen and her professor leaped up. + +Her face was white, and her fingers clutched in convulsion at her +throat; but Peter's face was equally as white and strained as hers. + +He stared in pain and utter disbelief, while a smile slowly crept over +the features of Eileen's professor. She seemed about to faint, and +sank back, with eyes tightly closed, against Hodgson's breast. + +Peter tried to speak, but a moment passed before he could find words. + +"Eileen--Eileen," he muttered, "you said--you told me--oh, God!" + +He wheeled and dashed out of the hall, as he proposed to dash out of +her life, with terrible, sinking thoughts in his brain, and his heart +pounding dismally against his ribs. He recovered his coat and hat in +the cloak-room. + +Hardly had he vanished than Eileen, recovering slowly from her daze, +sprang after. But Hodgson detained her, gripping her arm. + +She seemed to realize for the first time what had been done, and to the +profound astonishment of the several round-eyed couples, she wiped her +hand fiercely across her mouth, the recent repository of the +professor's sudden and unexpected kiss. + +"You--beast!" she stammered. "You--you saw him come in! How dared +you! How dared you! I thought you were a--gentleman--you--you beast!" + +Her professor merely grinned, as though the tragedy were a comedy of +the most amusing order. + +"One stolen kiss----" he chuckled. + +And Eileen slapped him smartly across the mouth. She started to bolt +for the door, but he dragged her back, clinging to her struggling hand. +"You--one of that band!" she cried. + +"Oh, let me apologize," he laughed, rubbing the red mark about his +mouth with his free hand. "If your hero resents my robbing him of one +stingy, little kiss---- Band? What band?" But there was no question +in his eyes. + +"Stop him!" cried Eileen shrilly. "Oh, please, somebody call him back!" + +A sophomore, always willing to aid a lady in distress, sprang to the +chase, and Eileen, breaking loose, stumbled after him out upon the +dance floor. A waltz was under way, and the floor was jammed. + +They tried to break through, but were thrust aside by laughing dancers, +who seemed to take this to be a new and diverting game. + +They tried again, and now Professor Hodgson, smiling blandly, came upon +the scene and interposed further interference. Dodging past him and +narrowly avoiding collision with a whirling couple close to the wall, +Eileen scurried down the side in the direction of the cloakroom, with +big, hot tears burning down her flushed cheeks. + +When she reached the cloak-room she searched it in anxious haste for +the Marconi cap, the light-blue overcoat. Both were missing. + +With the sophomore atow, and conscious of the romantic nature of his +errand, she ran into the moonlit street, looking up and down the +black-shadowed sidewalk for signs of the straight, tall figure. + +Down the street, perhaps a quarter of a mile distant, she made out the +motionless streamer of lights of a train, the San Francisco train. + +With her gray Quaker dress flapping, and the clutter of white +petticoats hindering the rhythm of her knees and ankles, Eileen sped +down the middle of the road with the excited sophomore bringing up a +mad rear. + +The fate of her life lay in the train's waiting. She knew what Peter +Moore would do. And if she could not stop him, she would be nothing +less than his murderer. Had the evidences of her apparent infidelity +been less damning she knew that Peter Moore would have waited, would +have listened to her explanation, and believed her. + +If she could only reach the train, she could tell him, could compel him +to wait, and thereupon have it out with that cad Hodgson. It would be +folly to pursue by later train, because Peter, as was customary with +that young philanderer, had neglected to leave his forwarding address. + +But Eileen never reached the train. The engine screamed scornfully +when she was less than a block distant. The red and green tail-lights +were dwindling away along the throbbing rails when she arrived at the +station. + +The night had swallowed up her love and her high hopes. Before long, +miles, and thousands of miles, would soon stretch between her and her +lover. + +With a broken sob she wilted upon the station steps, while the +sophomore stood awkwardly above her, bursting with questions, +misty-eyed with youthful sympathy and fidgeting in acute discomfort. + +And thus was Peter the Brazen swept out of her life and into his next +adventure. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +At about five o'clock the next afternoon Peter, in his hotel bedroom, +called for a pitcher of ice-water, the major portion of which he +disposed of before considering the next move. + +Afternoon sunlight, entering by the single large window, mapped out a +radiant oblong of red on the heavy carpet. The long, insolent shriek +of a taxicab arose from the square. The bedroom was redolent of the +sour odor of last night's cigarette smoke. He had forgotten, for +perhaps the first time in his memory, to throw open the window upon +retiring. As he arose stiffly from the bed an empty brown bottle +bounded to the floor with a thump, and the latter riotous portion of +last evening came slowly back to him. He had decided to do something. +What had he made up his mind to do? He sat down on the edge of the bed +with his head in his hands and frowned. He remembered now. + +He was going back to China! + +With a throbbing head and a recurrence of the sticky feeling in his +mouth, he stripped off his pajamas, went into the bath-room, and +shivered and grunted under an icy shower for five minutes, by which +time some of the despondency which last night's affair had brought over +him was shaken, his headache was loosened a bit, his wits were more +clearly in hand, and the warm blood was shooting through him. + +After a brisk rub-down he dressed quickly--he had barely had time +enough to recover his suit-cases from the San Friole baggage-room when +he had fled--and put in a call for the Marconi office. + +Shortly he had the chief operator on the wire, and he explained briefly +that out-of-town business had interfered with his calling the day +before, but that he would drop around for a conference bright and early +the next morning. He added that he intended to take the _King of Asia_ +back to China. + +When he entered the chief operator's cubicle, the chief operator looked +into the face of a man who had aged, a white, sad face, the face of a +man who had found the sample of life he had tasted to be a bitter +mouthful. + +"Back again, as I live!" he chirruped, pumping Peter's hand +exuberantly. "Where now, Peter?" + +"China," said Peter; "my old love, the _King of Asia_, sails to-morrow. +Can I have her?" + +"Sure thing! By the way, here's a special delivery letter for you in +the mail that hasn't been assorted--a nice square envelope. Looks to +me like a wedding invitation!" + +Peter examined the square, white envelope. + +A wedding invitation with a San Friole canceling stamp. + +Absently he dropped it into his pocket. + +Making his way to the St. Francis he found that San Toy Fong had +departed for parts unknown. So he sat down at a desk in the +writing-room, and penned a brief note, addressing it in care of Ah Sih +King. He knew that the letter would reach San Toy Fong as rapidly as a +grape-vine telegraph could deliver it to him. He knew that it would be +opened, coded and transmitted to the second coil of the vast, hidden +government, wherever he might be--from Singapore to Singapore. + +The import of that note was simply that he, Peter Moore, was returning +to China, and promised to interfere in no way with the band's +activities. If he should change his mind, he added, he would file +notice of such decision with the duly accredited agents of Len Yang's +monarch at the Jen Kee Road place, in Shanghai. + +The purple shoulders of the Golden Gate were sinking into the +silver-tipped waves when Peter, having despatched his clearance +message, left the tireless cabin for a look at the glorious red sunset +and a breath of the fresh Pacific air. + +A room steward, who had just ascended the iron ladder, approached, +touching his cap with a deferential forefinger. "A letter addressed to +you, sir. Found it in the corridor outside your stateroom. Must have +fallen from your pocket." + +The wedding invitation with a San Friole date-mark! + +With nerveless fingers Peter drew out, not an envelope, but a stiff +card. And he stared at the card in the red twilight, and groaned in +pain and astonishment. + +Have I said that this was St. Valentine's Day? In the color of the +dying sun, and painted carefully by hand, was a tiny heart, bleeding. + +And that was the only message. + + + + +PART III + +THE GREEN DEATH + + +CHAPTER I + + "Oh! Chiang Nan's a hundred li, yet in a moment's space + I've flown away to Chiang Nan and touched a dreaming face." + --TS'EN-TS'AN. + + +A young man can get himself into trouble in China. +He may refuse to eat the food that is pushed into his +mouth at a Chinese banquet by the perfectly +well-intentioned man sitting beside him. In that case he will +hardly do more than arouse the contempt of his +beneficiary and his host. He simply shows that he lacks +good Chinese table manners, for at a Chinese banquet +it is proper to stuff food into your companion's mouth, +no matter how full his stomach may be. + +Another way to offend the Chinese is to refuse a gift. + +But these are minor things. The surest method to +arouse the suspicion, dislike and animosity of China is +deliberately to keep your affairs shrouded in mystery. +Discuss your important business secrets in loud shouts; +no one will pay the slightest attention. But whisper +mysteriously in your friend's ear, and spies will attend +you! Leave a note-book filled with precious data +plainly in view upon your dressing-table, and your +room-boy won't for the life of him peek into it. Lock +that same note-book away in a dressing-table drawer, +and your room-boy will move heaven and earth to find +out what it's all about! + +The time of the day was mid-forenoon; the time of +the year was spring. The low, mournful voice of a +temple gong floated across the race of brown water. +River _fokies_, on sampans and junks, were singing their +old work song, the Yo-ho--hi-ho! of the ancient river, as +their naked, broad backs bent to the sweeps. A +pleasant breath of perspiring new earth was drifting down +the great stretch of yellow water on a light, warm wind. + +Peter had taken his favorite stand on the upper-boat +deck, where the wireless shack was situated, with +one hand wrapped loosely about a davit guy, the other +thoughtfully rattling a cluster of keys in his pocket. + +Spring is for youth, and Peter was young; yet he +did not reflect in any way the mood of the new season. +He felt gloomy and depressed. Life seemed an empty, +a dreary thing to Peter, because he could see himself +getting nowhere. + +In spite of the sweet candor of the young spring +day, one of the first sounds that came to his ears as he +stood there, in the shadow of the life-boat, was the +brazen clamor of a death cymbal. One of China's four +hundred millions had died in the night; now his spirit +was being escorted to the seventh heaven of his blessed +forefathers, by the death cymbal, clashing with a sober +din to drive the devils away from his late abode. + +The shadow of the life-boat was rather unaccountably +attenuated; Peter turned around and looked into the +bland, unsmiling face of Jen, a Chinese deck-boy. +Pig-tails were coming back in style again. About six inches +of wispy, purple-black braid extended downward from +Jen's white cap. His face was quite yellow, and his +eyes were green. An understandable light came and +flickered across their satiny surface as Peter looked +inquiringly into them. + +"Wanchee my?" he asked. + +The deck-boy took a cautious and all inclusive look +of the broad, gray deck, bending head to look past the +giant funnels, the first of which stood about twenty +feet forward of them. + +"Stay allatime on _King Asia_?" inquired the +Chinese, moiling his hands together and bowing slightly. + +Peter gave him a blue-eyed, indolent stare. + +"Maybe. Maybe not," he said. "What's on your mind, Jen?" + +"You tell me what going do," replied the yellow +one meaningly. "Can do?" + +"Mebbe can do," replied Peter, folding his hands. +"You run up to the place on Jen Kee Road as soon as +you catchee sampan. Tell man-man if I decide to do +anything I will drop in and tell him. You don't know, +Jen, but he knows that my word is good. If I decide to +go up-river I'll tell man-man. If I decide to do +nothing, I'll say nothing to man-man." + +"Allee light, allee light," said Jen, backing away a +few steps. "You tell man-man, eh?" + +As Peter watched the retreating skinny shoulders +bob up and down as they went away from him toward +the after ladder, he felt just a little more undecided than +he had five minutes earlier. He went into the wireless-room, +to straighten up the apparatus before locking the +door for the visit in Shanghai. + +As he was locking the tool-box--the Chinese river +thieves would steal anything they could lay hands +on--he heard his name called in a silvery voice accompanied +by a man's pleasant laugh, and he went out on deck to +find that Mr. Andover, with the twins in tow, was all +dressed up for a trip ashore. + +The twins and Anthony Andover were passengers, +bound on a sight-seeing trip through the East, and as +Peter Moore was a very impressionable young man, it +is only natural that the twins be discussed first, in +virtue of their loveliness. + +Peter had first contemplated Peggy and Helen +Whipple in the _King of Asia's_ dining-room. It would +have been a rather impossible thing not to see Peggy and +Helen Whipple, if you were young, and with fair eyesight. + +At the first dinner after leaving the Golden Gate +Peter had gone into the dining-room rather early, as +he skipped tiffin (by reason of an empty pocket) and +was ravenously hungry. + +He had looked up over his first spoonful of +mulligatawny a la Capron to meet the clear, undistilled, +brown-eyed gaze of Peggy Whipple, who had seated +herself at the captain's table. In that liquid, +brown-eyed gaze had lurked a sparkle of mischief, a slightly +arrogant look of inquisitive scrutiny, and perhaps a +playful invitation. + +As Peggy Whipple gave him that mischievous, liquid-brown +glance when he was in the act of lifting a level +soupspoonful to his lips, he did not, as a man might +do under the circumstances, spill the soup upon the +tablecloth, or back into the dish; nor did he pause in +the work of lifting the liquid to his mouth. + +He did not have to look at the spoon to guide its +passage to his mouth. Without spilling a drop, he +captained the spoon to its destination, maintaining his +clear, deep-blue eyes upon the beautiful brown ones of +the young passenger. And, without lowering his eyes +once, he lifted the loaded spoon up twice in succession. + +This skillful management brought a smile to the +pretty face of the girl. Perhaps she had expected him +to spill the soup under her glance; it was to be +expected; more than probably the thing had happened in +past episodes of Peggy, for she was distractingly fair +to look upon, and her turned-up nose should have +disarmed any man. + +Her hair was golden and sleek and drawn back +straight from her low, white forehead and knotted +together in the back, calling attention to a neck that was +slim and beautifully proportioned. Pink and white and +gold described her. She seemed to bristle with a sort +of fidgety energy, as if she had so much youth and +loveliness stored up in her that she had a tremendous time +keeping it all within bounds. + +After Peter had slowly, but not at all insolently or +impudently, taken all of this in, in the time required to +stow away three heaping spoonfuls of mulligatawny a +la Capron, by dead reckoning, she looked away from +him with a little pout. + +Peter followed her glance. He had not noticed the +other girl before. It was evident that they were of the +same blood, but the other girl seemed older. She, too, +had sprung from a brown-eyed ancestry, and she, too, +was blond and pink and lovely, with the prettiest +fingers and finger-nails Peter had seen for some time. + +Her glance, arising to meet his, was brown and very +calm; unlike her sister, she appeared to be grave, more +of the deliberate, thoughtful type. + +It was in the shop of a Japanese silk merchant on +Motomatchi Chome that he had met them for the first +time. Several times on the trip across he had passed +them on the deck, always escorted by proud young men. + +They were the most popular girls on shipboard. +Beauty rarely travels in pairs; these were unusual +twins. + +Once, as Peter was swinging down the ladder from +topside, he came upon Peggy alone, looking rather blue. +It may have been that she was simply in repose; and +the contrast gave him that impression. Her eyes +dreamingly encountered his, and the mischievous light +flickered in them and instantly went out. + +She ran her eyes down the white uniform with the +gold emblems of his profession at the lapels, dropped +her eyelids demurely, and seemed to wait. He hesitated, +and she stood still; but he passed on, leaving her +staring after him with a little pout. Obviously the +twins had traveled much! + + + + +CHAPTER II + +It was on the night that the _King of Asia_ cleared Nagasaki for the +short run across the Yellow Sea into the flow of the Yangtze-Kiang that +Peter was sought out by that pleasant young man, Anthony Andover. + +Ordinarily passengers were not allowed in the sacred quarters of the +wireless house. However, those who possessed daring spirits came up +anyway. Peggy Whipple came up there soon after that meeting on deck, +with permission from nobody, and Peter gave her about fifteen minutes +of his extremely important time on the average of nine times a day, +permitting her to adorn the extra chair in the wireless shack, where +she unconsciously revealed in her sudden and unexpected shiftings of +posture, several inches of adorable silken ankle. I think Peggy was +sadly in need of an elderly chaperone, and I am somehow under the +impression that Peggy very badly wanted Peter to make love to her. How +he resisted her speaks volumes for his quaint, mid-Victorian views +regarding woman. + +And at the end of the fifteen minutes, after regaling her with tales of +the lands she was about to visit, he dismissed her, kindly but with +great firmness, and she was as obedient as a lamb. + +Anthony Andover, who knew more about plows perhaps than the Egyptians, +gave him something else to think about. He looked up from his +instruments that evening to see a young man of medium height, slim of +build, and rather pale and sharp of mien. + +"My name is Anthony Andover," he said in a brisk and business-like +voice. "I wonder if I could have a talk with you." + +Peter told him to sit down, and he removed the heavy nickeled +head-pieces from his ears. He expected an important radio from the +Shanghai Station; but that could wait. He wondered what Anthony +Andover might have on his mind. + +"Mr. Moore, I'm in something of a devil of a fix, and I think you're +the man who can get me out of it." + +"Shoot," said Peter, lighting a yellow cigarette and passing the box. +"Chinks?" Trouble to Peter always meant Chinks; they were his symbol +of danger. + +"No, no! You see, all of my life I've been--well, a city man. The +biggest adventure I ever had was a fist fight with my foreman. Now----" + +"Did you lick him?" asked Peter with concern. + +Anthony nodded reminiscently. "Blacked his eyes and busted his nose!" + +"Good for you! Go ahead with your story." + +"I've met a girl on the steamer, and according to her way of looking at +things, I lack about five thousand different parts of being a hero. +You know the girl. That's why I'm bothering you like this." + +"Not bothering me a bit. Who's the girl?" + +"Peggy." Anthony caressed the word as if it were honey. "Peggy +Whipple. Of course, the first thing I want to make sure of is, am I +stepping on anybody's toes? If I am, I'll just go ahead, and play my +own game my own way. If it's to be a case of a fight----" + +"Hold on a moment," interrupted Peter. "I don't quite follow you. +Whose toes do you think you're stepping on?" + +"Well, Peggy comes up here to the wireless shack so much, that I--I----" + +"Oh, not a bit of it, old man. Peggy's a nice girl. I like her. +That's all." + +"I--I'm mighty glad," said Anthony earnestly. "You know, she's pretty +mad about you, but as long as you're not interested the way I am, +well----" He bit his lip nervously, and went on: "I think you'd agree +with me that it would be rather foolish of her, and very disappointing +and disillusioning later on for her to marry the kind of a man she +thinks she wants to marry. She has a notion that the man she marries +must be a cross between Adonis, and--and Diamond Dick! She wants a man +who carries six-shooters in all his pockets, and who fears neither God, +man, nor the devil!" + +"A regular hell buster!" + +"That's it! Down in her heart I think she cares for me a little bit. +But I'm nothing but a plain, ordinary business man. I never did +anything devilish in my life. There's nothing romantic about me. Look +at this necktie! Did you ever see a hero wearing a plain black +four-in-hand? Never! Did you ever see a hero wearing nice tan oxfords +without a spot of mud on them? If I can somehow manage to make her +think for a few minutes that I've got heroic stuff in me, she may +listen to a little sense. She tells me--rather she threw it in my +face--that you are going to take Helen and her on a sight-seeing trip +into some of the darkest holes in Shanghai. You know the ropes, and +there's no danger, of course." + +"None at all," said Peter. + +"Well, I want to know if you'll let me go along. I'll stand every +expense; I've got money to burn! Let me in on it, and----" + +"But there isn't going to be a chance for anybody to be a hero. I'm +going to take those girls to the safest place in Shanghai. A New +England church would be a cavern of iniquity alongside of it!" + +Anthony laid his fingers along his knees. + +"Well, couldn't you stir up something? That's my idea. I'll leave it +to you to crack up some danger, not real danger, of course--we can't +let those girls get near any real danger. But we can start a fake +fight--or something--and give me a chance to play the hero, to rescue +Peggy in my arms; that sort of stuff, you know." He looked at Peter +foolishly. + +Peter stroked his nose. "It might be done," he said. "I'll see what I +can do." + +Anthony arose, extended his hand, and said: "Of course, I'll need a +revolver." + +"Load it with blanks," advised Peter. "You know, some people think +it's bad luck to kill a Chink." + +Anthony was eyeing him curiously. "Do you?" he asked. + +Peter nodded his head slowly. "Sometimes," he said. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +Anthony and the twins called for Peter as soon as they could tear +themselves away from the many fascinating incidents attendant upon +coming to an anchorage in the Whang-poo-Kiang. + +It was late in the afternoon when the first company tug came down-river +from Shanghai for passengers. And it was nearly dusk, the golden-brown +evening of China, when they were decanted upon the public landing stage +at the International Concession. + +Anthony was for going directly to the Hotel Astor for dinner, but at +Peter's suggestion he and the twins boarded a street-car for the ride +to Bubbling Wells. + +Peter stood for a number of moments in indecision as the Bubbling Wells +tram went up the bund with the slow flood of victorias, rickshaws, and +wheelbarrows. It was now about seven o'clock, with the sun hidden +under a horizon of dull bronze. Street lights were coming on, +twinkling in a long silver serpent along the broad thoroughfare, rising +in a grotesque hump over the Soochow bridge, and becoming lost in the +American quarter. + +He would meet Anthony and the twins in the dining-room. Whoever got +there first would wait. He expected to be there long before his three +friends came back from Bubbling Wells. + +A rickshaw coolie was wheedling him at his elbow but he paid no +attention. His eyes were searching the street. It took him several +seconds to reconcile himself to the fleeting apparition. What was this +girl doing in Shanghai? + +The rickshaw had passed, proceeding at unabated speed in the direction +of Native City. + +The rickshaw boy was still making guttural sounds, softly plucking at +his sleeve. The shafts of the rickshaw were close to his feet. But +Peter was still undecided. + +"Allee right," said Peter, briskly. "French concession." + +That was the direction in which the other rickshaw was headed. + +He climbed aboard, and they veered out into the north-bound traffic. +The girl in the rickshaw was about one block in the lead, and had no +intention evidently of accelerating her coolie's pace or of turning +back. She had left all decision to him, and his decision was to ask +her a few questions. + +His coolie trotted heavily, looking neither to the right nor left, with +his pigtail snapping from side to side, as his head bent low. + +"Follow _lan-si_ veil--savvy?" + +"My savvy," returned the coolie, heading toward the narrow alley of +filth and sputtering oil _dongs_, breathing the odor of refuse, of +cooking food. + +Peter's heart was beginning to respond to the excitement. Did she have +some message to convey to him that she could not trust to the openness +of the bund at the jetty? + +Suddenly the rickshaw ahead swerved sharply to the right into an alley +that was perfectly dark. Its single illumination was a pale-blue light +which burned before a low building set apart from the others at the far +end. + +Here the first rickshaw stopped. A ghostly figure seemed to float to +the ground. There was a clink of coins. A door opened, letting out a +wide shaft of orange light which spattered across the paving, +flattening itself against the grim wall of the building across the way. + +Peter caught the bronze glint of wires on the roof under a pale moon. + +He knocked sharply on the door, and stood to one side. It was a habit +he had learned from long experience--that trick of stepping to one side +when he knocked at a suspicious door. The door moved outward a few +inches. A long, yellow face, with a thick, projecting under lip, +peered out. Peter pushed the man aside and entered. + +He found himself in a low corridor of smoked wood, with fat candles +disposed along the walls at intervals of several yards, on a narrow, +lacquered rail. One of three doors was open. + +A match was struck, the head glowing in a semi-circle of sputtering +iridescence before the wood itself kindled. The hand holding the match +was trembling; the weak flame fluttered to such an extent that he was +denied momentarily a glimpse of the owner of the hand. + +A whisper was conveying an order to him. "Please shut the door, Mr. +Moore." + +He reached for the door and closed it firmly in the face of the man who +had let him into this place. + +When he turned, the trembling hand was applying the match flame to the +wick of an open lamp, a rather ornate _dong_. As the flame rose +higher, casting its steady, mild luminance, he caught a glitter of +metal, of polished rubber; one end of the room was almost filled with +machinery. + +"Romola Borria!" + +She seemed to have undergone a great change. The beautiful face that +had lured him once into the jaws of death was dominated now by a +wistful and tender sadness, as though this girl had gone through an +epoch of self-torture since they had last been together. + +Yet she was still beautiful; it was as if her beauty had been refined +in an intense fire. Her mouth was sad, her great brown eyes glowed +with an inexpressible sadness, and her face, once oval and proud, +seemed narrower, whiter, and, by many degrees, of a finer mold. + +She was examining him broodingly; there was a reluctant timidity in her +eyes; it was such a look as you may see years afterward in the woman +you once have cast aside for some other, perhaps not quite so worthy. + +"Well, you have found me, Peter," she said in a faint and tired voice, +coming slowly toward him. + +"Yes," he admitted, lamely: "I saw you passing the jetty. I +followed--naturally. I have just come from America." + +"Oh." Her voice expressed no surprise. "You came for me, Peter?" + +"I thought you were dead," he confessed. + +"Well, I am a hard one to kill!" A tiny smile flickered across her +fine lips. "You are not married--to Eileen?" + +"No--and never!" he said dully. + +"But you must be in love! You are always in love--with some one." + +"I am in love with no one." + +"Not even----" + +"I am in love with no one." + +"Nor am I," said Romola Borria quietly. It seemed to come from her as +a vast and reluctant confession. "I loved only one man, and my love +for him is quite dead. If I should rake over the embers--oh, but I +have raked them over, Peter, many, many times--and I have found not one +single small ember glowing! When love dies, you know, it requires a +great fire to rekindle it. Oh, I have suffered!" + +"He--is dead?" + +She smiled again, rather ironically. "Can a man live with a bullet in +his heart?" + +"I--I saw. I thought--but what does it matter what I thought?" He was +trying to inject some of his old spirit into his voice. It was rather +difficult, this business of laughing at the funeral of love. "Romola, +you are more beautiful!" + +"I have suffered," she said, in the same restrained voice. + +He turned away with a shrug. He, too, had suffered, but in a somewhat +different light. He was examining with a professional eye the heap of +apparatus which was arranged in splendid order along the back of the +small room. + +"I am studying. You see, Peter," she explained, in the same rather +recriminatory tones, "I was rather fond of you at one time----" + +"Romola, please----" + +"And because it was your profession I became interested in it. I heard +the message you sent last night--to--to the place on Jen Kee Road. I +was quite worried for a while." + +"That was why you happened along the bund about the time the boat came +up-river?" + +"Perhaps." She smiled vaguely. + +"You wanted to find out if I still cared enough for you to----" + +"Follow me? Yes, Peter; I think that was why." + +"Then you didn't know I was on my way to China?" + +"No, Peter, I knew nothing." + +"Aren't you connected with my good friend, the man with the sea-lion +mustaches, in Len Yang?" + +Romola gave a short gasp. "I never was connected with him." + +"But you told me you were--back there on the _Persian Gulf_!" + +She shook her head slowly, with a gentle firmness. + +"No. I did not tell you that. I have seen him; yes. But I was never +in his employ. It was Emiguel Borria, my late and--may I say?--my +unlamented husband, who made me do those things. Peter----" + +Her attitude seemed to undergo some sort of subtle change, as if she +were bitterly amused. "You say you are not in love. Then what of the +little golden-haired girl--the two little golden-haired girls--you left +this afternoon on the bund?" + +"They and the young man are passengers on the _King of Asia_. I +brought them ashore to give them an insight into China-as-it-really-is." + +"They are in very capable hands, then, Peter. Aren't you running some +risk, though? Isn't there some chance that the men in the Jen Kee Road +place may take it into their heads----" + +"I am on my word of honor, Romola. I have come back to China, not to +start trouble, but simply because--well, why are you in China?" + +"Because I haven't the will to leave, perhaps. I stay here in the same +spirit that a man or a woman lingers before a dreadful oil painting, +like the shark picture of Sorolla; it is terrible, but it is +fascinating. I cannot leave. If I did, I would come back, as you come +back, time after time. Is that why you've come back?" + +"Exactly." + +"And you imagine you're running no risk with the two golden-haired +maids in tow?" + +Peter shook his head thoughtfully. "Perhaps I shouldn't have exposed +them to danger. But they were determined, and it's partly to help the +young man. Anthony is a plain American business man. He's in love +with the youngest. And she, a hero worshipper. He wants to +demonstrate himself." + +She interrupted in a whisper. "Peter, tell me, why is it? What have +you ever done? What do you say? Why--why is it?" + +Peter the Brazen was looking at her blankly. + +She made a gesture of resignation with her beautiful white hands. + +"Well, never mind. Tell me more about Anthony." + +"Anthony believes that if he can demonstrate his valor to Peggy, she +will come to his arms. He really is a fine, upstanding fellow. I had +intended bringing them to Ching Tong's place out Bubbling Wells way, +harmless enough and watched by the police of nine nations. Ching Tong, +being a friend who will put himself out for me, will play the part of a +very bad villain. Anthony's revolver is loaded with blanks. Mine +isn't, but that's just my cowardly nature. You can never tell what +might turn up, you know." + +"Naturally. Go on." + +"I intend to have Ching Tong stage a very realistic fight down in his +cellar, in which Anthony can overpower eight or ten Chink giants, +escape out of the window with the fainting Peggy in his arms, +and--and----" + +"Simple enough," admitted Romola, with a mild frown. She drew him to a +broad, low bench. "Somehow," she went on, "your idea rather appeals to +me, too. I liked Anthony's looks--what I saw of him. And I rather +liked the two little girls--twins, aren't they?" + +Peter nodded. "The heavenly twins!" + +"I think I'd quite agree with that plan, Peter, if you didn't happen to +be in such disrepute in this neighborhood. You must realize that the +Gray Dragon's men are watching you. Of course, you didn't recognize +your rickshaw coolie. He is one of the Gray Dragon's men--naturally. +Don't you think you are exposing those two nice girls unnecessarily to +danger?" + +Peter lighted two cigarettes, and passed one of them to Romola. She +accepted it with an air of abstraction and puffed slowly, blowing out a +thin stream of pale smoke. + +"But circumstances are changed now. You see, I am on the +fence--perfectly safe." + +"They are still anxious for you to come with them?" + +"That's it. They sent a representative last trip all the way to San +Francisco." + +"Of course you refused? Peter----" Her soft, white hand was resting +on his; her red lips were very close to his face. "Why don't you join +them? You and I!" + +"You and I?" + +She nodded earnestly. + +Peter drew back a few inches. "I said 'no' when you asked me that +before. No, I'll have nothing to do with that band--never! Going out +into the wilderness, up into the mountains on some of their risky +errands--with you--might have appealed to me. Not now!" + +"Peter, I am afraid I still love you!" + +"And yet, Romola, I'm not afraid of falling in love with you--again! +But let's not speak of joining that man in Len Yang. What you're +offering is--too tempting. I might give in! You are altogether too +fascinating!" + +"Am I?" + +"I've told you that before." + +"Then you will go up-river with me?" + +"No--never! Why, you almost make me suspect that you're still in that +beast's employ." + +"I never was. I told you that." + +"You've said many things that didn't stand the acid, Romola." + +He stood up, looking down at her with whimsical tenderness. She was +very beautiful, and when she took on that forlorn air she had the +appearance of a helpless, small girl. He wondered if he would ever +regret his refusal. + +"Ching Tong must have time to make arrangements, and I have a dinner +engagement at the Astor House with Anthony and the heavenly twins. +Can't you and I have tea to-morrow afternoon?" + +Romola came to him and put her two hands on his shoulders. "No," she +said. "We must not be seen together. It may mean danger for you. +I've been thinking over your plan to convert Anthony into an +adventurer. Why not bring them all here. I have seven servants, all +Chinese, and they would give their lives for me. Let me see----" She +bit her upper lip thoughtfully. + +"You can tell them that this place is--well, the heart of the Chinese +smuggling trade. It's ridiculous, but it will appeal to them. I will +dress up as a Chinese woman--oh, I've done it dozens of times in the +past--and I shall be very mysterious. That will seem much more +romantic to Peggy than a mere opium den. And it will be safer. I know +Ching Tong's shop. It might do, if you were an ordinary person, Peter, +but such an adventure should be provided with at least five times as +many exits! I have them here." + +Peter looked at her doubtingly, although the idea appealed to him. +Outriding his admiration of the idea, however, was a recurrence of his +old impression of Romola Borria. He knew that he never had been a +match for her cunning, her esoteric knowledge of China. + +"I have plenty of make-up pots. I'll paint up these _fokies_ to look +like bandits! I'll have knives in their belts. And I'll plan the +rehearsal before you come. Everything will be arranged." She seemed +to hesitate. "You--you won't bring that dreadful automatic revolver of +yours loaded--will you?" + +Peter smiled faintly. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +A light spring rain was drizzling down when Peter ordered four +rickshaws of the proud Sikh who stood guard over the porte cochere of +the Astor House. Long bright knives of light slithered across the wet +pavement from the sharp arc lights on the Soochow bridge. The ghostly +superstructure of a large and silent junk was thrown in silhouette +against the yellow glow of a watchman's shanty across the dark canal, +as it moved slowly in the current toward the Yellow Sea. + +It was a desolate night. The streets were deserted except for an +occasional rickshaw with some mysterious bundled passenger, the +footfalls of the coolies sounding with a faint squashing as of drenched +sandals, slimy with the heavy sludge of the back-village streets. The +world was lonely and awash. + +Peter busied himself with Peggy's comfort when the first rickshaw, +dripping and wet, rattled up. He drew the waterproof robe up under her +chin and fastened the loops, then tucked it in under her feet. Her +cheeks were glowing with the pink of her excitement. + +Anthony meanwhile gave similar attention to the other twin. + +Peter glanced at his watch as they climbed in. He wondered how Anthony +might be taking his first and relatively unimportant lap of their +adventure, and he instructed his coolie, in "pidgin," to drop behind. + +Clear gray eyes shone with a confident reassurance. + +"You mustn't hit too hard, and be careful if you shoot your revolver to +discharge it in the air. At close range even the wads from the blank +cartridges are rather deadly." + +Anthony's clear voice came across to him: "Of course." + +They stopped at length before the rambling structure which was the +abode of Romola Borria. The lamp was extinguished, probably beaten out +long before by the pelting rain. Only a pale glow emanated from the +place, this from a tiny upstairs window, covered over with oiled paper, +and the only sounds were the ceaseless drip of the rain and the low +gibberings of the coolies as they examined the coins given them in the +greasy light of the rickshaw lanterns. + +Peggy, slipping her arm through Peter's and hugging him close to her, +trembled with the excitement of anticipation. + +"We must not be separated," he warned them in a whisper. "Whatever +happens--Peggy and Helen--stand close to us. In case of trouble, each +of you stand behind whichever of us is nearest. Don't scream. Don't +show any money. Peggy, put your pocketbook in your shirt-waist. +Now--ready?" + +"Yes!" came the threefold whispering chorus. + +He raised his knuckles, and brought them down sharply--three times +rapidly, twice slowly. Silence followed, the bristling silence of an +aroused house. + +Slowly the door gave way, and a villainous-looking old Chinese in black +beckoned with a long snake-like finger for them to enter. + +Only two candles now were burning on the lacquered rail in the smoky +corridor. Curtains at the rear parted; there was a sweep of heavy +silken garments, and a white-faced and beautiful woman made her way +toward them. + +Deft employment of the make-up pot and painstaking searchings through a +great number of trunks had blended a picture that was all but +melodramatic. + +Romola Borria's wonderful dark hair was arranged in a great heap which +sloped backward from her head. Her face was chalk white, from a bath +in rice powder; her fine lips were curled in the most sinister of +smiles; and her eyes glowed with a splendid abandon. She looked +wicked; she radiated cruelty. + +And the twins gasped in sweet horror. It is probable that twin +trickles of icy excitement chased up and down their twin spines. +Anthony gaped, and his gray eyes expressed an unbounded infatuation. + +With a gracious stealth she moved beyond them, not once lowering her +magnificent eyes, and shot a huge brass bolt in the door. + +They formed an expectant, a worshipful semicircle. In a low voice +Peter made the introductions, dwelling at fastidious length upon the +tremendous villainy of this slender sorceress, who swept him all the +time with a proud and disdainful fire. She nodded stiffly at intervals. + +"The Princess Meng Da Tlang has a word to say to you." He bowed +profoundly. + +"It is only this," said Romola Borria in tones as rich as the Kyoto +temple gong, "what you have thus far seen, and what you are about to +gaze upon, must always--forever--remain a secret within your hearts. +Follow me." Romola, or the Princess Meng Da Tlang, floated down the +dim corridor with a further silken rustle of skirts, and drew back the +curtain at the far end. + +The quartette filed into a large and lofty room, flickering under the +pallid flames of candles. The wax dripping from some of these hung +like icicles or stalactites from the shallow bronze cups, and they +illuminated a scene that was bizarre. + +The walls were burdened with heavy rugs which responded with a waxen +sheen to the mystic light of the candles, and they were of the sombre +hues of the China that passed its zenith many centuries ago. They +served to give this place a solemn air of vast dignity and richness. + +Along the inner wall, placed so that it squarely commanded the doorway, +grinned a huge green image of Buddha, surrounded by a clutter of brass +candlesticks and mounted on a splendid throne of brass filigree +underneath which red flames were burning. + +The odor of costly incense was heavy and sweet, the smoke from a +brazier arising in a thin, motionless blue spar which, when it had +climbed up through the air for a distance of about four feet, broke +into a sort of turquoise fan and this drifted on up to the ceiling in +heavy wisps. The incense pot was very old, of black lacquer and brass, +greened with blotches of erosion. + +And above the green image of Buddha, before which the Princess Meng Da +Tlang was now kneeling and moaning in a faint voice, reposed a very +realistic skull and cross-bones. Across the forehead of this hideous +reminder of the hereafter was a deep green notch, attesting in all +probability to the cause of the luckless owner's death. + +"Please be seated--there," Romola requested. + +Her graceful, ivory-white arm indicated with a queenly gesture a +heavily carved ebony bench, and her guests filed expectantly to this +seat. + +Peggy, with a long sigh, dragged Peter into the corner. "I'm almost +scared. Oh, oh, isn't this simply romantic!" she whispered. + +Helen and Anthony gravely occupied the space on the other side of them. +The Princess Meng Da Tlang was moving gracefully toward the doorway +through which they had entered. + +"I--I'm really a little afraid!" whispered Peggy, with her lips so +close to Peter's ear that he could feel her warm breath against his +neck. "Put your arms around me--please!" Peter slipped his arm behind +her and around her. He squeezed her. "Oh," sighed Peggy, "this is +grand!" + +Helen gave her a sidelong look of surprise. "Peggy, I think you're +hardly discreet." + +"Let me die while I'm happy!" grinned Peggy. She turned a wistful face +to Peter. "Did you ever put your arm around another woman before?" she +whispered. + +"Heaven forbid!" groaned Peter. "Don't I act like an amateur?" + +"No; you don't!" + +Romola was holding back the curtains while a troop of four men, muddy +and wet, as if from long travel, moved silently into the large room. + +"Mongolian smugglers," Peter whispered. + +The four large men crossed the room with dignified tread, depositing +four small bundles wrapped in blue silk at the altar of Buddha. Then +they removed straw-matting rainproofs which dangled from their broad +shoulders to their muddy sandals. They were garbed in black silk and +fastened at the belt of each was a kris, curved and flashing where the +golden candle light skimmed along the whetted steel. + +After depositing their slight burdens they bowed low before the altar, +muttered deep in their throats, arose and salaamed gravely, until the +four pigtails flapped on the heavy blue rug at Romola's bare feet. She +wore no sandals, which was probably the custom among pirate princesses. +When the men were gone, Romola drew back a rug which hung close to the +altar, revealing a small cupboard flush with the wall. Even Anthony +looked at the black door and the brass hasp with his gray eyes round in +wonder and interest. + +After disposing of the four silken parcels, Romola addressed them in a +mysterious voice: "Those packages contain gems; diamonds, rubies, +pearls from the Punjab, from Bengali, from Burma." + +"Can we see them?" pleaded Helen in rapt tones. + +"Aw, please!" inserted Peggy in an angelic whisper. + +Romola raised both of her hands as if in horror. "They would tempt +even a saint," she muttered. + +"Be careful," warned Peter, laying his lips to Peggy's pink ear, "the +princess has a terrible temper. She has been known to strangle a man +for less than that!" + +"I don't believe it!" retorted Peggy. "I think the princess is just +too sweet for anything." + +Romola gave Peter a look of indolent inquiry. She arose abruptly. + +"You must have some of my spiced wine. It is really delicious. +_P'eng-yu_ Moore, we won't bother the servants; won't you help me?" + +Peggy folded her hands demurely in her lap. "I hope it isn't +intoxicating," she murmured. + +Romola had moved graciously across the room, where in a bronze +jardiniere protruded the dusty, slender necks of tall bottles. She +knelt before this. "Nearer," she whispered, as he followed suit. +"Peter, tell me----" + +"Yes, Romola?" + +"What does this little girl mean to you?" + +Peggy's clear voice sounded: "Peter, my throat is dusty!" + +"In a minute, Peggy," he called back. Lowering his voice again: "She's +merely a child. But why----" + +"Peter, I've gone to more trouble to-night than you realize, +perhaps----" + +"What do you want me to do?" + +"I want you to stop making love to that innocent child." + +The innocent child's sweet voice was clamoring again. "Peter, the +Sahara Desert is a flowing river compared with my throat!" + +"All right, Peggy; in a minute." + +"You said once that you--loved me." + +"I still stand by my guns. But I don't love any one now. You're a +temptress, Romola. Why, you are a princess! I never saw you more +beautiful than to-night!" + +"Peter, can't you realize what a dreary life I've led since that night +you ran away from me in Hong Kong? Won't you--for me--because I want +it--because I want _you_--reconsider, won't you stop, and think, +and----" + +"We're getting back to forbidden grounds, Romola." + +"Oh, God! I know, I know! But what is there left in my life? Why, +what is there left in yours? Perhaps you are the best operator on the +whole Pacific Ocean; you've had that reputation now--how long--five +years? But it is aimless! Where are you drifting? What will become +of you as the years pass? You must be nearly thirty now, Peter. I? I +am younger, but I have suffered more. The only happiness I have known +has been with you." + +Peggy's voice became petulant. "Peter, is that cork _awfully_ +obstinate?" + +"In a minute," he said absently. + +"Do you remember those wonderful days and evenings we spent together on +the Java Sea, on the old _Persian Gulf_? Do you remember those +evenings, Peter, under the moon and the Southern Cross?" + +"I remember a great deal of treachery!" + +"But there is to be no more treachery," she said passionately. "Think, +Peter, think! You are penniless--I have only a little money; it will +not last long. What follows? Do you know what happens to white women +when they are stranded, penniless, friendless, in this country?" She +shivered. "And it would be such a simple thing to do---to go with +me--to him. We would be together forever then--you and I! Tibet! The +Punjab! The merchant's trail into Bengal! You and I with our +caravan--in the blue foot-hills!" + +"I'm sorry," confessed Peter sadly. + +Romola hung her head with a bitter sigh. + +Peggy pitched her voice: "Smash the neck, Peter; I don't mind a little +broken glass!" + +Romola was pushing two silver cups along the floor to him. + +He spilled an amount of the sparkling golden liquid on the carpet, +where it formed a dark, round stain. With slightly unsteady hands he +conveyed the cups across the room, and Peggy, without another word, +following a rather vexed: "Thank you, m'lord," emptied the cup in a +single swallow. She licked her lips daintily, and her eyes were +sparkling. + +As Peter moved into the seat beside her, he saw the curtain over the +doorway slowly drawn back by an unseen hand. He looked smilingly +toward Romola, and her eyes were fixed on the moving curtain, her face +rigid in surprise and concern. The thing seemed to puzzle her. + +White metal flashed coldly. A lean hand and arm appeared, and a short, +fat knife, the haft sparkling with drops that resembled blood, was +projected into the room, point down, quivering, in the wood, not five +feet from Romola's lacquered bench! + + + + +CHAPTER V + +"Is this a part----" began Peter. + +"No, it is not." + +Romola's face seemed thin with her growing anxiety. Obviously the +tossed knife was not a part of the evening's performance. + +"A part of what?" Peggy was inquiring. + +"Oh, another joke of the Mongolian smugglers," he explained. + +There was a sudden and astounding explosion in the midst of them. The +flame of a revolver bathed the whole room in reddish-yellow for an +instant. Smoke was rising, the pungent, pale-blue, nitrous smoke of +so-called smokeless powder. Anthony Andover had arisen, had delivered +his shot at the waving curtain. + +Peter gave a grunt of disapproval. "Why did you do that----" + +"Look!" + +The candle directly above the curtains had flickered out; in fact, on +closer examination Peter discovered that the candle had been split in +crude halves, one of the white fragments lying on the rug not far from +the incense burner. This proved one point conclusively. Anthony +Andover had put real bullets, not blank cartridges, into the six +chambers of his revolver. He had reseated himself calmly beside Helen, +who was staring at him with eyes like pools. + +Peggy found her voice first. "Gracious! Why did you do that? It was +only in fun--that dagger, I mean. Why, you might have killed somebody!" + +Anthony shrugged his shoulders. "I'm not so sure about that." + +"This is really a most dangerous spot," added the Princess Meng Da +Tlang in a mysterious voice. But she was looking at Peter with +deliberate meaning. + +He accepted what he supposed was intended to be a cue, crossed to the +far side of the room, and approached the curtains prudently. He drew +the nearest one back inch by inch until the wall of the corridor was +given back to them blankly. So far it was quite empty. + +Dropping his hand leisurely into his coat-pocket, he sauntered into the +hall. As he dropped the curtains behind him, glancing swiftly up and +down the apparently deserted hallway, he heard the familiar sound again +of a gently closed door. + +The sound seemed to originate from the direction of the street. He +looked about for the old watchman, and he nearly stumbled over him in +the half-darkness as he approached. + +Peter struck a match, and a gasp of horror came from his lips. The man +was dead--stabbed! + +Was this killing a part of an elaborate plan? He would not have +permitted himself to walk with such apparent innocence into a snare if +he had not relied upon the word of that band. His experience had been +that their code was a peculiar one whose foundation was the word of +honor. For the first time that evening he began to regret a little his +arrogance in defying the request of their messenger to report his +intentions immediately upon landing to the men in the place on Jen Kee +Road. + +He dragged the body into the darkest corner, where he covered it with a +mat. + +Laboring above his keen anxiety regarding the intention of the band was +an eagerness to keep away from the two girls the sense of death, of +danger, which seemed to pervade this house. + +A way would have to be found to break through the line outside; perhaps +they would be compelled to wait for daylight. Again sliding the bolt +which had been pushed back by the last trespasser, Peter slowly paced +the length of the hall in the meditation of active and acute worry. He +was still undecided when he pulled back the rug which cloaked the +entrance into the large room. + +The room was in total darkness! + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +An eye, red like the play of fire about a distant volcano crater, +glowed a number of paces in front of him. But not a candle, of the +dozens that had been burning when he last went out of this room, was +now lighted. + +The scarlet glow he took to be the illumination under the altar of +Buddha. He heard a long sigh, a vague murmur of voices. + +"Light the candles," he ordered angrily. + +"What is the matter?" This was Anthony's voice; it sounded very drowsy. + +A tiny flame appeared as if suspended by an unseen cord and moved to +the candle rail. One wick glowed; another; then another. + +"Moore--Moore----" This was again the sleepy voice of Anthony. + +A garish, gray figure arose and stumbled into the candle-light. It was +Anthony. His eyes were half shut. He seemed desperately sleepy, and +gibbering as if in a dream. + +Peter turned savagely upon the girl. She seemed to cower away from +him, half lifting her hands as though in fear that he would strike her. + +"Romola! Damn you----" + +"Peter, I--I----" Her faint voice trickled off into a sigh of anguish. + +"Drugs?" he demanded. + +She shook her head anxiously. + +"No, no. I--I----" + +"What have you done to these people? What have you----" + +She lifted up her head imperiously. "You are forgetting----" she began. + +He had the fingers of her left hand between his, crushing them. She +dropped her head. Her fine lips were quivering. "What am I +forgetting?" + +Anthony had grasped his elbow. "It's not right, Moore; not right to +talk to the princess like this. She's really noble. She's fine!" + +"You're drunk, Anthony!" + +"No, no, no," he babbled. "Sleepy; that's all. Oh, that wine! +Perfectly fine! Makes you feel like climbing a moonbeam!" + +"So it appears. Where are the girls?" + +"Over here. Say--say, Moore, when does the fight start? I--I'm just +itching to get at somebody!" + +"You'll have your chance in a moment. And it isn't in fun. +Understand?" + +"Of course I understand! Isn't my gun loaded with bullets? Are we in +a trap?" + +"We are! And according to my calculations there's exactly one way out. +I think you and the girls will have no difficulty in breaking through. +Make a dash for it. Run for all you're worth!" + +"Hold on there," remonstrated Anthony, as his eyes lost a trifle of +their sleepy look. "What's to become of you? Going to make a break +for it, too?" + +Peter shook his head. "It's me they're after. I can look out for +myself, Anthony; this business isn't quite a novelty in my line. You +must get out--and get quick!" + +"And leave you behind? Not Anthony! I stick!" + +Anthony was flashing a length of highly polished gunmetal in his fist. + +Romola with a trembling hand was applying a taper to the other candles. +Peter, observing that the twins were, to all appearances, sound asleep, +approached her. + +She paused in her work, holding the taper above her head, so that its +gaunt rays flickered on his face. "Because you loved me so?" + +Her shoulders drooped, and her head rolled backward slightly, as though +she were very tired. She nipped her lower lip between pearl-white +teeth. + +"Because I love you so?" she repeated dully. + +"In some respects," he said bitterly, "you are like a certain snake in +India. You can't lock those damned snakes up! They can always find a +tiny hole, a slit in the cage, and--out they slip!" + +"Ah, Peter----" Romola dropped the taper to the bronze altar, where it +flickered a moment and went out. She fondled his reluctant hand +between cold fingers. Her face became utterly miserable, and there +were sparkling tears in her eyes. "My heart is your heart. I have +given my love to you. I would give my life for you!" + +He drew away from her slowly, turning his head to avoid the anguish in +her eyes. + +He went on briskly: "If my death is arranged for to-night----" + +He stopped to watch her. She was fumbling at her waist. A little +silver of light appeared. The thing was a slim stiletto. Her teeth +were clicking as she extended the handle toward him. Their eyes met. +In hers was shining a brute command. In his slowly came shock, +amazement. She placed her fingers slowly over her heart; her hand +slipped down and fell again at her side. + +"There!" she murmured. + +"Is--is my end so close?" he whispered. + +She nodded slowly. "You are in great danger. This may be your final +opportunity. See? I am offering no resistance. Why--why do you +hesitate?" + +With the tiny blade lying like a flame of pure silver across the palm +of his hand, Peter experienced a moment troubled and exceedingly +awkward. That threat, perhaps, was hardly more than the spilling out +of bitterness which she had created in him. + +In silence he handed the thing back to her almost furtively; and she +accepted it without removing her shining gaze from his. Somehow she +seemed to have come out victorious in a conflict that had had nothing +to do with knives, with broken promises. And with the restoration of +the dagger the spell seemed to be swept aside. + +Turning abruptly, with a slight straightening of his shoulders, he +walked away from her. + +Anthony was like a guardian angel, a statue gravely symbolic of +protection, standing over the golden heads, with the revolver dangling +from his hand and shooting out metallic gleams. Their eyes were +tightly closed; the twins were sleeping as if drugged. + +They heard a low, hushed scream. + +"Peter--_ni kan_!" + +Peter turned quickly, searching both entrances. At first he was +conscious of no intrusion. Then a yellow face, long, narrow, with a +stub of purple-black hair protruding behind, and which for a moment he +took to be a part of the curtain, slowly withdrew, arising +upward--vanishing! + +The phantom was not unlike the wisps of yellow smoke from a green-wood +fire, despatched by a lazy dawn wind. The face of Jen, the deck +steward! + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +Apparently Anthony had not observed this specter. + +Peter seized his arm, the left one. "We must start. Wake them up." + +Anthony shook a nervous negative. "I've tried. That wine!" + +"_Arracka_. Comes from Java. Tastes like May wine, and is stronger +than cognac." He was tilting Peggy's chin, shaking her head. No +response. He tried the same experiment with Helen, and begot identical +results. + +Romola Borria had vanished. + +Peter stepped out first, supporting his limp freight with his left arm, +and in his right brandishing a revolver. He hoped it wouldn't be +necessary and he was sure that underneath the splendid varnish of +Anthony's fine bravado larked the belief that this entire evening was +nothing more than an exciting romantic game. + +In the pinch, would Anthony react after the fashion of +heroes-to-the-manner-born, or would the sight and smell of blood, if it +Was written that blood be shed, unnerve him, make him out to be what he +was at heart, the secretary of a prosperous and peaceful plow company? + +On his part, Anthony was still babbling incoherently but earnestly, +impressing upon Peter the undeniable virtues of the golden wine. He +was not prepared, although the nickeled revolver still flashed in his +unoccupied hand, for the tumultuous event which was being shaped for +the two of them around the corner. + +They did not attain the outer door. Out of the drab recesses leaped +dusky shadows. There seemed to be a large number of jostling men; +perhaps only three or four were at hand by actual count; the +insufficient lighting and their shocking and determined appearance lent +them plurality. + +A sparkling flame roared from the hand of the foremost of these before +Peter could bring his hand out of his pocket. + +Anthony's nickeled revolver went off twice, from his hip, and the giant +faltered, going back shapelessly among the shadows from which he had +emerged. + +Peter's original scheme to hack a way through the line underwent hasty +revision. Escape would have to be made by different channels, and his +only choice was the device nearest at hand. It was a long chance, an +aimless one, perhaps, fraught with new, dangers and complications. But +he did not hesitate. + +Beating off a hand that pawed for his shoulder, he flung open the door +which faced the dwelling's entrance, and pushed the reluctant Anthony +inside. + +Peter locked the door, throwing a bench across it for temporary +barricade, then lit candles, wondering if any one would have had enough +foresight to disconnect the aerial wires. He dropped his burden to the +divan against the side wall, and examined Anthony, who had gone very +pale. He was shaking, and his gray eyes seemed to have climbed half +way out of his head. He propped Peggy tenderly beside her sister, and +laid an unsteady hand upon Peter's shoulder. He seemed to be fighting +down a very definite fear. + +Peter was backing toward the apparatus. "Watch the door. If any one +tries to break in, shoot straight at the sound! You're not hurt, are +you? Did that fellow get you?" + +Anthony shivered all over. "Christ!" he muttered. His lips were +white. "That man! I shot him! He's dead! Dead!" + +"And we are still alive," said Peter quietly. + +He sat down at the instrument table, fixed silvery disks to his ears, +twanged the detector wire and made a few quick alterations in +connections. Fortunately his inspection of the equipment earlier in +the day had given him a grasp of its arrangement. In an instant he had +the tuner adjusted, was listening, with those keen ears of his focussed +for the ethereal voices which might be abroad at this untimely hour. +Distant splashes of heat lightning occurred faintly, like the quivering +of sensitive metal. + +Casting a glance over his shoulder, to make sure that Anthony was +following instructions, he rearranged levers and lowered the heavy +switch which drew upon the storage batteries underneath the table. + +He tapped the large brass key experimentally. A hissing blue spark +lighted up the walls and his features in a ghostly glow. Tightening +the vibrator at the terminus of the rubber-covered coil, he spelled out +an inquiry in the International Code. Any station within hearing would +answer that call. + +He wondered if the Shanghai station was closed up for the night, or if +by any chance his assistant on the _King of Asia_ would be on the job. + +Peter waited for several anxious moments, with no sound in the +telephones other than the faint spattering of the lightning down the +coast. Then his inquiry was given a response, startlingly harsh and +close. + +The station might have been across the street, the signals were beating +in his ears so loudly. The operator was having some difficulty +adjusting his spark; it was rough, ragged, like the drumming of +hailstones on a metal roof. + +A series of test letters followed, exasperatingly slow. +"V--V--V--V---- What station is that? This is the _Madrusa_." + +Peter hesitated, although interference was unlikely. He felt +tremendously relieved. The _Madrusa's_ rough spark meant more to him +than help close by. He knew the _Madrusa_ well; a gray, swift gunboat, +lying close to the water, whose purpose was to sweep the lower +Whang-poo and Yangtze clear of pirates. She could spit streams of +bullets for hours without let-up. And the knowledge of her closeness +to this death-trap keyed him up, not entirely because she was manned by +British sailors who would rather fight than eat. His hand reached out +for the key. + +"Who is on watch? This is Peter Moore. That you, Johnny Driggs?" + +If the man at the _Madrusa's_ key did happen to be Jonathan Driggs, he +could afford to breathe more easily. Driggs was another man who had +found in China the irresistible attraction, and who for some years had +sat behind the radio machines of many ships that plied these yellow +waters. + +"Yes! Yes! Yes!" roared the _Madrusa's_ spark. "Where are you? What +are you doing up at this time of night playing with a baby coil?" + +For the next three minutes the spitting blue spark flared and jumped as +Peter spelled out his plight. He sketched their predicament by +abbreviated code, and he impressed upon his friend the necessity for +utter secrecy, hoping that the night had no other ears. + +"Damn it!" replied the quick fingers of the gunboat's operator. "Damn +it! But I can't get shore leave! Impossible--you can guess why! Our +gunnery officer, Lieutenant Milton Raynard, is jumping to go! He'll +fetch you five or six sailors. He knows the lay of the land, and I've +sketched him a map of the locality from your description. Cinch! +They'll be off at once, soon as they can get the engine started in the +launch. Don't give up the ship, old boy! Don't----" + +Peter dropped the receiver, walked over to the divan and endeavored to +awaken the girls, slapping their hands, shaking them. They did not +appear to be drugged. Evidently they had underestimated the power of +the smooth, yellow _arracka_. Faint color glowed in their cheeks, and +under the treatment Peggy slowly opened one very sleepy brown eye. + +It drooped again. She muttered something that was not intelligible. +It had something to do with a princess, and even that word was +indistinct. + +Anthony lifted a cautioning hand. "Some one's outside," he whispered. +Slowly, as they watched it, the knob described a single revolution. +Anthony lifted his revolver. "Who is there?" + +"Let me in!" It was Romola Borria. + +"Open the door," said Peter quietly, stepping aside. + +Anthony removed the bench, twisted the key. + +"You must not go with them," Romola whispered. + +"Shut the door--put the bench back," directed Peter. He followed +Romola across the room. + +Evidently she had read the spark. "Let these people go--yes! But you +remain. You will--or won't you?" + +Peter looked skeptical. "Why should I? I've decided that life is +pretty sweet, after all! Why haven't Jen and his gang broken in here? +Why is he waiting? Have you told him help is coming?" + +She shrugged impatiently. "I have not seen Jen. I have talked with no +one." + +"Then you will stay in this room until we leave?" + +"But why did you send for them? It was foolish! How will you explain?" + +"They are friends. Such men ask no questions." + +"But there was no need!" She made a despairing gesture with her hands. +"Your friends could have gone safely. Jen has no interest in--_them_!" + +Peter nodded indifferently. "But my ship sails." + +"Very good. But you must not leave this house until sunrise." + +"When the sailors come from the _Madrusa_ I shall walk out of here----" + +"And into the arms of death, Peter!" + +Peter lighted a cigarette and puffed thoughtfully in silence. Romola's +gaze was upon his lips, as though the next words he would utter meant +to her the difference between life and death. + +And what he might have said was forestalled by a heavy battering at the +outer door. These deep vibrations seemed on the sudden to stir Peggy +out of her sleep. She sat upright, digging fists into tired eyes. + +"Gracious! Where's everybody?" + +The hammering ceased, and a high-pitched crash followed an instant of +hush. + +"The men from the _Madrusa_!" cried Anthony. He dragged the bench +away; flung the door open with a grand gesture. + +And into the room strode a blandly smiling Chinese, magnificent in gold +and blue and red. He was flanked by three large and watchful coolies, +armed with clubs. + +"Mr. Moore; I am the man from the Jen Kee Road place!" He radiated a +splendid calm. + +Peggy cowered against her sister, with a look of sleepy mystification, +while Anthony, glancing to Peter for command, was fingering his +revolver in anxious indecision. Already one of the coolies was sidling +toward him. + +"You were a deck coolie this morning," Peter replied. + +The Chinese took a step toward him. Peter felt Romola cringe at his +side. He wondered at this. + +"Shall we wait until sunrise, or----" + +A sudden babble of men's voices on the other side of the partition +checked the Chinese, while a look of misunderstanding came over his +bland countenance. + +"Moore! Moore! Where are you?" These were the rich tones of a man +accustomed to command. + +And instantly the small room seemed to be overflowing with the white +and blue of uniforms. + +Peggy stood straight up with a wondering gasp. Confronting her was a +tall and handsome youth with the gold-and-black epaulets of his +majesty's service at the shoulder-straps of his splendid white uniform. +A cutlass in a nickeled case hung from a polished leather belt, and +depending from it also was an empty leather holster. Gripped +threateningly in his right hand was a blue revolver. + +The shrill voice of the man from the Jen Kee Road place rose sharply +above the momentary tumult. + +In this quick confusion a pale, obnoxious odor, like opium fresh from +the poppy, yet with the savor of almonds, flooded Peter's throat. He +was vaguely aware of a fumbling in his coat-pocket. Explosions sounded +as from afar and a vast redness settled down and encompassed the world. + +The interval of dark was surprisingly short-lived. Swimming in and out +of his distorted vision was a face. He was conscious for a while of no +other impression. The face reeled, came closer--danced away from him! +Bright eyes sparkled, leaped, and hung motionless. + +He inhaled a new perfume, deliciously like flowers in a summer meadow. +It injected fresh life into him. His hands found power, and he +clutched at a soft wrist. The owner of this face was talking eagerly. + +"We are alone--alone!" + +With great effort he found he could incline his head a little. He was +struggling. Hot vapors clogged his brain. Where were the girls, +Anthony, the young lieutenant from the _Madrusa_? + +"Where are they?" + +"Safe." + +He could recognize the features now distinctly; yet they stirred up in +him no longer a feeling of repugnance, but a vague longing. + +"Romola!" + +"Yes, Peter. You are feeling stronger?" + +"What am I doing here? What is this place?" + +"We are in the cellar." + +It was very dim, with an odor of moldy dampness. The rock foundation, +the walls, and floor were perspiring whitely. + +Peter's brain became clogged again. The voice came to him softly but +quite distinctly, with each word clear and emphatic: + +"He is waiting outside. They will not dare come into my house again!" + +"I am dizzy. Who will not dare? Who is outside?" he demanded feebly. + +"The man from the Jen Kee Road place. He is waiting outside that +window. No, No! He cannot see. It is covered with silk." + +Peter fell back against the arm. "What does he want?" + +"Your answer. I told him to wait. I promised him; I will hold the +candle to the window." + +"But I am dizzy," he groaned. "I do not understand." + +"Once--means 'yes.' Twice--means 'no.'" + +He delivered every ounce of his mental energy against the drug in his +brain; it was like struggling against the tide. "Once--means 'yes?' +Twice--means 'no?'" The meaning suddenly became clear to him. "The +up-river trip?" + +She nodded slowly, anxiously. "And twice--means death, also, Peter!" + +He tried to drag himself erect, tried to twist his head, and he sank +back with a bitter groan. "You drugged me!" + +"There was no other way. I could not let you go into the night--into +death!" + +A bitter smile came to his white lips. "I am quite powerless?" + +"I--I am afraid you are, Peter." + +"If I decide yes--or if I decide no--how can I defend myself?" + +"You are quite helpless," she confessed in a whisper. "No. You cannot +defend yourself." Her expression showed an inward struggle. "You are +in my hands. You are in my arms! Yes! What have you to say?" + +The smile of bitterness came and flickered again over his pale lips. +He tried to throw back his head, but the redness was settling down upon +him again. "What shall I say?" he muttered. "I say--two lights! I +say--no! _No_!" + +The fingers at his neck were icy. Gently he was lowered to the +pavement. + +Romola had taken the candle down from the rafter, and she went swiftly +to the tiny window. She raised her hand, once, then pinched out the +flame between her fingers. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +Foggy consciousness. A roaring like that of the ocean on a rockbound +coast. He seemed to be floating in a medium of ice. Once his dragging +arm scraped a wet, slippery timber. The journey seemed to be taking +him down--down--into the earth, and slowly he began to rise. + +Gradually he became aware of innumerable pinpoints of light in a shield +of purple darkness. These might have been stars, or the lights of a +great city. Next he heard the low gurgle of water, as of a stream +splashing through wilderness. + +He felt very faint, but the vapor clouds in his brain were beginning to +clear away. Next he was badly shaken up, yet he was conscious of no +pain. Remorseful eyes stared into his from the face of a candle-white +spectre, and in the background a tall, half-naked giant swayed from +side to side in a pink glow. + +Where, then, were Jen and his Chinese? + +He vaguely sensed the dawn; it came to him as an old experience, a sort +of groping memory out of a gloriously romantic past. And the swaying +giant he decided in a moment of rare clarity to be a sampan coolie. + +The pink glow increased, became pale yellow, while a deep blueness +figured in it. A swollen sun came and paved a bloody path across a +lake of roiled brown, and the water hissed with a white foam. + +His jaws were aching; a queer emptiness in his chest caused him long +and perplexing speculation. There were shouting voices aloft, and a +gleaming black wall slowly took form above him. He made out the +pointed heads of rivets. + +"Are you awake?" The voice, low and sibilant, emerged from the +candle-white face. + +He had been dreaming, too, during this fantastic journey. Once he had +plainly distinguished a field of waving corn. He seemed to be back in +California. + +"Eileen," he murmured, surprised at the feebleness of his voice. + +"No, no," came the reply. "It is Romola. I--I am leaving you!" + +"Ah! Where is Jen?" + +Bellowing inquiry came down to them: "Who is that? What do you want?" + +The girl called back: "The wireless operator. He is sick. Drop the +ladder. Send down some one to carry him." + +The sampan was swinging about, and the coolie was paddling like mad. + +"River boat--for Ching-Fu?" Peter gasped. + +"No. The _King of Asia_. Peter--can you understand? I am leaving +you! This is good-by! I--I--we will never see each other again. I--I +couldn't turn you over to that man!" + +"But the candle----" Peter was miserably confused. "You raised +it--once! I said no!" + +Romola seemed to become rather hysterical. "I tricked them, Peter! +Oh, won't you understand? I do love you, Peter! I couldn't give you +to them!" + +"No," he muttered; "I don't understand. I--I'm dizzy." + +The voice was bellowing again. + +"Is that Peter Moore? What's happened to him?" + +"He's sick--sick! Send down a watchman. Hurry! This tide is carrying +us away!" + +Something bounded into the sampan. A brown coil was flattened against +the gleaming black wall. + +But Peter could not understand. He was back again in the cellar under +Romola's house, mumbling insanely about a candle-light. Perhaps he +dreamed that hot lips were pressed lingeringly against his own. Over +and over he heard a fading voice; it was saying: "Good-by!--_Ch'ing_!" + +The glaring sun was in his face. He shut his eyes. The lips seemed to +be torn from his in a cry of anguish. Strong arms encircled his waist, +and he was no longer aware of the motion of the sampan. + + +It was late in the day when Peter opened his eyes again, closed them, +and stared at the mattress and springs of a bunk over his head. He was +lying on his back in his stateroom. Smoky afternoon sunlight, +reflected from a shimmering surface, sparkled and bubbled against the +white enameled wall. + +His head was aching a little, and there were numerous jumping pains in +various parts of his body. He had been dreaming. All of these things +that had come and gone with the fading of the night were figments of a +slumbering brain. The last portion of the dream which he could +visualize distinctly was his act of arising from a wireless machine in +a house that had gone mad, to confront a tall Chinese who wore a +ridiculously stubby pigtail, like that of Jen, the deck-steward. + +He sat up, governed by a sudden worry. Where were the Whipple girls +and Anthony? What had become of that dashing British lieutenant, +Milton Raynard? + +Peter arose hastily from bed, and examined a pale and gaunt countenance +in the small mirror above the wash-stand. Dark lines had come under +his eyes, and the deep-blue pupils seemed to kindle with a peculiar +brilliancy. He had seen that look in other eyes, and another fragment +of the dream came back to him. He licked his dry lips, tasting a +flavor not unlike that of opium fresh from the poppy, and of almonds. + +He filled the wash-basin with cold water, took a long breath, and +immersed his face for a half minute. Gasping, he came out of it with +pink starting into his cheeks, and his mental faculties somewhat better +organized. + +When he emerged from his stateroom, attired in a fresh white uniform, +with his gold-and-white cap set at a jaunty angle on his head, he +looked like a different man. His skin was glowing, and a youthful +heart was sending recuperative tingles all over his body. + +Peter took a turn about the promenade deck in search of Anthony, and +was hailed by his room-boy, who had some mail for him. + +He dropped these missives absently into his pocket, made further +inquiries, and learned that Anthony and the Misses Whipple had come to +the steamer shortly before sunrise in the launch belonging to the river +gunboat _Madrusa_. + +Then he knocked at Anthony's door. A tired snore, emanating from the +transom, broke into a sleepy complaint. + +The door opened; Anthony stared at him as if in the presence of a +ghost. "Great Scott! I thought you were dead!" He rubbed his eyes to +accelerate wakefulness. + +Peter chuckled. "What happened? Both girls safe?" + +"How did you get here alive?" + +"I came down by sampan. The princess detained me." + +Anthony shivered. "We thought you were with us. Somebody put out all +the lights!" He shivered again. "Raynard wanted to go back--so did I. +We didn't dare! The girls, you know." He dropped his head, as if +ashamed. + +"How is Peggy?" + +Anthony frowned, hesitated. "Peter, she--she thinks you're a quitter! +She thinks you ran away at the big moment!" + +Peter grinned. "That can be cleared up. Did you enjoy--the game? Did +you succeed? That's all I'm worrying about." + +Anthony looked at him suspiciously. "That was not a put-up job. +Why--I shot a man!" He became anxious. "Will there be a row?" + +"Not a bit--if you keep your mouth shut." + +"Oh, I'll do that! But that dead Chink! Ugh!" + +"Forget him," advised Peter cheerfully. "I still don't know what Peggy +had to say." + +"What do you mean?" Anthony gave him a blank stare. + +"Does she think----" + +A light of understanding came into Anthony's clear gray eyes. "Oh, I +made a little mistake," he confessed weakly. "It--it isn't Peggy; it's +Helen! We're engaged! You see, Helen is such a--a quiet and reserved +sort of girl. Just my kind! Peggy--well, you know, I decided she was +a little too--too wild!" + +A long, low gray launch was chugging alongside when Peter made his way +back to the promenade-deck. At the upper extremity of the +companion-ladder which reached down to the river's surface was standing +a slim and youthful figure in blue, with wisps of golden hair flying +about in the soft spring breeze. + +She leaned anxiously and expectantly over the rail as a tall and +commanding young man in the white uniform of his majesty's naval +service climbed up eagerly toward her. The young officer leaped +gracefully over the rail, seized both hands of the girl, and his eyes +were shining. + +Peter's deep-blue eyes unaccountably took on an expression of moist +sadness; yet he was grinning. + +He climbed up to the boat-deck, unlocked the wireless room, and for the +first time recalled the mail in his hip-pocket. Leisurely he scanned +the post-cards first, highly colored ones, which had been forwarded +from the San Francisco Marconi office, emanating from friends scattered +in many parts of the world. One was from Alaska; another from +Calcutta, India, from that splendid fellow, Captain Bobbie MacLaurin. + +He opened the letter, and his eyes fell upon familiar handwriting. He +suddenly felt shocked; the sentences began swimming. The letter was +from Eileen, dated Nanking. Words stood out whimsically, like thoughts +assailing a tired brain, clamoring for recognition. + + +... You are the stubbornest man! ... Do you imagine I ever cared for +that puppy? Why, Peter--why didn't you wait? I'd have scratched his +eyes out! Of course, he kissed me! But the point is, my dear, I +didn't realize until it was all over.... I suppose I should have +jumped into the ocean when you left me so angrily. But I didn't. I +came to China on the _Empress of Japan_. I am now at the Bridge Hotel, +in Nanking, on my way to Ching-Fu, where you may find me. Just to show +you that I can have adventures, too! + + +"Great guns!" said Peter. He wondered if he could catch the Nanking +express; there was a Chinese steamer leaving Nanking for up-river +to-morrow noon. + +There was a humble voice at his elbow. A deck-boy was grinning +dreamily at him; a queer flicker darted across his green eyes, vanished. + +"Jen!" exclaimed Peter, glimpsing an abbreviated pigtail. + +"Aie!" said the deck-boy. + +"The man from the Jen Kee Road place!" + +The deck-steward seemed puzzled. "My no savvy," he said. His look +became dreamy again, reminiscent. + +"But you can speak English as well as 'pidgin,'" declared Peter, +frowning. "You did last night!" + +"My savvy 'pidgin,'" said Jen brightly. "China allatime funny place! +China no can savvy allatime funny people! Funny!" + +"What's that?" snapped Peter. He was baffled and angry. Had Jen +played the leading part in the mysterious and grim comedy of last +night, or was he only a work coolie, a deck-steward, harmless, +innocuous, babbling happily in his limited knowledge of a strange +language? + +The deck-boy was pointing up-river with a long, yellow finger. + +Peter stared. And he saw nothing, nothing but a great red sun with its +lower half enveloped in a glowing pool of green and red smoke into +which arose the black spars of ships from all over the world. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +The sky was clearing. Rain had ceased dripping from the bulging black +clouds, and a slender rod of golden sunlight pierced through and marked +a path upon the red bricks of the inn courtyard. Hazy in the +green-and-purple distance could be glimpsed the yellow withers of the +western range. Cooking smells, the sour odor of fish-and-rice chow, +were wafted from the braziers of village housewives. + +Peter loafed against a spruce post, and moodily contemplated the +stamping animals in the enclosure. His hat was in his hand, and the +mountain breeze assailed his blond hair, which, rumpled and curly, gave +him something of the appearance of a satyr at ease. He was worried. +He had, an hour before, come to Ching-Fu from the boat; and Eileen had +left Ching-Fu for a trip to Kialang-Hien, a village of the third order +some fifty _li_ distant, the morning before. Whether to follow or wait +was the question. + +Somewhere afield a valiant bronze gong called infidels to the feet of +an insufferable clay god. + +Peter's flow of thought was interrupted. Unnoticed a girl--at first +glance the virtuous daughter of a mandarin--was approaching. Her +abruptness and her appearance caught him so completely off guard that +he held his breath and stared at her rather wildly. And she in turn, +as if fascinated, stared back as wildly at him. + +His first guess was inaccurate. She was no mandarin's daughter, this +one. She was young and exquisitely slim, with wisdom and sadness +written upon her colorless face, and he was informed by a single glance +at her exploring bright eyes and the straightness of her fine black +brows, that she was half-breed, Eurasian. + +Those shining eyes, not unlike twin jade beads, were sparkling. Her +lips were thin and as red as betel. Her garb was satin, bright with +gold filigree and flashing gems; and her dainty feet were disfigured +rather than adorned by bright-red sandals. Her feet, however, were not +the "feet of the lily," for the lithe grace of her stride was ample +proof that they had not been bound. + +The dying sun outlined through the folds of her bizarre garment ankles +straight, slender, and probably naked. + +Rosy color moved swiftly into her satiny complexion while, with a +pretty, inquisitive frown, she scrutinized him; and then, with a flick +of her black eyelashes, she ran toward the arched doorway, leaving +Peter to ponder, and scratch his blond head, and demand amazing +explanations of himself. + +It was a dominating trait in Peter never to lose time securing +information that was interesting to him; but the old proprietor, with +his wise and varnished smile, could vouchsafe very little of +consequence. + +The young woman, he admitted, was named Naradia. She was accompanied +by her husband, a young Chinese of high birth, who manifested no more +signs of activity to an outward world than a baffling secretness. + +The two of them had arrived from down-river on a sailing junk the week +before. The husband's name was Meng, he believed, and since he had +come, the old man declared, many strange and warlike faces had +mysteriously appeared in Ching-Fu. + +Such visitors were not uncommon in the villages which bordered the +merchants' trail, from the Yangtze to the Irriwaddi, but Peter's +interest was kindled. As he made off in the direction of the most +reliable village mule-seller, he decided that the secretive young +bridegroom, Meng, might be worth cultivating. + +From a soft-tongued and hardened swindler Peter procured a mule, and +arranged to have the animal in the caravansary at daybreak. It was his +intention to start for Kialang in search of Eileen with the first +tender glow of dawn. + +After dining he waited in the compound for a glimpse of the mysterious +Meng, or his ravishing bride, Naradia. Unsuccessful, he returned to +his room. His Chinese valet was brewing jasmin-tea when Peter opened +and shut the bedroom door. His pajamas were neatly laid out upon his +couch, and the rugs were neatly furled back. He detected the acrid and +pleasing odor of incense as he crossed the room. + +The boy glanced up meekly from the charcoal brazier. "Wanchee tea now?" + +"Yes." Peter slipped out of his tunic. + +The boy dropped on his knees to unlace Peter's boots. + +Peter lighted a cigarette, stretched himself out upon the rugs, and the +boy brought him a steaming cup. + +"Wake me--daylight--sure," cautioned Peter, lifting the cup. + +"_Tsao_," murmured the boy. + +When the boy was gone Peter removed the automatic from his raincoat +pocket. The metal glittered pleasantly in the yellow light from the +suspended lamp. The cup of tea had served to waken him. He released +the cartridge clip from the automatic's handle and stared thoughtfully +at the glowing lead balls. + +He became conscious of a sound, alien and untimely. The door was +rattling softly. He studied it with interest; the wooden handle was +turning slowly, first to the right, then to the left. + +The phenomenon puzzled him. His eyes were sparkling a little as he +quietly restored the clip of cartridges. + +Creeping to the hinged side of the door, he waited, breathing silently. + +With a squeak the door swung in quickly. A lean, yellow hand, gripping +a nickel-plated pistol, was thrust inside. + +Peter shot three times directly through the wood panel. + +The white pistol thudded to the planks, while the yellow hand seemed to +be jerked backward by an electric force. Soft footsteps retreated. +Peter jerked open the door and stepped out. + +The corridor was empty. Some few feet toward the stairway an oiled +wick, jutting from a tiny bronze cup which was bracketed to a +scantling, burned and sputtered. + +Under the door across the way a thin streak of yellow light indicated +that the mysterious young Chinese and his bride had not yet retired. + +As Peter was examining the floor for blood stains the door budged +inward sufficiently to panel the terrified face of the Eurasian girl he +had seen earlier in the evening. At sight of him she shut the door +hastily. + +Perplexed, he went to the stairway and peered into the stark blankness +which swam up to the third step below him. He was at a loss to account +for the air of serenity which still dwelt in the inn. Surely the three +revolver shots had been overheard; yet the place was as silent as the +grave, and quite as ominous. Where were the servants, the caravan +boys, the muleteers, the traders and merchants? He dismissed as absurd +the theory that the walls of his room were stout enough to muffle the +short-barreled blasts. + +An isolated sound, a swish of discreet garments, a prudent grating +sound, as of a window lifted or a chair moved, then came to him, and +unquestionably it came from his own room. + +Peter left the staircase to its gloomy shadows. + +The room was unoccupied. Basing his next action upon sound and tried +experience, Peter put out the lamp and hazarded a glimpse out of the +window. + +A sharp, round moon was perched high in a star-studded heaven, fairly +illuminating a muddy street and the low-thatched roofs of nearby +dwellings. A horse whinnied and stamped in the enclosure, and from a +distance rose the moody growl of the rapids. + +Irritated and nervous, Peter felt for the couch and sank down in the +blackness, with the revolver dangling idly across one knee. + +At that instant he was thrilled to the roots of his hair by a scream, +strangely muffled. + +Peter indulged in a shiver as he stole to the door on tiptoe, opened it +quietly, and looked out. There was terror in that scream; it was the +outcry of a human in the clutch of real horror. + +The door across the way was slightly ajar, letting out an orange +effulgence which lighted the boards, the opposite wall, and the grimy +ceiling. Indistinctly he discerned a motionless clump, and, catching +the white flicker of steel he sprang across, wrapping his fingers about +a struggling wrist. + +Immediately the orange light was broadened, then darkened by a tall +figure, but Peter's back was turned. + +An eager sigh, as if heartfelt relief, was given out by the second +shadow. + +The knife, under Peter's pressure, dropped to his feet, and, quite sure +that the time was now past to ask polite questions, Peter brought down +the butt of the revolver with a smart slap where the long black pigtail +joined a fat little head. With a throaty gurgle his victim joined the +shadows of the floor. + +A soft, white hand was laid upon Peter's right arm, and he found +himself glaring into the blanched face of the girl Naradia. Her small +fingers hardened upon the flesh of his hand, and he was aware that she +was staring imploringly across his shoulder. + +Peter spun about and for the first time was aware of the presence of +the indolent figure in the doorway. The glow of a cigarette was at the +man's lips, but the darkness prevented scrutiny. + +The rapid procession of mysterious events had unnerved Peter. The +silent and indolent presence of the stranger in the doorway put the +spark to his long-withheld indignation. He lifted the revolver's nose +menacingly. + +The cigarette glowed a bright red, as if in amazement. + +"You," he snapped, "whoever you are--pick this man up. Carry him into +my room. And you," he added sharply to the girl, "follow him!" + +The cigarette fell to the planks, and the tall man put his heel upon +it. The careless movement gave Peter his first glimpse of the man's +profile. The man smiled faintly. He took the unconscious assailant of +Naradia by the heels and dragged him into Peter's room. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +A match hissed; the flame of the lamp rose up slowly. + +With a flutter of skirts the girl followed, her head inclined, as +though she was humiliated or greatly embarrassed. She went to the +couch and faced him, while an attempt at calmness and a determined fear +struggled to control her expression. Her attire was negligee, of pink +Japanese silk, open at the throat, and revealing a neck and shoulders +as white and smooth as bleached ivory. + +Peter closed the door and shot the bolt. + +The man who smiled so confidently had rolled the knife carrier with his +face to the wall. Then he crossed to the couch and took a stand beside +the girl, seemingly at ease under Peter's sharp and thorough inspection. + +As Peter examined the slender, colorless face he imagined for an +instant that the man, also, was Eurasian. But that impression he +quickly realized was incorrect. The man simply was of a high order of +Chinese intelligence, with smooth, dusky skin, thin, stubborn lips, a +straight forehead, and eyes which were dark, watchful and sad. + +Yet these eyes seemed to twinkle now, shifting without a trace of fear +from the unwavering gun-barrel in Peter's hand to the unwavering glint +in Peter's blue eyes. + +And there was something undeniably imperial in the young Oriental's +bearing. Perhaps this was caused by his attitude, or the Oriental +richness of his garb. He might have been an Asiatic prince, or a sheik +fresh from the desert, or a maharaja, from a jungle throne. A +glittering cluster of gems--diamonds and rubies--hung from a fine gold +chain which encircled his bronzed neck. His tunic was of satin, the +color of the tropical sea; his breeches were spotlessly white, and his +slippers were Arabian, with up-curled toes. + +"Well?" asked the young Asiatic, when Peter's gaze finally descended to +the scarlet slippers. + +"I am waiting," said Peter, impatiently. + +Black eyebrows went up inquiringly. "I am a merchant--from Shanghai." + +"What you are or who you are is of no importance," returned Peter in a +voice of cordial doubt. "Perhaps you've aroused my idle curiosity; at +all events, I want you to tell me why you were late in coming to your +wife's assistance." + +"His life is more precious," she interceded, hastily. + +The Oriental waved his hand, as if the answer were absurd. "You +anticipated me by three seconds," he replied. "I was drowsing. I +thought I had dreamed the scream. May I say--I am very grateful?" + +Peter's expression was dubious, but he nodded at length as though +partly satisfied. "Perhaps you can tell me what became of the man who +opened my door?" + +The man's face was frankly bewildered. "I am at a loss to account for +any man entering your room--unless by mistake," he said with genuine +concern. "I think you are crediting me with an interest in an affair +that I know nothing of. Unless--unless----" He hesitated and paused, +searching Peter's eyes with a glance suddenly startled. "Can it be +possible----?" he muttered. "I judge by your accent that you are an +American. I have spent the past four years myself in America--at +Harvard. Somehow----" He paused again, and smiled faintly. + +Suddenly the smile departed, was displaced by the most murderous of +grimaces. He was looking beyond Peter. His right hand flashed into +his blue tunic. And before Peter could turn or dodge, he sprang past +him, colliding with an object which grunted and instantly cried out in +agony. + +Peter turned in time to see a thin knife plunge into the throat of a +swarthy Chinese, whose face was round as the Mongolian moon, and as +yellow. + +The Chinese wiped his knife coolly on the fallen man's black jacket. +"Why, my good friend, should he attack you, unless----" He paused +again, and searched Peter's face with those keen brown eyes, no longer +sad. + +"Unless what?" he asked, bluntly. "This man is from Len Yang." + +He heard the girl utter a sharp gasp, and a queer light was dawning in +the other's face. + +"Unless you are"--he hesitated--"unless you are the one man in the +world I wish you might be." He laughed. "Are you--Peter Moore, known +in some parts of China as--Peter the Brazen?" + +Peter nodded slowly. + +With a delighted cry the young Oriental sprang to him and seized his +hand. "Do you hear, Naradia?" he exclaimed. "This is _Peter Moore_!" + +And Peter permitted his suspicions to drift, as he thought of the dead +man on the floor, and of the reason why he died. He was compelled to +admit that the stranger had saved his life. + +"We must talk this over," the young Chinese was muttering. "Why, I +could not have arranged it more suitably!" He seemed to collect +himself then. "Before we talk, let us get rid of this man." + +He picked up the dead coolie by the waist, lifted him easily to the +window, and dropped him, as if he were a sack of rice, into the mud. +He whistled twice. Immediately three shadows were given up by the +caravansary. These gathered up the dead man and vanished. + +"They will dispose of him," said the stranger, helping himself to a +cigarette. He paused with the flaring match in his fingers and looked +at Peter quizzically. "My name is Kahn Meng. And I am _not_ from +Shanghai." + +Peter nodded agreeably, although the explanation explained nothing. + +"I have returned to China to attack and capture the city of Len Yang. +I came from there originally. Exactly five years ago I galloped over +the great drawbridge to study the classics in Peking. Fortunately I +met a man. He was an American missionary. He said to me: 'Kahn Meng, +the classics are dead. Betake yourself to America, where you will find +the fountain of modern knowledge.' Of course, the missionary was a +Harvard man." + +Peter frowned slightly. + +"What you don't understand probably, Mr. Moore, is why I can leave Len +Yang and return at will. I can't. I escaped from Len Yang at night. +I am returning with a thousand men at my back. Those men have occupied +this village. My conscience forbids my confessing to you how many of +the spies of Len Yang have been fed to the hungry river since my +arrival. + +"You understand, the monster of Len Yang, as I affectionately call him, +must not know of my return. Otherwise he would make me prisoner. This +fat-faced one slipped through the guard lines. There may be others." +He grunted. "They do not dare kill me. For I----" He threw up his +handsome head proudly. + +"For you----" encouraged Peter. + +"Must hide my identity," finished Kahn Meng with a little laugh. "But +Naradia--they object to her. They have attempted to kill her, so many +times. Naradia, how many?" + +"A score of times," she said darkly. "To-night they nearly succeeded. +I am not wanted. I am a half-caste--a Chinese father, a poor French +mother. They desired him to marry of the----" + +"Hush!" cautioned her husband, for Naradia was almost hysterical and +was willing to prattle on. Kahn Meng smiled tenderly. "Naradia," he +continued, lowering his voice gently, "now that Peter Moore and I are +at last together, will you excuse us? You must be exhausted, my +dear--after this unpleasant affair. Will you retire? Remember, little +Chaya, in another week this terror will be at an end. Mr. Moore and I +will begin planning instantly." + +Naradia laid her hands upon his and smiled sweetly. "Good-night!" she +said, obediently. "Good-night,"--she lifted her brows archly--"Peter +the Brazen! I do hope that you are not a dream!" + +They watched the pink silk of her gown flit into the corridor, +whereupon Kahn Meng took Peter's arm companionably and guided him to +the window. + +A keen, soft wind, tempered with the fragrance of ripening pepper +trees, came in to them in delicate puffs. A mysterious light twinkled +distantly upon the river. The moon was sinking into a void, and the +night was becoming black. + +Kahn Meng was extracting from his satin blouse a gold-and-black +cigarette case. Peter accepted one of the white cylinders and struck a +match. In the flare he found that Kahn Meng was studying him shrewdly, +dispassionately. + +"In the first place," began Kahn Meng, "let us settle the important +matter of price. I will promise you whatever you desire. I want you." +He spat into the darkness. "Why are you in Ching-Fu? I believed you +to be in America, but I could not find you. What brings you here? +Surely you were not planning to enter Len Yang again alone?" + +Peter shook his head. "I came on another errand, which has nothing to +do with Len Yang. But"--he threw away the half consumed +cigarette--"you have made a mistake, Kahn Meng. The first matter to +settle is the more important one of identity." + +"Take me just as I am," pleaded Kahn Meng earnestly. "We have one +desire, I know, in common--to clean up that horrible city! You have +visited Len Yang. You know the wretched condition of the +miners--slaves, poor devils. Perhaps you have seen them at nightfall +coming from the shaft, dripping with the blood-red of the cinnabar, +starving--blind!" + +"I have seen all that," agreed Peter, grimly. + +"Ah! But are you acquainted with that man's methods? Do you know that +his corrupt influence has extended into every nation of Asia? His +organization is more perfect than any eastern government. His system +of espionage puts those of Japan and Germany to shame! You must know! +You have encountered his underlings. Oh, I have heard of the Romola +Borria affair. Your escape was masterly! I believe you astounded him." + +Kahn Meng paused and puffed long at his cigarette. + +"Think, Kahn Meng, what might be accomplished," said Peter fervently, +"if the power he wields, that tremendous human machine--hundreds and +thousands of men--were devoted to the proper ends! Think what could be +done for China!" + +Kahn Meng turned quickly. His eyes seemed to shine above the ruby glow +of his cigarette. + +"I wanted you to say that!" he exclaimed, enthusiastically. "The thing +has been in my mind for years--ever since I was a child! We can do it! +We can!" + +"Yet one thousand men cannot enter Len Yang. It is a fortress." + +"There is another way into Len Yang--by the mines. It cuts off three +days of the journey. I remember it as a child. Tremendous black +ravines lead to the entrance from the merchants' trail, and the opening +is so small that you could pass it a thousand times without suspecting. +Will you accompany us, Peter Moore--Naradia and I and our followers? +We leave at dawn." He waited anxiously. + +Peter shook his head regretfully. The song of adventure was musical to +his ears, but he could not leave with Kahn Meng in the morning. There +was Miss Lorimer--in Kialang. + +"I cannot leave Ching-Fu until to-morrow night." + +"That will be as well, perhaps," assented Kahn Meng after a moment's +thought. "We will rest for the night in the Lenchuen Pass. It is to +the right of the black road. My sentries will be watching for you." + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +Peter shot the bolt and listened to the sad grumble of the river as he +endeavored to adjust this strange incident to the stranger events of +the very full evening. + +Not until the mysterious Kahn Meng had said his good-night did Peter +realize how exhausted he was. + +He looked at his watch, a thin gold affair, which had ticked faithfully +during all of his adventures, and was exceedingly astonished that the +night had already flown to the hour of four-thirty. + +Dawn would come very soon, and with the first peep of the sun he was to +start for Kialang and Eileen. + +The lamp smoked sleepily overhead; far away the great river sang its +bass song. + +He must be up at dawn. What a question-mark was Kahn Meng! A Harvard +graduate--and a native of the red city! And what an adorable creature +was the girl Naradia! Her eyes were like jade, her lips like poppy +petals.... + +A crash of sound, a blaze of golden light, aroused him. He sat up, +dodging a sunbeam which had flicked his eyelids. Shrill voices came +from a distance. The odor of manure exhaled by the caravan sheds +floated into the room, and Peter jumped up front the couch with an +angry grunt. His heart was heavy with the guilt of the man who has +overslept. + +The watch ticked, and the neat, black hands had covered an amazing +amount of ground; it was nearly tiffin-time. + +The shrill, distant voices continued. Curiously, Peter looked out. + +It was a beautiful sunlit morning, as clear as spring water. Miles +away the sun shone on the yellow haunches of the range, altering them +to a range of heavy gold; and gleamed tenderly on the paddy fields, +black and ripely green. + +Peter lowered his eyes to the square formed by the intersection of a +number of alleys some distance beyond the caravansary. A sizable mob +was collected in this enclosure; he estimated that there were at least +a thousand pagan-Chinese assembled, in ring formation--a giant ring, +dozens deep, and centered upon a small focussing spot of white. + +The spot of white occupied the precise center of the square, and Peter +studied it for some moments out of idle curiosity. Crowning the white +object was a smaller spot of chestnut-brown. He dashed out of his room +and down the stairs without even pausing for his hat. + +Peter gained the edge of the crowd, and he bored into it, scattering +protesting old ladies and chattering old men as ruthlessly as if they +had been unfruitful stalks of rice. + +It was a desperate fight to the center of that mob, for others were as +curious as Peter. Then, over the swaying shoulders he caught a second +glimpse of the chestnut-brown. It was a woman's hair, and it was +familiar in arrangement. + +He broke into an arena not more than nine feet in diameter in which +were three objects: a wooden cask, upturned, a leather hand-bag, and a +small and exceedingly pretty young woman. Her cheeks were flushed, her +eyes were gray and sweet, and her mouth was like an opening rosebud. + +"Eileen----" he cried. + +"Why, Peter Moore!" she gasped. + +He rushed to take her, but she held up her palms, retreating. + +He laughed. "What under the seven suns are you doing in Ching-Fu--and +Kialang--and China? What's the meaning?" + +He observed that a snow-white apron extended from her dimpled chin to +her small ankles. + +"This is my office hour," she said severely. + +"But what does this mean--this?" he exploded, gesturing wildly toward +the circle of attentive onlookers. + +"My clinic!" She smiled. + +"You're not practising medicine out here--in this street!" he +ejaculated. + +"Indeed I am," she replied. "Some of these people have been waiting +their turns since daylight. I returned from Kialang an hour ago. And +I'll work until I collapse. I must. I wish I could multiply myself by +a thousand. There's not another doctor within miles. You can watch, +if you'd like," she added, then called shrilly. + +An old woman appeared, and went scurrying, returning immediately with a +clean, wooden bucket filled with hot water. + +Eileen removed from the hand-bag what appeared to be a wallet. +Stripping a rubber band from this she revealed a row of shining +surgical knives. Then she produced from the black bag several bottles +and a roll of absorbent cotton. + +"Eyes," she told him as her hand was swallowed again by the black bag. + +A child, a river boy, was pushed forward by a squinting mother. +Quaking fearfully, he sat down on the cask at the girl's feet. + +She turned to Peter. "This child has been without sight for a month. +Without this operation he would remain blind forever. To-morrow he +will see again." + +"You're wonderful!" Peter exclaimed. + +At the gentle touch the child's loud whining ceased. She lifted one of +the swollen lids. The boy did not flinch. + +"Filth caused this," she explained. "The Chinese are the dirtiest race +on earth, anyway," she added, dipping a clump of cotton into an +antiseptic wash and rinsing the patient's eyes. "Where there is too +much dirt, there is blindness. One-fourth of the population in this +section of China are blind. They go to 'fortune tellers,' and they +remain blind. In nine cases out of ten the simplest of operations +followed by care will cure this type of blindness." + +"Good enough; but will they be careful afterward?" Peter was curious to +know. + +"Once their sight is given back to them, they follow directions to a T. +I'm leaving behind me a trail of the cleanest Chinamen you ever laid +eyes on!" + +She became silent, and so did Peter, who watched, hardly daring to +breathe, the swift, sure dartings of the tiny knife in her white +fingers. It was done in a jiffy; and there seemed to be on pain. + +"Shouldn't you have an operating-room?" inquired Peter, as she bound up +the child's eyes in gauze. + +She gave him a bright, professional smile. "Peter, I've learned to +operate with a thousand hooting infidels crowding closer than this. In +Nanking I was nearly mobbed." + +Peter looked concerned. "Did they harm you?" + +"Oh, no! They wanted their children, their wives, and their virtuous +mothers to see the light of day again." + +"Eileen, you're an angel!" + +"Be careful, Peter, or I'll kiss you in front of all these people." +She blushed and smiled. "I think I was very bold to come up here all +alone. Don't you?" + +Peter grumbled something which escaped her. + +She sat down wearily on the cask and looked up at him forlornly. "I +thought it would be a lark; but it isn't. It's the hardest kind of +work. There seem to be so many blind people--and I get tired--furious!" + +"Can't we break away from this mob and have a little chin-chin by +ourselves?" + +"You're not anxious, Peter?" + +"This is not Shanghai," he rejoined sententiously. "Ching-Fu is not a +healthy spot for me--or for you. I've been watched. Perhaps, this +very minute----" He stopped and looked at the dour faces pressed about +them. + +She shrugged. "Are you going on to Len Yang this time, Peter?" + +He nodded slightly. "Perhaps." + +"With me?" + +"Without you," he stated firmly, dimly conscious of a stir on the +fringe of their audience. + +"It isn't fair," she murmured; "I've come all this way----" She +touched her lips with the tip of a pink tongue. What she might have +added was forestalled by rising confusion on the edge of the crowd. +There were harsh voices, shrill voices; then these sounds were dwarfed +by the thunder of furious hoofs. + +White with the dust of the lower trail a troop of Mongolian horsemen, +riding high in their jeweled saddles, swept into the square, shouting. +Lashing their horses, they drove into the gathering with the fury of +Cossacks. + +Peter was thrown to one side by a tall man whom he had taken for a +peasant. He tugged at his pocket, but the coolie was fighting his way +toward the horsemen. + +Indifferent to her struggles and screams, this giant carried Eileen in +naked, brawny arms. + +Peter leaped after, shouting and cursing at those who stood in his way. +Some one tripped him. He regained his footing, shot his fist into the +jaw of an argumentative youth, and struggled on. + +The onlookers were scattering with loud and frightened squeals, running +into one another, gathering in bewildered groups, darting for doorways, +like sheep attacked by a wolf pack. + +Then a black horse swept so close to Peter that the stirrup stripped +the buttons from his tunic. A heavy whip stung him across the +shoulders. + +When he recovered from this blow the struggling girl was yards away, +still struggling, but no longer screaming. She had been transferred to +the arms of a giant Mongol, who evidently was the leader of this pack. + +Peter whipped out the automatic and let go a burst at the horseman who +now blocked his way; and the Mongolian, in the act of lifting a knife +from its holster-scabbard, dipped across the animal's flank, with his +eyes rolling toward heaven, his foot caught in one stirrup. + +The horse, frightened, leaped up and spun about, twisting the fallen +rider about his heels. And Peter had clear way for another few feet. + +Another horseman swept down upon him. Peter brought the gun up and +brought it down with fury. Twice he shot, and then this interference +was removed. + +The troops were gathering into crude formation, evidently for another +charge. Eileen had disappeared. + +Peter, knowing that she was somewhere in that quadrangle of rearing +horses, struck forward, stumbling over fallen bodies, slipping in mud. +His lungs burned, and he choked in a consuming rage. And suddenly he +heard her scream his name. + +The leader of the desert pack held her across his saddle, with his +mighty arms pinioning her. He saw Peter, shouted, jabbed down with his +spurs, and his mount fairly leaped. The others wheeled gracefully, and +they vanished in thunder toward the plain. + +Peter discovered the horse of one of the fallen warriors and leaped to +capture him. + +And in the next moment he was groping in blindness. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +Lingering in his vision was a leering face. + +Mud had been thrown into his eyes, and the filth was plastered from +eyebrows to nose. In a flash he recognized the face. Months ago he +had thrown that Chinese from the deck of a steamer into the +shark-infested waters of Tandjong Priok, the harbor of Batavia, Java. + +Such amusing spectacles as the struggling unbeliever with rich mud +plastered in his eyes have a tendency to evoke keen appreciation from +the yellow races, who are supposed to be devoid of a sense of humor. + +Shrill and explosive laughter was arising on all sides of him. + +Light came slowly to his tortured eyes through a thick, yellow film. +All of his muscles were tensed; any instant he expected to experience +the long anticipated thrill of cold steel between ribs--or at his +throat. + +Some kindly Samaritan had taken him by the hand. Mucous breath +assailed him. He distinctly heard a thud, a grunt, a screamed order. + +No words were spoken, yet the mysterious hand tugged urgently at his +wrist. Peter knelt down and raised handfuls of water to his eyes from +a tub. He looked about for his benefactor and met only the leering +countenance of a highly amused group of urchins, men and women, +diverted as they had probably never been diverted before. + +And in the meanwhile he realized with a torn heart that the thundering +hoofs were receding farther with each flitting instant. + +Peter knocked down one man as he struck out through the amused circle. +The square was now all but deserted. Two bodies lay in the mud, +unattended. Examination proved these to be the earthly remains of the +two Mongolian horsemen--the two he had shot down. The two horses were +unattended. Peter mounted the nearest. + +The air was growing cold. A keen, ice-edged wind was moving northward +from the range, and the sky was graying with storm clouds. + +His horse was moving like the wind, perspiring not at all, a +thoroughbred, a mount for a prince! At his present rate he should +catch up with the Mongolian rear by nightfall; otherwise the pursuit +was certainly lost. And then Peter fell to wondering what tactics he +would pursue when he reached the band. How could he, alone, armed only +with an automatic revolver, hope to overpower professional riflemen who +numbered at the least forty? It was a nice problem; yet he could +reason out no simpler solution. He was bent on a task that might have +won applause from a _Don Quixote_. + +The sun was settling upon the golden roof of the range, sending out +monstrous blue shadows across the valley. + +Mountain darkness soon enveloped the world. A dazzling star appeared +with the brilliant suddenness of a coast-light. The wind was winy with +the flavor of high snows. + +And suddenly the horse stumbled. Peter jerked on the reins. The horse +whinnied, dancing awkwardly on three legs. + + + + +Peter dismounted. A foreleg was crippled. He groaned. Fate, long his +ally, was laughing at him. The chase was ended. + +Suddenly hoofs thudded on the firm dirt; a shadow darted by, nearly +colliding with him. There was a trampling. A lantern frame clicked, +and a lance of yellow light rippled upon his face, broadened. + +He glared into the anxious brown eyes of Kahn Meng. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +"You are in time!" He gripped Peter by the shoulder. + +"Have you stopped them?" gasped Peter. + +Kahn Meng indulged in a bitter laugh. "Only the wind could overtake +them." He shrugged. "They came--they broke through our lines--and +again they broke through! If they had stopped for battle," he added +grimly, "there would have been a different tale to tell." + +"And they have taken her to Len Yang?" Peter suddenly recalled that +Kahn Meng probably knew nothing of Eileen. + +"The doctor? Yes," assented Kahn Meng sadly. "One of my men was in +Ching-Fu when the troop drove through. He was looking out for you. He +arrived only a few moments ago. By Buddha, how you have traveled!" + +"I intend to go on." + +Kahn Meng sighed. "It means only death." + +"I am willing." + +"But you cannot catch them with any horse. You would be killed. We +can arrive in Len Yang sooner," Kahn Meng pleaded. "Everything is +ready." + +"I'll follow," Peter stated grimly, "on the condition that you answer +two questions. What is your relation to the man at Len Yang----" + +"On my word of honor," Kahn Meng interrupted him with emotion, "I am a +friend. Won't that suffice until the morning? If I were an enemy, if +I were on his side----" + +"I realize that," Peter stopped him. "Very well. I'll wait. My other +question is this: Why does that beast search the world for beautiful +women--and consign them to the mines?" + +Kahn Meng was silent. Reluctantly Peter was allowing himself to be led +through the darkness over broken ground. A pale dot of light emerged +from the night. + +"I do not know," said Kahn Meng finally. "It is hideous. I have seen +them. That will be stopped!" he added tensely. + +Under the lantern they paused, and Peter found his strange companion to +be examining his features intently. + +"I can add nothing to what has been said," Kahn Meng went on. "I have +much to attend to now. We are starting immediately. At present will +you trust me as I trust you?" He extended his right hand, and Peter +clasped it silently. + +The ripe old moon of Tibet was creeping from its bed, tipping the +pointed tents with a soft glow. + +On such another night as this Peter had first dared to enter the City +of Stolen Lives, and the faint, mysterious sounds of a caravan at rest +stirred up old memories. + +The probable treatment of Eileen at the hands of Len Yang's king was +too terrible for him to contemplate. And he was as helpless at this +instant as though he were on the other side of the Pacific Ocean. + +A hot flood of anger welled up in his breast. His palms began to +sweat. Each minute was drawing her closer to the moldy walls. + +He could picture her struggling in the arms of the giant Mongolian. He +could see the great drawbridge swinging down to the white road in the +moonlight or the blistering heat of noonday. And on the hill, like a +greedy, white vulture, he could see that solemn palace with minarets +stretching like claws to the sky, crouching upon the red slime vomited +forth by the mines. + +A cool voice startled him. Kahn Meng came out of the darkness. + +"Two hundred men will accompany us. The others will remain here in +case an attack is made on our rear. There may be trouble. Of course, +I could go, unharmed, into Len Yang by the mountain road; but as soon +as I entered I would be helpless--a prisoner forever. He knows I am +returning. He is expecting me. But he does not know that half his +garrison are loyal to me. The yellow-whiskered one will not be glad to +see me," he added with a malicious grin. + +The night seemed to be filled with silent, wakeful coolies, armed with +rifles. The grim and watchful silence of the procession, the black +mystery of the night with the sinking, cold moon aloft, and the +uncertainty of the whole affair, set Peter's nerves to tingling; and +his heart was beginning to react to the high excitement of it. + +He was elated, yet anxious. To-night's business was no quest of the +golden fleece. The size of his undertaking, now that he stood, with +only a few miles between, at the threshold of achievement, was +overwhelming. He had pledged himself. + +How he would proceed if the present venture succeeded was another +matter. Fate or opportunity would have to shape his next steps. +Perhaps in Kahn Meng, the mysterious, might rest the solution. Peter +was an adventurer by choice, and an engineer by profession. Under +given conditions he knew what to expect of men and machines. Before he +had taken to the seas as a wireless operator he had had some experience +as a railroad builder. He had laid rails in California, and Mexico. A +successful career in that profession had been foregone when the warm +hand of Romance laid hold of him. + +He wondered how he could adjust himself to the routine of his old +profession again, if that was the opportunity awaiting him in Len Yang. +Governmental problems, he knew, would have to be given to more +specialized men, such perhaps as Kahn Meng. + +He looked behind him, at the long line of men stretched down the narrow +ravine like the tail of a colossal serpent. Occasionally a stone, +dislodged, clattered down into the crevices. Above them the rock +stretched and lost itself in the cold purple of the night. The moon +carved out vast shadows, black and threatening. + +They emerged at length into a broader valley, jagged with spires +flashing with gleams of the moon on frequent mirror-like surfaces. Ten +thousand men could have been concealed in this desolate cavern. Yet it +rang with emptiness as, far arear, a steel prod struck powdery fire +from the flinty path. + +Hours seemed to pass as they advanced, descending constantly. At times +the granite walls nearly met above them, and then a shaft of moonlight +would cast freakish shapes across their vision. + +Once they paused for rest near a torrential stream. Some lingered to +drink. The blackness in the sky was yielding itself to the spectral +glow of the new day when Kahn Meng gave the order to halt. + +He took Peter aside and explained his procedure. His plan was to send +fifty men through the tunnel to the main shaft to subdue the guards; +the remainder of the armed coolies, numbering about one hundred and +fifty, would follow, forming a protective chain to the black door, an +underground entrance. + +"There should be no trouble, no confusion--a bloodless revolution," he +added with a nervous, elated laugh. "I will occupy the place--you will +follow. Wait ten minutes." + +Peter nodded. + +"A tunnel, fairly straight, leads from here directly to the black door. +Have your revolver in readiness. My men may not make a clean job. The +mine guards carry clubs. Each of my coolies has a rifle." Kahn Meng's +eyes in the light of a torch were glittering excitedly. He grasped +Peter's nearest hand in his enthusiasm. + +"We are so near! Only a step!" He laughed wildly, lifted his voice +ecstatically to a sing-song and chanted from Ouan-Oui: "Then---- + + "'Let us rejoice together. + and fill our porcelain goblets + with cool wine!'" + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +Now Peter was an emotional young man. And wrathful notions were +kindled in him before he encountered the only guard Kahn Meng's men had +overlooked--may the bones of that one rest gently! + +He saw little children clawing in red muck; he saw young girls with +sunken breasts, their former beauty a wretched caricature, carrying +dying babes upon their backs. He saw tired old men, and women, +crippled, blind, with red fingers and wrists, as if they had been +dipped in blood. He saw plenty to enrage him. + +Kahn Meng's guards bowed gravely as he passed them at tunnel passages. +He had walked perhaps three-quarters of an hour generally in a single +direction, bearing a torch, when he collided with a smooth, flat +obstruction. + +Somewhere in the earth distantly behind him occurred a metallic rumble, +followed by a gust of soft wind, fragrant with the outdoors. + +He was staring at blackness, the varnished blackness of a great wooden +door. He was at the threshold! somewhere on the other side of that +enormous wooden barrier was the man of Len Yang! Chalked boldly upon +the surface was the legend: + +P. M.--straight on--K. M. + +Pulling with his fingers and bracing his feet in the rough floor, the +mass moved monumentally toward him. It swung wide, on great, concealed +hinges. + +Peter's adventurous heart was beating an excited battle call. His +burning eyes strained beyond the ruddy luminance of the torch, and +examined--white marble! He was at his journey's end--somewhere in the +palace of the Gray Dragon! + +Peter dragged the great door softly shut behind him, and found himself +in a chamber of vast proportions, built of what had at one time been +purest white marble, discolored entirely now by the red taint of the +bloody ore. The floor was perspiring redly. + +Going on tiptoe to the center of the space, he searched the blank +walls, listening breathlessly. + +He heard nothing but the faint patter of the dripping slime, and he +went swiftly to the end of the musty antechamber and discovered at the +distant end the fourth wall, hitherto unseen. Reaching from the left +corner of the scarlet tomb was a narrow staircase built also of marble. + +Dropping his hand nervously into his right-hand tunic pocket, he went +up and pushed open another door. He found himself now in a snow-white +corridor, faintly lighted by grilles overhead. The hall reached +gloomily into gray distance, and it was quite vacant. An unseen +fountain was playing near by. At his left was another door, closed. + +The closed door attracted him. Certainly there was no other course now +than a detailed exploration. + +Bracing himself for a surprise in this palace of hideous surprises, he +flung open the door, and entered black darkness. + +Carelessly he closed the door behind him, listening and sniffing. At +first he heard nothing, but he smelled altar-incense faintly. + +A deep-voiced gong suddenly reverberated while Peter tensed himself. +The sonorous melody lifted and crashed, subsiding into countless +unmusical overtones. Lighter metal rang upon wood. + +Then lights--electric lights--by the dozens, +hundreds--thousands--blazed with a violent suddenness, a suddenness +that Peter could compare only with that of a tropical sun leaping out +of the ocean; and Peter blinked upon green. It was a hideous green, a +green of diabolical intensity. He shivered. It seemed to creep, to +writhe, this green. + +At first he could not absorb this insane color idea; and he stood +there, with his heart sinking. + +He discovered that he was occupying an oblong green rug of satin. He +was dazzled by the green glare of a cluster of quartz lights in front +of him, and he stared, first at a monstrous green Buddha, squatting on +a thighless rump between flashing green pillars, and finally at the +most hideous individual he had ever gazed upon, a human, who occupied a +throne carved solidly from green jade. + +The glimpse was like stepping from a dark dream into the center of an +aquamarine nightmare. And in the instant following his partial +digestion of the viridescent scheme he was possessed with the notion +that the occupant of such a chamber of horror must certainly be insane. + +That was the first idea to possess Peter. He was not surprised to find +that he was unafraid. Anticipation is much more fearful than +realization. He had experienced many panicky moments in looking +forward to this meeting; and yet in the presence of him he was cool. + +The Gray Dragon of Len Yang? + +From the tail of his eye he detected a man with folded arms backed +against the door. At either side of the green throne stood Mongolian +guards, armed with rifles. They struck the only dissonant note of the +picture, for they were garbed in desert brown. + +Evidently all ways of escape were closed. For two years he had +contrived to elude the tracers, the killers, sent out by this creature, +and now he had deliberately walked upon his swords. Death? Where was +Kahn Meng? + +Possessed with a feeling akin to cat-like curiosity, Peter walked +slowly to the beryl throne steps, where he paused, with his fists +gripped tightly in his pockets, his chin up, and his shoulders back. + +Close scrutiny did not soften the bestial cruelty of the face of Len +Yang's ruler. It was a startling face, as gray as fresh clay, sharply +wrinkled. The nose was exceedingly long and sharp, with a crooked +joint. Dirty-yellow mandarin mustaches drooped like wet sea-weed from +the sides of a curling, sneering mouth. + +And it was dominated by a pair of very small, very bright green eyes, +set deep and exceedingly close together. + +But the tenor of the face was gray, the gray of living death, and from +this emblem, Peter suddenly decided, the man had been given his +descriptive name. + +Long, gray talons reached out from the folds of a mandarin jacket and +toyed nervously with a strand of gray hair which jutted from the +pigtail winding over the slanting shoulder. + +The green eyes blinked as they completed the survey of Peter Moore. +The curling lips were moving. + +"Peter Moore!" he rasped. "The most daring foreigner who has yet +visited my city! Peter the Brazen, with a reputation of breaking the +hearts of beautiful women! You are late. I have been waiting upon +this visit for two years!" + +He leaned forward, and Peter retreated a step. + +"What have you done with her?" Peter snapped. + +The Gray Dragon sank back with a sigh. "Ah! Would you like to gaze +upon that which can never be yours?" + +"May I see her--once--before I die?" + +"That is a wise statement. You are altogether wise--astonishingly so! +Wisdom is a rare gem in one so young." He chuckled in an irritating +treble. "Look about you again, youth. This is known as the room of +the green death. Few men leave the room of the green death alive. My +hounds bay when they enter. + +"The young woman is here--safe. If you will answer my questions, I may +permit you to gaze upon her just once before you die! Perhaps I may be +so lenient as to allow you to die together. Does not that appeal to +you?" he demanded, as if anxious. "You--who are so thirsty for the +gold of romance?" + +Peter glared at him silently, and his fingers were twitching. + +His host tapped the resonant gong. Some one stepped behind Peter, for +he distinctly heard the seep of silken garments. + +The man on the green throne muttered, adding to Peter: "I am granting +your wish. You may gaze upon her before you die. I, too, will gaze, +for I prize her highly, as you know." + +He sank back meditatively, and in that moment the gray face became +oddly sane. + +"Peter Moore, seldom do I permit men who have troubled me so sorely to +escape alive. Perhaps, in face of what has happened, you are foolishly +taking unto yourself credit. And still, for a reason unknown to me, I +hesitate. + +"Listen to me closely, youth! For these two years I have watched you +with my thousands of hired eyes--you cannot realize how closely! +Because I was deeply interested. You are a riddle to me. You have the +emotions of a woman, and the cunning of a _hu-li_. + +"Times without count word has gone forth from this green room that your +death must take place. Childish curiosity to stare just once upon the +foolish adventurer has caused that word to be revoked! Do not assume +credit for bravery that was not yours, Peter Moore! You are not +heroic; you have been a plaything. The gods are through with you. + +"Harken to me, Peter the foolish. Within these green walls daily are +inscribed the names of men and women who must die. Your name has been +spoken, yet never once has it been written. When it is written----" +He paused with a portentous hush. + +"To-day, when I realized you were at last coming to me, when spy after +spy ran to my feet to say that at last--at last--Peter Moore, the +unconquerable, was coming to pay his long-overdue call--I hastened with +that daily quota of names of those who are doomed, so that I could +attend you with undivided attention. + +"Can it interest you? Nine men are doomed. Within two weeks from this +hour a mandarin will die by the knife, an ambassador at the court of +Peking will expire by poison, an indiscreet Javanese merchant----" He +waved his skinny arms impatiently. + +"Those whose names are written must inevitably die. If the name of +Peter Moore had but once appeared on the green silk--I could have +forgotten you--and rested. But I was restrained by a most curious +impulse." He looked at Peter eagerly. + +"You have perplexed, almost fascinated me. Tell me first, what was +your power over Romola Borria?" + +Peter only grunted, angrily astonished. + +"Wait!" cautioned the curling lips. "I am not ridiculing you. I am +keenly desirous of knowing." He frowned, pondering. "I will tell you +about that woman. Romola Borria was sent to me, and I employed her. +For certain difficult tasks she was all that I desired--more beautiful +than sunset on the Tibetan snow--a glorious woman, yet as cold, as +unfriendly as that same snow. Her spirit was one of ice, yet fire. + +"And her heart was stone--or snow also. I sent her directly to +communicate a certain thing to you--to kill you in the event that you +declined. Shall I tell you how many men she has put out of the way at +my bidding before and after she met you? No matter. + +"Romola Borria was proof against love. No man was created for her to +love. Yet that snowy heart melted, that precious coldness vanished, +when she met--Peter Moore!" + +The Gray Dragon paused, and the cessation of his metallic voice, the +quick relinquishing of the evil glint in his small, green eyes, left +Peter with a deeper feeling of revulsion than previously. It had been +his imaginative belief that the Gray Dragon was utterly without human +traits; yet he possessed that lowest of them all, a bestial curiosity. + +"I can all but read your thoughts," he went on, lidding his green eyes +a number of times. "You are saying what my victims invariably say when +I grant them these rare audiences before they die. Over and over you +are repeating--'Beast! Beast! Beast!' Is that not true?" + +"That is absolutely true!" + +Malice seemed to hover about the glittering green eyes, and was gone at +once. "Peter Moore, to gaze at you is like gazing into a crystal. In +you I witness that supreme quality which was denied me in my youth. I +can have anything in the world but that supreme, that sublime quality. +I can buy anything in the world but that." The voice stopped. + +Peter shifted his glance momentarily to the armed attendants who +guarded this evil life. An inner whisper counseled him: "Not yet! Not +yet! There is time!" + +"Yet there is a chance that I may reconsider; that I may permit you to +continue to live--perhaps in the mines. But certainly, Peter the +foolish, you must not yield to that present impulse. Of course, you +are armed. But do not move! Two feet behind you stands an excellent +shot with a pistol aimed at your backbone. Men with cracked spines do +not live long!" He chuckled. + +"What was I about to say? Ah, yes! If I could purchase from you that +quality--if I could, I say, anything in my kingdom would be +yours--everything! It is the one thing I have been denied. Holy +wheel! It is strange, this way I am talking! I have rarely had such +an interested audience. Most of my captives at this stage are +cringing, are kissing my feet." + +The snarling grin left his lips again, and his mood became strangely +soft, like dead flesh, so Peter thought, as he waited--with that pistol +at his backbone! + +"I intend telling you an amazing story, which you may or may not +credit. I am telling it--this confession--partly because I dislike the +look in your blue eyes. Like everyone else, you loathe me. But I will +erase that look. I intend to show you I am even more human than you! + +"By Buddha, I will tell that story to you--you, Peter Moore, the most +fortunate man in all China this hour. Think, before I begin, of that +mandarin, that bungling Javanese merchant, who, also, are about to die. +Then forget all else--and listen. + +"This took place many years ago, when I was a young man, like yourself. +I, too, loved a woman. Can you understand me? I, too, once loved a +woman, a maiden of the Punjab. I can conceive her in the veil of my +memory still. Eyes like dusty stars, skin the color of the Tibetan +dawn, the dawn that you may never again look upon. + +"Her heart was gold, so I thought. Yet it was dross. On a night in +springtime, in the bazaar at Mangalore, we two first met. I have not +forgotten. That night I fell in love with the white orchid from the +Punjab. She was more beautiful to me than life or death, a feast of +beauty. + +"Len Yang was mine then, and I was a rich prince, but not so rich as +now. Drunkenly I was casting my gold about the bazaar when we met. +She saw me--and she smiled! It was the first time any woman had smiled +upon me, and I was alarmed and troubled. I was no more handsome than +now. I was the man that no one loved. _Chuh-seng_--the beast--was my +name even then, among those who tolerated my friendship because of my +fluent gold. + +"And when the Punjab maiden smiled upon me, I thought to myself: +'_Chuh-seng_, love has come at last to sweeten your bitter heart.' +What should a young lover have done? I--I bought the bazaar and +presented it to her--on bended knees! + +"She confessed that she could love me, despite my ugliness, this white +orchid of the plains. Peter Moore, do not look at me. You can +believe--if you do not look. She kissed me--on my lips! Again she +said she loved me. Had I been a thousand times uglier, she would have +loved me a thousand times more passionately! Heaven had joined us. +And I forgave my enemies, renewed my vows at the wheel, and blessed +every virgin star! + +"Love had come to me at last! Me--the most hideous in all of Asia. +And I believed her. What would you have done, Peter Moore--you who +know so well the heart of woman? Never mind. I believed everything. + +"We lingered in Mangalore. But I did not know then of the Singhalese +merchant--the trader who owned three miserable camels. He possessed +not handsomeness, but the romantic glamour which you possess, Peter the +Brazen! Reveling in my love, I was as blind as these imbeciles in my +mines. Our child was born. + +"She could have taken more, had she not been so lovestruck. She could +have had my all--my gems, my pearls, and rubies, and diamonds, more +colossal than the treasure of any raja--my mines which dripped with the +precious mercury! + +"Yet she stole only my gold which was convenient, and went out into the +starlit night with the Singhalese trader, to share the romance of the +blinding desert--the Singhalese trader, a man of no caste at all! +Love? That was my love!" + +The hideous, gray face retreated behind talons as though to blot out +the thought of that ancient betrayal. When the talons again dropped +down, the dead softness of the face was replaced by the former sneer. + +This change was quite shocking. + +The beast was laughing harshly. "If I could not have love, I could at +least have hate! I have hated more passionately than any man has ever +loved!" + +Peter said nothing to this, although the gray lips closed and the green +eyes looked at him expectantly, almost demanding comment. Surely this +creature was insane, with his room of the green death, his wild tales +of love of a Punjab maiden, of wholesale hate. + +The Gray Dragon seemed irritated. "What have you to say now?" + +"I was only wondering," said Peter, as if suddenly tired, "when that +pistol is to explode at my back." + +"There is yet time," muttered his host. "No man has yet left this room +in contempt of me! Can you believe I have lied?" he snarled. "Why, +you fool!" he croaked. "I will teach you! What do you suppose has +become of that other one whom you met at the _weng_ into the hills? Do +you imagine my men were not in his camp? Every inch of the way you two +were watched. + +"And what has become of your prudence? You who defied me, who escaped +me--undone by a woman! She is why you are here. Because you are such +a fool you shall die. I might have relented. I thought you were proof +against love. Is any one? Is any one proof against it but me? Ah----" + +He looked eagerly beyond Peter, and Peter heard a frightened sob, then +a little cry, as the door closed heavily. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +She flew across the room to him, and pressed her hands to his cheeks. +Her eyes were sparkling with tears, and her face was very pale. Only +her lips, which were everlastingly bright, gave color to that +distressed young face. + +"Peter!" she moaned. "Oh, I was so afraid!" She lowered her voice. +"What is to become of us?" + +He looked down at her and forced a smile to his lips. + +"We who are about to die----" he began grimly. + +She gave him a twisted smile as his arms tightened about her. He loved +her for that courage. + +With his arm at her waist he turned. He had observed that the Gray +Dragon had spoken truly as regarded the armed coolie at his back. + +Their captor bent forward and fixed upon them the most curious of +glances. His merciless, green eyes ran from Eileen's tumbled chestnut +hair to her small, tan boots--then he regarded Peter with the same +intensity, and thereupon he seemed to be weighing the doomed lovers as +a unit, or as an idea. + +A devilish smile cracked his lips. + +"So this is love?" he cackled. "This is the young woman to whom you +have thrown your life away--after most splendid resistance--you, Peter +the Brazen! Do you still love her?" He pointed a crooked forefinger +at Eileen. "Tell me, would you desert him, in this first flush of your +maiden love, for a handsomer man--and steal his gold, after he laid the +earth at your feet? Would you do that?" + +Methodically the talons stroked the sea-weed mustache. + +"You are too anxious for death. You are romantic. Youth does have +such ideas. Even I, _Chuh-seng_, have such notions. Death? Why does +your little mind single out such simple punishment--you--lovers? +Romantically you long for death, because in the next world you would +come together again--in the lover's eternity of heaven. + +"But I have a far more imaginative scheme. Separation! How does that +appeal to you?" He leaned forward and watched them. "I have an +excellent plan. One of you shall work until the end of his life in +this mine, as beautiful captives in the past quarter century have +slaved and died; the other shall labor until the end of life in my +quarries, not more than one hundred miles from Len Yang. + +"Then you will not speak of death. You will struggle and you will grow +old long before your time, as the others have done, hoping that vain +hope of again meeting. And I shall grant your wish! Years from now, +when youth and the divine passion of youth have flown--when only the +bitter dregs of that rapturous love remain--then you shall be +reunited." He cackled humorously in his treble. + +"O Buddha! How long have I waited for such an opportunity? How long? +How long? Is it twenty years--or forty--or a thousand--since that +night in the bazaar at Mangalore?" His green eyes rolled to the green +ceiling. And his mood underwent another vast change, this creature of +monster moods. + +"Are you grateful to me, you two? You should be! It was I who brought +you together--I, the cruelest man in all Asia! It must have been a +divine night, that night on the great river, Peter Moore, when she came +into your arms. Love blazed in your hearts that night; and this +gray-eyed witch said, with downcast eyes: 'I like you, Peter Moore!' +What difference what she said? Any words would have dripped as much +with love!" + +He sprang to his feet, groaning, his evil countenance undergoing +convulsions, as of terrific inner spasms. + +"You shall not have that!" he shouted. "You shall not have love! What +I have done, I shall undo! You shall live apart. Love has been +refused me; love is refused all who come within my reach! That is my +decision. Nor shall you have death. One of you to the quarry--the +other to the mines. I shall be generous. You may make your choice. +And _that_ is my decision!" + +The lovers stared at him. The vicious plan had gripped Peter's +imagination. Gone was all thought of the pistol, which lay even now in +the palm of his hand. One shot would have silenced the beast forever; +but he had forgotten such things as bullets and pistols. + +He could realize only that, even before their first kiss had been +exchanged, they would be torn apart. + +The color had receded from Peter's skin and eyes; he looked very much +nearer forty than thirty. And Eileen was reflecting that despairing +attitude. She could think only of him toiling wretchedly in the mines +or quarries, striving against a fate as unfriendly, as unyielding, as a +wall of cold granite. + +The Gray Dragon sank back, with his chest heaving. His features were +working. The spasm had exhausted him; and the green brilliance gave +his gray skin a ghastly pallor. He lifted a small silver hammer and +brought it down upon the belly of a large bronze gong. + +There was a stir behind them. + +With the same cold hate in his expression as he addressed himself again +to the lovers, who clung together like small children, pitiful objects +indeed in this hall of pitiless green. + +"The others are coming; their fate will be yours--you lovers!" + +He turned to address words in dialect to the Mongolian on his right, +and in the space Eileen's breath came warmly upon Peter's ear. + +"Are you armed?" she whispered. + +His nod was hardly perceptible. He dropped his hand into his pocket, +and at that instant his arms were pinioned. The revolver was snatched +from his fingers. + +The malicious green eyes were staring beyond them. + +Peter heard a low sob, instantly stifled. Naradia, with bloodshot +eyes, was searching his face in distress. Her black hair had been +arranged in a heavy braid, which ran down her back in a glistening rope. + +Kahn Meng's sad eyes lingered on Peter's for a moment, sparkling with +guilt, and his face was crestfallen. Plainer than any words could have +said, his expression cried out: "I have failed! I am sorry." + +Then he advanced to the throne, taking his stand at the Gray Dragon's +side, a maneuver which was thoroughly mystifying to Peter. + +The Gray Dragon seemed to ignore his presence. To Peter he said: "You +recognize your companion of last night? The man with a legion of a +thousand loyal men at his back?" + +Peter nodded, muttering. + +The Gray Dragon waved Kahn Meng to one side. "He is my son. He is my +son by my faithful wife! Do you understand that, Peter Moore?" + +"Your son? And he will carry on your work?" + +"Precisely that! You have expressed it neatly, Peter Moore. The Gray +Dragon will carry on the work of the Gray Dragon!" + +The mystery of Kahn Meng was cleared aside. Fury directed at his +treachery swelled in Peter's breast and burst. It was as though a +torch had been applied. The flame of an ancient ancestral fire, when +men fought for their lives and their loves with clubs, and nails, and +teeth, burst into his brain and into his breast. The muscles under his +tunic-sleeve, which clung to his arm from the moisture of perspiration, +rippled and flexed and hardened. + +His face--the clean, handsome face of well-lived youth--was quite +dreadful to look upon--flushed to a fiery red and distorted. His lips +were skinned back over his white teeth. + +The thunder of his roar fairly shook the green quartz pillars, between +which the smug, green Buddha smiled complacently, impervious to the +rages of foolish mankind. + +Peter sprang upon the heels of that roar like a mass of wonderfully +controlled steel at the crouching figure, a figure whose countenance +was suddenly wet and white. + +He tore the carbine from the fingers of the nearest guard before that +one could collect his wits. + +The Mongolian sprawled over backward, and in the second instant the +heavy butt of the carbine came down with a shuddering crash upon the +skull-cap of the man who would no longer rule Len Yang! + +With such tremendous vigor was that blow delivered that the walnut +stock, as tough as iron, shivered into splinters, which swam in the +bursting brains of the victim. + +Screaming, Peter swung the stock again, and again, as if he would beat +his wretched victim to a pulp. Nothing but the barrel and breech +mechanism remained. + +His murderous intention seemed to be to remove, to obliterate for all +time, the hideous face, to wipe out by means of his brute strength the +gray countenance. + +Suddenly he sprang away from him with the elastic stride of a panther. +Kahn Meng, the traitor, was next. + +And as he leaped Kahn Meng slipped from his own pocket a revolver and +dodged Peter's blow. + +Peter staggered backward, reaching the center of the room, dragging the +bloody and bent carbine barrel in a red trail. There he stopped, +swaying, toppling. + +Darkness was assailing him. He was sinking into a pit. And the heart +was fluttering, laboring treacherously under the poison created in his +blood by fury. + +The green lights spun. + +He threw the carbine barrel at the complacent Buddha, where it clanked +to the marble flags. And he withered like the lotus, sprawling upon +his back with his eyes tightly shut, the color fast disappearing from +his complexion. + +And his head was reclining upon the small, tan boots of Eileen. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +Somewhere in the distance a sweet-voiced temple bell resounded +dreamily. Vague odors of sandalwood and wistaria swam in the soft, +cool air. A ray of warm sunlight fell upon Peter's inert hand, and he +opened his eyes. + +Memory came slowly back to him. He remembered that he had killed. The +last thing he distinctly recalled from that moment of ungovernable fury +which had taken hold of him was that Kahn Meng, the traitor, had drawn +a pistol. As a natural consequence he should be dead. Perhaps he was. + +Slowly his brain became clear, although queer vapors arose in it. + +Soft footsteps crossed the stone flagging with a clicking of dainty +heels. Small fingers, exquisite to the touch, brushed the tousled hair +from his forehead. These were cool and pleasant. + +"Old Sweetheart!" said a happy voice. + +The cool fingers crept underneath his chin and lingered there. Others +crept under his neck. A warm, satiny cheek floated down to rest upon +his forehead. + +Dozens of questions swarmed out of the wreckage of his waking +consciousness. + +"You are safe? Where are we? What happened to that scoundrel, Kahn +Meng? Why did they bring you here? Did they harm you? Who hit----" + +A silvery laugh interrupted him. "Yes, yes--yes!" said the voice that +was sweeter to him than all of the music in Christendom with heathendom +thrown in for good measure. + +"I am safe. I was kidnapped and treated with all respect due a famous +doctor--because a dead monster was suffering from neuritis. We are +alone, in a tiny glass house on the roof of the ivory palace, and dawn +has this very moment come. Such a glorious dawn, Peter! + +"Are you rested? I never saw any one so completely burned out. Such +fury! Gracious, what a man! But why, Peter, did you attack poor Kahn +Meng? He's the best friend you have in the world!" + +"The Gray Dragon!" muttered Peter, clenching his fists. + +"Peter, Kahn Meng would lay down his life for you. Of course, he is +the Gray Dragon; but that is only a name now. He is the Gray Dragon, +and he has you, and you only, to thank for it. + +"The title is hereditary, and he is the last of his line. He knew what +that monstrous father of his was doing, and he has been helpless--until +you freed him. And the dreadful secret, Peter, is that that beast was +not Kahn Meng's father. A Singhalese trader, murdered years ago, was +his father, and his mother, a beautiful woman of the Punjab, was for a +time the wife of the beast! + +"The entire organization has now come under Kahn Meng's control. He is +the Gray Dragon of Len Yang, and it is a title that from now on will be +a power for good, for construction! + +"You can't imagine what wonderful plans he has. He's a genius--that +young man is, Peter! And you--you--are to be his chief executive, the +viceroy of Len Yang! The chief of mines, of transportation, of labor! +He told me that millions of dollars of capital are at your disposal. + +"Last night we planned a great railroad line, running from the mines to +Chosen and Peking and Tientsin! Think of it, Peter! What opportunity! + +"While I," Eileen went on blithely, "am to start a hospital. No more +blindness, no more sickness, in Len Yang. And shorter working hours. +And an age limit. And schools. And good food, and lots of it! + +"From now on our work is to assume a world-wide importance. Word came +over the wireless late last night that Germany has finally started the +long-expected European war. Kahn Meng believes every nation will be +drawn into it. So there is another menace for you to help stamp +out--the Dragon of Europe. Kahn Meng says these mines, and the copper +and iron mines, nearer the coast, can help--wonderfully!" + +Peter felt vastly happy, too enthralled to believe that the state could +endure. He stood up from the cot and looked down into the bright face +of the one woman in the world. It was radiant, very pink, now, and her +round eyes were tender and meek. Perhaps she was a little frightened +by the fierceness which had developed in his expression. + +She opened her arms with a little laugh. He crushed her close. Their +lips met and clung. + +He pushed her away, and his blue eyes were impassioned. + +Eileen smiled. "Look!" + +The white snow on the high peaks across the valley glowed with the +heavy gold of sunrise. Far below them, midway to the green wall, he +saw a great mass of people. There were hundreds packed about the mouth +of the shaft. He wondered why they were waiting; then the shrill voice +of a crier penetrated the cool morning air. The thousands waited in +silence. + +Peter wondered at their dumbness in the face of the news that the man +who had ridden them into blindness, into starvation and death, was no +longer to tyrannize over them. + +The crier continued to shout his singsong. + +How would the spirit of that mob react to the announcement? + +The singsong halted, and for a breathless moment the miners, too, were +silent. + +Then a great volume of sound disturbed the morning hush. It swelled in +volume, rose in key--a great thunder, the thunder of laughing voices, +the hysterical joy of a people made free! It filled the valley and +overflowed into the hills, a prolonged wave of happy tumult. + + + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Peter the Brazen, by George F. 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