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CHAPTER XX-HOW THE TIGER SPRANG

Upon the balcony Frank found Cheong-Chau still in conversation with Ah Wu. No one would have suspected from the demeanour of the fat proprietor of the opium den that he plotted the overthrow of the redoubtable brigand chief. The man was all smiles and Chinese courtesy. He rubbed his hands together; he flattered his guest; he bowed repeatedly. Frank advanced, carrying the tray upon which were the four bowls of opium.

"Ah!" exclaimed Ah Wu. "We have here the choice opium of which I spoke. I guarantee that the distinguished Cheong-Chau has never smoked the like of it. I procure it from an agent in Burma. This, I believe, is the only house in China in which it is sold."

"I thank you, Ah Wu," said the brigand, who had divested himself of the greater part of his clothing. "I thank you from my heart. I am a rough man, accustomed to the wilds. Such luxuries seldom come my way. At the same time, Ah Wu, who is this boy? It occurs to me that I have seen him before."

The man was staring at Frank, who felt his heart sink within him. Ah Wu's answer, given without hesitation, was somewhat reassuring.

"He has been here," said Ah Wu, "for many months."

"Strange," said Cheong-Chau, "that I have never seen him before!"

Frank was, at first, at a loss to explain what motive Ah Wu could have for telling such a deliberate falsehood. It then occurred to him that Ah Wu could not explain truthfully who he was without mentioning Ling; and it was-from Ah Wu's point of view-of extreme importance to keep the name of Ling out of the whole affair. If Cheong-Chau but knew that the great Honanese was in the building, he would not have remained in the place for five seconds, much less would he have been so careless as to allow his physical and mental capacities to be temporarily subdued by the subtle fumes of the opium poppy.

"Come here, boy," said Cheong-Chau, who had not yet removed his eyes from Frank. "I want to look at you more closely."

The boy went forward in fear and trembling. Cheong-Chau grasped him by a wrist, and drew him downward, so that their faces were not more than a foot apart.

"You bear," said Cheong-Chau, speaking very deliberately, "a most remarkable resemblance to the very man I am looking for. What is your name?"

"Ah Li," said Frank.

The boy's heart was beating like a sledgehammer. He felt instinctively that the Sword of Damocles, which had been suspended for so long above his head, was at last about to fall. That the result would be fatal to himself, and those whose lives depended upon him, he could not for a moment doubt.

"I come from Sanshui," said he, in a weak voice that quailed.

Cheong-Chau suddenly rose to his feet and lifted his voice to a kind of shriek. It was the voice Frank had heard when Cheong-Chau addressed his followers in the gloomy nave of the temple; it was the same voice the man had used on the occasion when he staggered into the cave, senseless and drugged with opium.

"It is in my way of thinking," he shouted, "that you come from Hong-Kong, that your name is no more Ah Li than mine is, that you are a foreign devil in disguise!"

Ah Wu opened his eyes in astonishment. He lifted both hands with fingers widespread. He looked like an old woman who has seen a ghost.

"There is some mistake!" he cried.

"This boy," roared Cheong-Chau, "is a foreigner."

His voice was so loud that it carried to the farther end of the room. Everyone heard his words, and those who were not asleep raised themselves upon their elbows to ascertain what the disturbance was about. Behind the embroidered curtains the mighty Ling, who had been listening to all that was said, crouching like a cat, rose stealthily and slowly to his feet. He was like a great beast of prey that suddenly scents danger. It was as if he stretched the great muscles of his body, preparatory to action.

"You are a foreigner!" cried Cheong-Chau.

Frank knew not which way to look. He had put down the tray upon a small lacquer table by the side of Cheong-Chau's couch. The brigand still held him tightly by a wrist. Realising that he could not deny the truth of the man's words, the boy made a foolish, headstrong effort to escape. With a quick wrench, he freed his arm, and turned upon his heel with the intention of dashing down the steps. Since subterfuge had failed, he felt that he had nothing else to rely upon but physical agility.

He had almost reached the head of the stairs when Ah Wu stretched forth a hand to detain him. It is strange that the boy's exposure should have been brought about by Ah Wu, in whose interests it was for the deception to continue-at least, whilst Cheong-Chau was in the house.

Ah Wu attempted to seize the boy by a shoulder, and failing in this, he clutched at Frank's pigtail, which was flying out behind him. Needless to say, as the boy plunged down the stairs, he left behind him his false pigtail in the hands of the dumbfounded Ah Wu. Before he could stop himself, Frank was at the bottom of the stairs, and there, for the first time, he remembered that he would have to pass Ling at the outer door.

For the brief space of a moment, Frank looked about him like a hunted beast. He could see no way of escape. Ling, he knew, was in front of him, though not visible. The back door was locked. There were no windows in the lower room. On the other hand, escape from one of the balcony windows was impossible, for Cheong-Chau and his three followers stood at the stair-head. The voice of Cheong-Chau filled the room, uttering, in a weird, sing-song voice, a kind of triumphant pæan.

"I am Cheong-Chau," he cried, "and men fear me from the Nan-ling Mountains to the sea. I have hunted down the fugitive and I have found him. Those who foil me can expect no mercy. I live by the knife, and my enemies die by the knife. Death to foreign devils!"

At that, he dashed down the stairs. As he did so he drew from his belt a long, curved Chinese knife, which he raised high above his head.

Frank turned and fled down the room, but Cheong-Chau was upon him as a cat springs at a mouse. The boy was caught by the coat, and jerked backward. With difficulty he maintained his balance. Looking up, he beheld Cheong-Chau's knife raised on high, whilst the man's eyes were fixed upon the region of the boy's heart.

"By the knife!" shrieked Cheong-Chau. "By the knife!"

The cruel weapon glittered in the light emanating from the paraffin lamps. Frank closed his eyes, knowing that the end was about to come. He felt that he had not strength to look longer into that impassioned face.

Then, quite suddenly, there came a roar like that of a charging lion. Frank was pushed aside and sent flying across the room, to pitch, head foremost, over an unoccupied couch. Gathering himself together, he beheld a feat of strength that was amazing.

The mighty Ling had swooped down upon his rival as an eagle snatches his prey. A blow from his great fist sounded like a pistol shot, and Cheong-Chau, without a sound, fell in a heap senseless on the floor. And then two of the brigand's followers were seized by the throat, and their two heads were brought together with a crash. One man pitched forward on the instant, and lay upon his face, flat across the body of his leader. As for the other, he went reeling round the room like a man dazed and drunken. Then he dropped down upon both knees by the side of a couch, holding his head between his hands.

The third man turned and fled in trepidation at the sight of the fate of his comrades. However, he had gone no farther than half-way up the stairs, when Ling snatched up one of the small lacquer tables, and hurled it at the fugitive with such force that it crashed to atoms against the banisters. This projectile was followed, a fraction of a second later, by a lighted paraffin lamp, which stretched the man senseless upon the balcony at the feet of the amazed Ah Wu.

All this had happened in less than a minute. Frank Armitage had only just time to observe that the lamp had fortunately gone out, and that there was no danger of the place being set on fire. And then he himself was plucked violently from off his feet.

Ling had picked him up as though he were a babe in arms. In his haste and violence, the man tore down the embroidered curtains. Frank heard the front door slam, and then he was conscious of the fact that he was being borne onward at a terrific pace, through the dark and narrow streets of the great Chinese city.

CHAPTER XXI-OF THE GLADE OF CHILDREN'S TEARS

Frank had neither time to consider the extraordinary sequence of events narrated in the previous chapter nor the slightest inclination to speculate in regard to the future. He realised, somewhat dimly, that he was no more than a pawn in the game. A few moments since, he had stood defenceless in the stifling atmosphere of the opium den; he had beheld the knife raised to strike him down. He had been delivered with dramatic suddenness at the eleventh hour. At the same time, he could not help realising that, in all probability, he had fallen out of the frying-pan into the fire. If his deception had been detected by Cheong-Chau, his identity had also been discovered by the formidable Ling.

In the meantime he was being carried away to some unknown destination. The boy realised the futility of attempting to struggle, and if he cried out for help in those dark streets, no one was likely to take the least notice of him.

Ling kept-so far as he was able-to the by-streets: the narrow, twisting lanes that form a veritable labyrinth in the poorer parts of this wonderful and mysterious city. The hour was tolerably late-approaching midnight. The main streets were lighted by means of the flares in the shops and upon the hawkers' booths; and when it was necessary to cross one of these, the spectacle of the great Honanese carrying under his arm one who was apparently a foreign boy, dressed in Chinese clothes, attracted no little attention. However, with every Chinaman it is a fixed principle of life to mind his own affairs, and no one interfered.

At last, Ling set down the boy upon his feet, and taking hold of him by a wrist, proceeded to drag him forward. Presently they came forth upon the outskirts of the town. It was a bright night; for though the moon was on the wane, the sky was clear and there was a glorious canopy of stars-stars such as can only be seen east of the Suez Canal. The boy was able to make out the great gabled tower, situated upon a hillock to the north of the city, which goes by the name of the Five-Storied Pagoda. He remembered very well visiting this place, a few weeks before, accompanied by Mr Waldron and his uncle.

Ling took a bridle path leading directly to the north, lying in a bee-line across the down-like hills. The man strode forward, walking at such a great pace that Frank was obliged to run to keep up with him. All this time he said nothing. He walked, staring straight in front of him-a gaunt, sinister and gigantic figure. Never for a moment did he release his hold of Frank's wrist, which felt as if it was held within a vice.

After a time they came to a river, or canal. Since the path led straight into the water and was visible in continuation upon the other bank, it was evident that there was a ford. Ling hesitated a moment, and then, hoisting his captive upon his shoulder, carried him high and dry to the other side, himself wading in water that reached to his knees. Beyond, he once more set down Frank upon the ground; and they went forward at the same steady pace. And at every step the water squelched in the soft felt shoes the Chinaman was wearing.

At the end of an hour, Frank was beginning to feel fatigued; he was considerably out of breath. Ling, on the other hand, appeared to be in no way exhausted. They came to a hut-the habitation, in all probability, of some swineherd or peasant.

Ling kicked open the door, and they found within an old man, very disreputable and dirty, clothed in rags, sound asleep before the glowing embers of a charcoal fire.

Ling touched the sleeper upon the shoulder, and the old man sat up.

"The mighty Ling!" he exclaimed, the moment he saw his visitor.

"Peace," said Ling. "I come in peace, my friend. You need not be discomfited. I ask for nothing more than you can give me."

The old man, who had now risen to his feet, bowed low.

"A mandarin of the Blue Button has but to speak," said he. "Who is a mere drover of foul pigs to gainsay the word of so distinguished a personage? Is it food you desire, or water, or an hour's rest upon your journey? All I have, sir, is your own."

"I want that which will cost you nothing," answered Ling. "This will not be the first time that you have aided me. I will reward you-at a later date-if all goes well with me."

"May the gods assist you," said the old man, bowing again.

"I rely upon myself," said Ling. "Tell me, Cheong-Chau's men have come from the mountains. They are reported on the Sang River. Have you seen anything of them?"

"I have indeed," said the other. "There is a junk anchored about threeli west of the tower. I saw it this afternoon."

"Did you notice how many men were on board?"

"About five or six," said the old man.

"That agrees," said Ling, "with what I already know."

He remained silent for a moment, and then suddenly grasped Frank by an arm and thrust him through the door.

"Come!" he cried. "We have no time to lose."

The next moment Frank Armitage was on the road again, and throughout the early hours of the morning he continued to travel northward, in company with his grim and silent captor. Once the boy dared to speak, asking Ling where they were going; but he was at once ordered to hold his tongue.

"You need what breath you have," observed the Honanese. "I am not here to answer questions."

There was more than a little truth in the first remark, for the boy was obliged to keep up a steady jog-trot mile after mile, with never a halt or a rest by the wayside.

Presently they gained the crest of a chain of low-lying hills. The moonlight was sufficient to enable them to see for a considerable distance. Before them lay a valley-so far as Frank could make out-exceedingly fertile and picturesque, in which was a tall, thin tower, somewhat resembling a short factory chimney, except that at the top there was a narrow, circular balcony protected both from the rain and the powerful rays of the sun by one of those queer-shaped, overhanging roofs that are peculiar to Southern China.

Frank knew at a glance that this was the tower from which, in days gone by, it had been the custom of the Cantonese to throw little children, whose existence had grown irksome to their parents. At one time this barbarous and terrible custom was prevalent in the Middle Kingdom, until finally even the Chinese themselves revolted against the laws that permitted such a crime.

Flooded by the pure light of the moon, the valley appeared a perfect haven of rest. No one would have believed that such a beautiful spot had, in former times, been the scene of such terrible brutality. The tall tower shone like brass, and at its feet the broad waters of the Sang River flowed swiftly to the west.

Ling, still dragging Frank forward, descended the hill, and then turned to the right, towards a clump of trees. It was then, for the first time since they had left Canton, that, of his own accord, he spoke to his prisoner.

"Here is the place," he cried. "The Glade of Children's Tears. Here it is that Cheong-Chau's ransom money will be hidden."

Frank did not think it advisable to answer. Ling no longer held him by a wrist: such a precaution was now unnecessary. Frank could not possibly escape.

For a distance of about a hundred yards they walked in the heavy shadows under the branches of the trees, which were thick with leaves. And then, quite suddenly, they came once again into the bright moonlight, to find themselves confronted by a scene which was both grotesque and picturesque.

In ancient times the place had evidently been the site of a temple, of which only the ruined walls, a few stone steps and several flagstones remained. Here and there, lying upon the ground, overgrown by weeds and underwoods, were great broken, hideous idols, many of which were at least twelve feet in length. In the ghostly moonlight, it was like looking upon a scene which had been the battle-field of giants.

It was manifest that Ling knew the place well, for he walked straight up to a great circular stone, considerably darker in colour than the surrounding brickwork and rocks. Though this stone must have been of enormous weight, he rolled it away without difficulty. Beneath was a large hole. Going down upon his knees, the man struck a match, the light of which dimly illumined a vault as large as an ordinary room.

"Empty!" he exclaimed. "However, I did not expect to find the money here. It should arrive to-morrow, if my calculations are correct. I do not think that your friends will venture to waste time. Too much is at stake."

"My friends?" said Frank.

"Exactly," said the other. "I was so fortunate as to discover who you are. I confess that for days you deceived me. I never dreamt for a moment that the boy whose services I enlisted in Sanshui was a European. I congratulate you upon your accent and your knowledge of the Cantonese language. You speak it as well as I, who am a Northerner."

"And why," asked Frank, "have you brought me here?" This was the question he had long been burning to ask.

Ling shrugged his shoulders.

"You may have deceived me," said he, "but I am not altogether a fool."

And that, apparently, was all the reply he would condescend to give.

"I fail to understand," said Frank.

"Then you are very dense. Let me enlighten you: in a few hours, twenty thousand dollars will be hidden in this place. That money is intended for Cheong-Chau. Cheong-Chau will not receive a cent."

As he said these words, he rolled the stone back into its place.

"Cheong-Chau's junk lies up-stream," he continued, once again as if speaking to himself. "He had ten men with him. He took three with him to Ah Wu's opium den. Of those three, I have accounted for one at least, and I do not think the man I struck down with the lamp will be fit to fight for many a day. In any case, neither those three men nor Cheong-Chau himself are here. There are therefore only seven on board the junk. It is now about three o'clock in the morning. Six of those seven men are sound asleep. I propose to take the junk by storm."

"You mean," said Frank, "that you will do this-single-handed?"

"I have this," said Ling. "If necessary, I shall use it."

At that he produced the revolver he had taken from Yung How. He played with it for a moment in his great hands, and then put it back in his pocket.

"I shall require the junk," he added, "in order to take the treasure away. And even if I fail to get possession of it, I have you, my little one, who are so clever. You are worth, to me, at least another twenty thousand dollars."

Frank saw the truth as in a flash: once again he was a hostage. Ling no doubt intended to demand a second ransom as the price of the boy's freedom-perhaps his life. As the man remained silent for some minutes, Frank had the greater time to think the matter out. And the more he thought of it, the more was he obliged to admire the consummate subtlety of Ling, who had the faculty of grasping a situation without a moment's waste of time, estimating the salient factors at their proper value.

In the opium den, Frank's identity had been unmasked, and his life threatened in a period of time which could not have been more than thirty or forty seconds. And yet, in those brief and breathless seconds, Ling, in hiding behind the curtain, had summed up the position at a glance. He had seen that Cheong-Chau-who for the moment was blind with rage-was about to throw away a human life that was likely to be extremely valuable to himself. It was not a sense of humanity that had prompted him to save the boy. He had done so for his own personal ends.

"Come," he cried, "to the junk! I promise you I will flutter the dovecot. I will scatter them like ducks."

At that he strode forward, followed by Frank, amazed at the man's calmness and audacity.