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.