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 three
_li_ 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.