When Frank was thrown into the little room beneath the stairs, and heard the key turn upon him, he at first believed himself to be in utter darkness. But very soon his eyes became accustomed to the dim light that emanated from several cracks in the woodwork.

These cracks were in the stairs that led from the lower room to the balcony. The opium den was, of course, well illumined by several paraffin lamps. The little room in which Frank was imprisoned extended from the foot of the staircase to the back wall, the staircase itself forming the ceiling, which was in consequence only about three feet high at one end of the room, and about twelve feet high at the other. Now it so happened that the largest crack was at the lower end of the room, and Frank Armitage was not slow to discover that, by placing his eye to this, he could see quite easily into the opium den.

When he looked into the outer room he was able to observe several opium smokers, and Ah Wu himself, who was seated at his desk at the doorway. There was, however, no sign of Ling, and Frank rightly concluded that the Honanese must have left the establishment in pursuit of Yung How.

There could be no doubt upon this point; for not only could the boy see, but he was able to hear quite distinctly, the woodwork of which the small room was constructed being extraordinarily thin. If Ling had been either upon the balcony or in the lower room Frank must have heard him; for the man seldom spoke without raising his voice to such a pitch that he might have been giving a word of command to a regiment of cavalry.

Fully an hour elapsed before the Honanese returned. He was then in a towering rage. He called for Ah Wu, who chanced to be absent in the kitchen. Frank heard Ling inform the proprietor of the opium den that Yung How had escaped on the Hong-Kong boat. Both men then repaired to Ah Wu's private apartments, where they remained for the greater part of the night, Ah Wu occasionally looking in upon the opium den to see that his business prospered.

Until about eleven o'clock the following morning, Frank Armitage was left to his thoughts; and these were none of the pleasantest. He was suffering considerable discomfort. It was a long time since he had had any food; and the great heat and stifling atmosphere of the opium den, together with the pungent smell of the smoke, had served to make him so thirsty that his lips were dry and his tongue clave to the roof of his mouth. He regretted bitterly that he had not been able to escape with Yung How. He felt that he could not stand the extreme suspense of his situation much longer. It seemed to him inevitable that before long Ling would discover who he was.

This was all the more probable, since-according to Ling-Cheong-Chau himself was coming to the opium den. The brigand would be far more likely than anyone else to recognise Frank-because he knew which of his prisoners had escaped, and had evidently come south in order to hunt for the fugitive.

Frank was seized with a great dread that Cheong-Chau had already made away with his other prisoners, that he had murdered both Sir Thomas Armitage and Mr Waldron. There was a possibility, on the other hand, that he had brought his captives with him, which he might have done quite easily on board a river-junk. Knowing full well that he could not hope to obtain the ransom if Sir Thomas and Mr Waldron were known to be dead, he may have decided to send further evidence to Hong-Kong to the effect that his hostages were still alive. On thinking the matter over, Frank was inclined to the belief that this was what had actually happened.

There was another aspect of the business which demanded consideration. It was now Cheong-Chau's intention to go himself to the Glade of Children's Tears, in order to procure the money as soon as it arrived. This, as we know, was a privilege that the mighty Ling had chosen to reserve for himself; and so a meeting between these two redoubtable villains was sooner or later inevitable. Cheong-Chau would have upon his side the advantage of numbers. Ling, on the other hand, was in possession of the more accurate information: he knew Cheong-Chau's whereabouts and his intentions, whilst Cheong-Chau knew nothing about him; he knew also that Yung How had escaped to Hong-Kong and that intervention by the British was by no means improbable-a circumstance of which the brigand chieftain remained in ignorance.

That night Frank endeavoured to work out every possible contingency, until his brain grew dizzy with thinking. At last, dead tired, feeling sick with suspense, hunger and thirst, with such a splitting headache resulting from the foul atmosphere of the den that he could hardly open his eyes, he flung himself down upon the couch and almost at once fell fast asleep.

In the boy's last waking thoughts he found some degree of comfort. He had come to realise that he himself could do nothing. He was at the mercy of fate, in the hands of Providence-just as helpless as a wisp of straw carried down-stream upon the current of a river. So far as his own safety was concerned, he had come to such a pass that it might almost be said that he no longer regarded it. To himself it did not seem a matter of supreme importance whether he lived or died. He had not given up hope, but physical exhaustion and mental strain had done their work.

During the earlier hours of the night his sleep was disturbed and restless. He was conscious all the time of the voices of men talking in the outer room, and these voices were in some way mingled with his dreams, which were nothing but a series of nightmares, in which the sinister figure of the colossal Ling was ever present-Ling with his great hands and brute strength, his long glistening pigtail, his evil, snake-like eyes, his rude jokes, his loud laughter, and the half-mocking, half-serious manner in which he quoted from the writings of the great Chinese philosophers. But, given a fair chance, a sane, healthy and youthful constitution will in the end triumph over both mental and bodily disorders, and towards the small hours of the morning the boy fell into a heavy, dreamless sleep, from which he was not awakened until Ling unlocked the door of the little room about eleven o'clock in the morning.

The Honanese regarded his captive for some moments without speaking.

"You have slept well?" he asked.

"I have slept well," said Frank.

"They say," said Ling, "that sound sleep is a sign of a pure conscience. I myself am in the habit of sleeping like a child. And yet," he added, in a doubtful voice, "I am half of opinion that I ought to put you out of the world."

"You are free to do as you wish," said Frank.

"I thank you," said Ling. "I am aware of it."

"At the same time," said the other, "I beg to remind you that I am not here of my own free will. I did not ask to accompany you; you can scarcely say that I intruded. You kidnapped me and demanded that I should assist you. I did so to the best of my ability. I confess I had no other alternative. That does not alter the fact that had you left me to mind my own affairs I should not have interfered with you. You told me a great deal about yourself. I did not ask you to. You brought me here, where in my presence you committed a crime-"

"No, no," Ling interposed. "You do me a great injustice. I have committed no crime. I did but defend my life. I usually do so with success."

"Have it your own way," said Frank, who now-for some reason or other-felt bolder in the man's presence that he had ever felt before. "It is not a matter that concerns me. A few days ago I had neither seen nor heard of you. It was a misfortune for me that I encountered you that morning upon the wharf at Sanshui. You have no right to detain me. I have no valuables upon me, but a few copper cash. If you want them you can take them. You are welcome to what I have. I ask but one thing: to be allowed to go free, to go about my own affairs."

"That is well spoken," said Ling. "I admit I am fond of you. I think I have told you already that I have admitted you into the innermost chamber of my heart. Had I a son, I would that he were such as you. I would bring him up in the way that he should go. I would not entrust his education to the literati of China. I would teach him myself."

"To be a robber?" asked Frank.

"Robbery," said Ling, "is a profession. I think that education should be regarded merely as a groundwork, a kind of foundation upon which to build. A man should be left to discover his own talents. His natural inclinations will not lead him astray. One man will make a good priest, another a good pirate. An excellent scroff may make a fool of himself as a schoolmaster. You cannot grow mangoes upon a cherry-tree, neither will a river fish live in the salt water. I would teach you, my son, the divine philosophies of China; I would instruct you in astronomy, music and mathematics. Then, when you were grown up, you would be able to fend for yourself. It would be all one to me whether you were a government prefect, a mandarin of the Red Button, or a brigand like Cheong-Chau, whom I hope to meet this evening."

"I see," said Frank, "that you would confer many favours upon my humble self. I ask but one small boon-to be allowed to go away from this place where you have thought fit to imprison me."

"And that is the one request," said Ling, "that I am unable to grant. It so happens that I want you."

"Why?"

"Our friend, Ah Wu, has gone away. He has gone upon a visit to Cheong-Chau. Cheong-Chau and he are old friends; they are brother pigs, who have eaten many a time from the same trough. Ah Wu will bring Cheong-Chau here. Cheong-Chau is a great opium smoker, and, as all Canton is well aware, no better opium can be obtained in the city than that which is sold by Ah Wu. So Cheong-Chau will come."

"And what has this to do with me?' asked Frank.

"It has a great deal to do with you," said the other, "for, in the meantime, I am left in charge of this establishment; hence, for the second time, I need your assistance. Cheong-Chau knows me very well by sight. He would not remain in this place two seconds if he saw me when he entered. Therefore, once again, I must hide."

"Where?" asked Frank.

"There is a small storeroom between the curtains and the outer door. There I shall be. Thence I shall be able to see everyone who enters or who leaves. There will be no other way of exit, for the back door will be locked and I shall have the key. When Cheong-Chau enters you are to attend to his wants. When he asks for opium to smoke, you are to take it to him; but you are to come to me for it, and the opium which I will give you will be drugged. That is all you have to do. It will be very simple. You cannot hope to escape, for I myself guard the outer door, and I shall be armed with the revolver that I took from Yung How. I need hardly tell you that, if necessity arises, I shall shoot."

Frank realised at once that this plan of Ling's involved the utmost peril for himself. It was probable that Cheong-Chau, when he came, would recognise the fugitive. What the result of this would be, Frank dared not imagine. On the other hand, he saw no way of escaping from Ling. It was as if the boy was no more than a fly which had been caught in the meshes of the huge net woven by this implacable and terrible spider.

Throughout the whole of that day, he was kept busily employed in the opium den, brushing the couches, sweeping the floor and cleaning the spirit-lamps. He was given food to eat, and plenty of green tea to drink, which had the effect of getting rid of his headache. And all the time he was working he endeavoured to collect his thoughts; he tried to think of some definite plan of action. But rack his brain as he might, he could see no way out of his difficulties. He could think of no means of staving off the calamity which was impending.

During the afternoon the den began to fill. Customers continually dropped in, some to smoke opium, others to purchase it and take it away. At nightfall, there was about a dozen people in the place, and when the clock which was suspended upon the railings of the balcony struck the hour of ten, the voice of Ah Wu was heard without the main entrance. Immediately afterwards, the fat proprietor entered, accompanied by Cheong-Chau, the brigand chief.

CHAPTER XIX-HOW LING READ CONFUCIUS

Frank, who feared instinctively that the worst would happen, retreated hastily to the other end of the room. There he busied himself with vigorously sweeping the floor, until he was summoned by Ah Wu to attend to the wants of the new-comer.

The boy's heart was beating violently. It was as much as he could do to lift his eyes from the ground to meet those of the redoubtable brigand from whose clutches he had so recently escaped; and when at last he did so, he was more than ever dismayed to perceive that Cheong-Chau was attended by three of his ruffians, whom Frank knew well by sight.

As in a flash, the boy reviewed the circumstances of the predicament in which he found himself. He saw no hope that he could avoid detection. Even if Cheong-Chau himself failed to recognise the fugitive-a very unlikely contingency-one of the other three would be almost sure to do so. It must be remembered that the boy had not disguised his features. His identity was but thinly veiled by the Chinese clothes he was wearing-which had been given him by the tea-grower-the false pigtail and the shaven forepart of his head. He could not believe for a moment that Cheong-Chau would fail to know him.

In his extreme anxiety, it did not occur to the boy that Yung How, who knew him a great deal better than any of the brigands, had been quite deceived, that Frank had been obliged to declare his identity to the man who had known him since childhood. For all that, even if the boy had had either the presence of mind or the inclination to take stock of his chances of success, he could not have overlooked a very important fact: that Cheong-Chau was looking for him, whereas Yung How, on the other hand, had never suspected for an instant that he had escaped.

Cheong-Chau and his men had come south in pursuit of the fugitive. The man had been enticed into the opium den by Ah Wu, whom he still believed to be his colleague. Here Cheong-Chau was to be drugged by order of the subtle and relentless villain who even then lay in hiding-like a great cat crouching by the side of a mouse-hole-behind the embroidered curtains. And now Cheong-Chau was to find himself, suddenly and unexpectedly, confronted by the very fugitive whom he had pursued for days.

Frank, cold with fear, certain of disaster, and dreading that he would be mercilessly put to death, looked Cheong-Chau in the face. The varied sensations he experienced were akin to what those must be of a condemned man upon the scaffold. He did but wait for the terminating blow to fall.

He could not look at Cheong-Chau for more than an instant. He turned and regarded Ah Wu, who was standing on the other side of him. Ah Wu was smiling in his oily, plausible manner. He looked the complete host, affability itself, and all the time he was planning the discomfiture of his guest. A fat, genuine rogue!

"Ah Li," said he, addressing Frank, "you will attend to the wants of our distinguished guest. Conduct Cheong-Chau and his friends to the more comfortable couches upstairs, smooth the pillows, place a spirit-lamp upon each table, and then hasten to the storeroom and procure the best quality opium. Cheong-Chau would smoke the Indian variety, that which comes from Calcutta, than which there is no finer opium in the world."

Frank turned, and departed up the staircase. Indeed, he was devoutly thankful to get away. At the top of the steps he paused, and stood for a moment trying to think, with his back turned to the room.

Nothing had happened-nothing at all. Cheong-Chau had not spoken. None of his men had said a word. The boy was still unrecognised. It was too good to be true. It was all like a dream.

Pulling himself together, Frank carried out his orders, thinking all the time that the remarkable chain of circumstances which had carried him against his will and inclination from one adventure to another was something altogether foreign to his former experiences. Life, instead of a pleasant and somewhat homely occupation, had become a kind of romantic nightmare. It was hard not to believe that presently he would awaken to find that Cheong-Chau, Ah Wu and Ling himself were phantasms, hallucinations, that would vanish at the moment of waking, their sinister and evil personalities fading away, in the boy's memory, like smoke upon the air.

He could scarce believe that a few minutes' calm reasoning would not instantly dissipate the reality of these strange and terrible people, the remarkable events dependent upon the thoughts and actions of a ruffian like Ling. Everything was all the more unreal to Frank because he appeared to exist, to continue to undergo such singular experiences, only by virtue of a series of miracles. The unexpected always happened.

It was also inconceivable to the boy that he himself, the nephew of one of the most distinguished government officials in Hong-Kong, a man of almost world-wide reputation as a lawyer, should find himself a coolie attendant in a Canton opium den, in which he conversed, in terms of intimate acquaintance, with Chinese thieves, brigands, swindlers and cut-throats. And yet he was not dreaming: he was conscious of a headache; both his knees and elbows had been badly bruised; and besides, Yung How, who had once been wont to take a small five-year-old boy for walks upon the level paths on the crest of the Peak, had known him, had fallen upon his knees before him, and had wept tears of repentance.

Whilst the boy was busy with these thoughts, he was carrying out his duties. He had arranged the couches, lighted the spirit-lamps, and seen that there was one of Ah Wu's best carved ivory opium pipes upon each lacquer table.

By that time Cheong-Chau and his three companions, attended by the officious Ah Wu, had ascended the stairs. Cheong-Chau's eyes glistened at the thought of the treat in store for him; while his men-rough Chinese of the very lowest class-stared about them in awed amazement at the carved wood, the rich draperies, the gilded lacquer that adorned Ah Wu's premises. Doubtless they had never before found themselves in such a high-class establishment. They had been wont to smoke their opium in the foul and verminous dens of the provincial town of Pinglo. Possibly they had never before beheld the miraculous city of Canton.

Frank observed all this, and knew that he could find here the reason why he had not been recognised. The men were too much impressed by their surroundings to take note of details. Place a beggar in a palace, and he will most likely fail to notice the pattern of the carpet upon which he stands, even though he stare in his embarrassment at nothing else.

Cheong-Chau stretched himself upon the couch immediately facing the stair-head. His three followers similarly disposed themselves upon his left, the one at the end reclining under the window through which Yung How had escaped.

Ah Wu rubbed his hands together and addressed himself to the brigand.

"They tell me," said he, "that one of your prisoners has cut off?"

"That is so," said Cheong-Chau, with an oath. "The fools of sentries let him through. He got away in the night. I and ten men started at daybreak, bringing with us the two other captives, but so far we have failed to find the culprit."

Frank, standing near at hand, listened intently to every word. The boy had placed himself against the wall, a little behind Cheong-Chau, so that the man would have to turn to look at him.

"Can he have reached Hong-Kong, do you think?" asked Ah Wu.

Cheong-Chau shrugged his shoulders.

"I think not," said he. "He has barely had time. But who can say?"

"And you have brought your other captives with you?"

"That was necessary," said Cheong-Chau. "I had to keep them under my eye. I cannot trust my men. They allow hostages to escape."

"Did you not find them very much in the way?" asked Ah Wu.

"Not in the least. We came down in one of my own sea-going junks. We are now anchored in the Sang River, about two miles from the Glade of Children's Tears. Still, I am not here to give information but to receive it. What news have you of Men-Ching?"

"He left here yesterday morning," answered the other, without moving a muscle of his face.

"Did he not say where he was going?"

"Not a word."

"Strange," said Cheong-Chau. "A surprising circumstance! He knew well enough that you were in our confidence. He ought to have spoken openly to you."

Ah Wu laughed.

"Of course," said he. "Why, it was I myself who arranged the whole matter."

"And what of the other man, Yung How, the Hong-Kong servant?"

"He also is gone."

Cheong-Chau was silent a moment.

"We must suppose," said he, "that Men-Ching has gone on to Hong-Kong with the letters. We may therefore presume that the letters have already reached their destination. The money may arrive at the Glade to-morrow. As for Yung How, I do not know the man. But if he contemplates treachery, it will go ill with him. And now, Ah Wu, my opium. I would smoke."

Ah Wu turned to the boy and ordered him to bring four bowls of Indian opium from the storeroom. Frank descended the stairs, passed down the length of the lower room, drew back the embroidered curtains and entered the storeroom, where he found Ling seated upon a stool. It was one of those high stools upon which Chinese of the merchant class are wont to do their accounts, similar to the old-fashioned clerks' stools sometimes seen in offices in England. When seated upon one of these, the average man rests his feet upon a cross-piece, several inches from the ground. Ling, however, sat with one foot upon the floor and the other leg crossed upon his knee.

When the boy entered, Ling was reading, but he at once looked up from his book.

"The writings of Confucius," said he, "assure me that the perfect life cannot be attained by any man. Troubles, disappointment, sorrows and failure are bound to accompany us wherever we go. Divine philosophy instructs us to accept our destiny with grace. The coat of every man is patched; there are cracks in the armour upon which he depends to defend himself from the arrows of adversity. He who thinks himself infallible falls the most heavily; the conceited man lays the trap by which he himself is caught; his own vanity trips him up. He who attempts much, hopes for much, but is prepared to go unrewarded, is he to whom success is doubly assured. I trust, my youthful friend, you follow me."

"Perfectly," said Frank.

"That is well," said Ling, laying down his book. "And now we will poison Cheong-Chau."

"Poison him!" exclaimed the boy.

"Fear not," said Ling. "Send him comfortably to sleep-a sleep that will last for some days. By then I shall have gathered the harvest at the Glade of Children's Tears, and you, my little one, will be free-your heart's sole desire."

He turned and picked up a large pale blue bowl in which he had stirred a quantity of opium, mixing it with a colourless fluid contained in a bottle.

"There are four of them, I understand?" said he.

"Yes," said Frank.

"It is as well," observed Ling, "that I have made enough. I fill four small bowls-one for each. These fools will not taste anything; they will not suspect. They will smoke and dream, and enjoy to the full the delights of opium. And they will fall gradually into such a sleep that the firing of a cannon in the room would not awaken them."

He handed to the boy the four small bowls upon a tray of carved black wood.

"Take it," said he, "and leave me to my reading. Happiness is to be found in wisdom, not wisdom in happiness. In prosperity the heart withers; in adversity, it blooms. Farewell."

Frank went out, holding the tray before him, and ascended the flight of steps.