We have heard it said, by those who are widely travelled, that there are three beautiful harbours in the world: Rio de Janeiro, in Brazil; Sydney Harbour, and-most beautiful of all-the harbour of Hong-Kong.

The famous Peak rises above the town of Victoria and, at a height of about two thousand feet, buries its crest in the clouds. The harbour itself is in the shape of a crescent, enclosing the red, bare hills of Kow-lung. By day, from Lyemun to Stonecutter's Island, ferry-boats, sampans, wupans and launches scurry here and there, in and out among the great anchored men-of-war, like so many mice romping in a cage of sleeping tigers.

The slopes of the mountain are green with palm-trees, mango, orange and lichen, in the midst of which can be seen innumerable white, flat-roofed villas, each with its upper-story verandah and green-latticed windows. To the east the hills are more rugged; streams, traced through the glens by straggling brushwood, descend in a succession of waterfalls to the level of the sea. In the Pass of Lyemun the traveller finds himself in the midst of an inhospitable grandeur, similar to that of the western Scottish isles.

It is, however, by night that Hong-Kong Harbour is at its best. With a sky of a million stars, and the pale, round China moon hanging like a lantern in the midst of the heavens, reflecting its light upon the surface of the dark, tranquil water, the moving lights upon thesampans and the countless lanterns in the streets of China town, this place is surely one of the most romantic in the world. Here the Far East and the West touch; it is the one place in all China where the foothold of the European is secure.

Upon this beautiful island, with its rugged hills and feathery palms, the white man stands, under his own flag-as it were, upon the very threshold of the mysterious, eternal "Middle Kingdom." Over the way, to the north-west, is the great estuary of the Canton river, the Chau-kiang-the main trade highway of the south. Canton itself, a city of two and a half million inhabitants, lies at the junction of three rivers, which meet almost at right angles: the first flowing from the east, the second from the north, and the third-and greatest-from the west. Canton is a city of mysteries and marvels; it is a city of many industries, insufferable heat, intolerable smells, and almost unbelievable devilry and crime.

The whole of the great province of Kwangsi and the eastern portion of Yunnan is drained by the West River and its hundreds of tributaries. These tributaries for the most part find their sources upon the watershed of the Nan-ling Mountains, which extend from the Tung-ting Lake to the city of Kin-yuen, a distance of over five hundred miles.

Of that great stretch of country little or nothing is known. Thanks to the early Jesuit explorers, we are provided with excellent maps. But a map is no more than a coloured piece of paper which-at the best-is backed with linen. Names in themselves convey nothing. Though you study the map of China for a fortnight you will know less of the Si-kiang, or West River, than the naval lieutenant who ran his gunboat past Wu-chau, and blew the mud huts of a pirate village into a dust-heap with the pound-and-a-half shells of his Maxim-Nordenfeldt. For, if to this day there are wild men anywhere upon the face of the earth, who know neither mercy nor pity nor the laws of God or man, they are to be found in the tract of country that lies between the West River and the Nan-ling Mountains to the north. And thither we are about to journey, into the midst of a land that is by no means a wilderness, but which is populated for the most part by peaceable, hard-working peasants.

There are, however, certain members of the community who are neither peaceable nor industrious, who care no more for the gunboats of His Britannic Majesty upon the wide reaches of the river than they do for the yamen of the Viceroy of Canton, who so terrorise the province that each honest man knows that it is more than his life is worth to give information against them.

The chiefs of these pirates or brigands are, as often as not, highly educated Chinese, sometimes entitled to wear the blue or red button of a mandarin. They hold sway by dint of their cruelty and their cunning.

Such a man was Cheong-Chau, whose headquarters were established in the town of Kong-chin, at the foot of the mountains. Thence he and his men were wont to descend to Pinglo, where they would board a sea-going junk, in which they would steal past Wu-chau to Canton, and thence to the open sea, to rob fishing-junks and sometimes even cargo ships. If they passed a gunboat or destroyer upon the broad waters of the estuary they were simple fishermen, on a cruise to Macao or Amoy. But under their fishing nets and tackle was always a veritable armoury of blood-curdling cutlasses and knives.

For the time being we will leave this cutthroat resting on his ill-gotten wealth, dazed from opium in a filthy den in the city of Pinglo, and return to the sublime and tranquil beauty of the harbour of Hong-Kong. There we are to meet a gentleman of appearance more personable, and personality more engaging, than the redoubtable Cheong-Chau. We refer to Mr Hennessy K. Waldron, of Paradise City, Nevada, U.S.A.

Mr Waldron was engaged upon what he termed a "trip around." He had made a pile of money out of cattle, silver, a patent egg-whisk, and pigs. His "trip around" had already lasted two and a half years. He had been to London, Paris, Switzerland, and Venice. He knew the height of the dome of St Paul's Cathedral, the number of bricks in the Mont Cenis tunnel, and the names of all the famous Venetian painters. He had gazed at the Pyramids, he had contemplated the Coliseum, and standing upon the Bridge of Sighs in Venice, he had quoted Byron, sentimentalising over the narrow stretch of water that divides the Doges' Palace from the gloomy dungeon to the right.

And wherever Hennessy K. Waldron had been he had been well received. Before leaving New York he had taken the precaution of arming himself with so many letters of introduction to influential persons in all parts of the world that he was obliged to carry them about with him in a large tin-lined box. He had not been two hours in Hong-Kong before he had called upon his Excellency the Governor,Sir John Macintosh-with the accent, according to Mr Waldron, on the "Sir."

He had also a letter from the British Ambassador in Washington to Sir Thomas Armitage, the Chief Justice of the Colony, upon whose verandah he was now seated, with his legs sprawled out in front of him, a Manila cheroot in the corner of his mouth and a whisky-and-soda at his elbow. Hennessy K. Waldron believed in "tripping around" in comfort.

"Judge," said he, "I've scheduled Hong-Kong for a six weeks' stay. Calculate I can do South China in that time?"

Sir Thomas smiled and shook his head.

"Mr Waldron," he replied, "you can't 'do' South China in six years, and you'll know precious little about it even at the end of sixty."

"Waal, I guess I'm not slow in the uptake. I can run my eye over the Tower of London, the Matterhorn, or the Louvre, in less time than a New York elevator would take to conduct you to the thirteenth story of the Flat Iron Building. And, sir, I'm speaking of things I know. Guess I've got face value out of every dollar's worth of shoe leather I ever purchased, or I never knew the difference between glue and honey."

"That may very well be," said the judge, "but there is so much about China to learn, so much that is confusing, and even contradictory, that I must confess, even after thirty years in the country, I know very little about it."

"Reckon," observed Mr Waldron, "the lingo would twist the tongue of a rattlesnake. I'm not referring to that."

"Whilst you are in China," asked Sir Thomas, "what is it, Mr Waldron, you most desire to see?"

For some moments Mr Hennessy K. Waldron appeared to be deep in thought. It was as if he considered the question worthy of earnest consideration.

"Temples," said he, at last. "Judge, I'm just crazy on temples."

"It so happens," said Sir Thomas Armitage, "that I'm interested in the same subject. For many years I have made a study of the religions of China-a vast, and to me an absorbing subject, upon which I am writing a book."

"Waal, now," exclaimed Mr Waldron, "that's very interesting, Judge. I always understood the Chink worships the spirits of his ancestors, and that's about as far as he gets."

"That is by no means correct," said the judge. "There are many religions in China. The upper classes are, practically without exception, Confucianists. It is true Confucianism is scarcely a religion; it is a system of moral philosophy which, however, serves its purpose. There are few Mohammedans in China, though great numbers of Buddhists-Chinese Buddhism differing in several interesting particulars from the corruption of the religion which exists to-day in India. However, the great bulk of the people, especially in the rural districts, are Taoists. Taoism is extremely difficult to understand, and even harder to explain. The original Taoist doctrine was a philosophy of fatalism; it has deteriorated, however, into a belief in evil spirits, alchemy, black magic, and so forth. Taoism and Buddhism have become confused; in the Taoist temples images can be seen of Buddha and his disciples."

"Guess that's what I want to see," cut in Mr Waldron.

The judge was silent a moment.

"I am about to undertake a long and somewhat arduous journey," he continued. "I have had a great deal of work of late, and am taking a six weeks' vacation. In pursuit of my hobby I intend to journey up the West River, to visit a very famous and ancient Taoist temple, situated in the hills, not far from the town of Pinglo. If you would like to accompany me, Mr Waldron, I am sure I shall be delighted. I warn you, however, that it will be no picnic. The heat will be excessive-for the summer is here-and we shall be called upon to undergo certain inconveniences and even hardships."

"Sir," exclaimed the American, "I began life as a cow-puncher in Texas. I have consorted, in the course of my career, with Mexican caballeros, bar tenders and pugilists. I'm not likely to get cold feet at the sight of a mosquito or a heathen god."

The judge laughed, and rose to his feet. Mr Waldron knocked the ash from the end of his cigar.

The moonlit harbour lay immediately beneath them. The mast-head signalling-lights upon the anchored cruisers winked their dots and dashes from one to the other. The round Chinese lanterns upon the sampans moved restlessly, like fire-flies, upon the dark surface of the water. Somewhere, to the right, in the midst of the trees, a military band was playing; now and again they caught the strains ofLight Cavalry or The Pilgrim's March, fromTannhäuser. To the left, the flaming lights in the streets of the Chinese quarter threw their reflection upon the dark foliage of the palms and orange-trees on the slopes of Mount Davis. Strange two-stringed instruments and shrill Chinese voices, heard faintly in the distance, conveyed to Mr Hennessy K. Waldron the impression that he was thousands of miles away from Paradise City.

"That's settled, then," said the judge. "We travel together, Mr Waldron. I shall be delighted to have the pleasure of your company."

"Judge," said Mr Waldron, "the pleasure is mine, sure. If it's temples, I'm your man. If there's going to be danger, I carry a six-shooter; and I can handle a gun as well as any."

"I trust," said the other, "that no such necessity will arise. However, in the region of the Nan-ling Mountains anything may happen. I myself will go unarmed."

At that moment a boy of about sixteen years of age entered the verandah from the dimly lighted drawing-room beyond, where he had been seated for some time engrossed in a book. Though he was a good-looking and well-built lad, he had the yellow complexion similar to that of the Chinese themselves, which sooner or later comes to every European who has lived for any length of time in the Far East.

"Are you talking about your journey up the West River, uncle?" he asked, with his eyes upon the heavy Colt revolver that Mr Waldron had produced from the hip-pocket of his trousers.

"Yes," said Sir Thomas. "Mr Waldron has agreed to come with me. I have promised him that the expedition will be full of interest."

"I am going too?" asked the boy.

The judge laid a hand upon his nephew's shoulder. "I believe," said he, "that was arranged. Here, Mr Waldron," he added, turning to the American, "is our interpreter. I have studied the Chinese language all my life and can speak a little in the Mandarin dialect. But Frank is lucky. He learnt the language from his amah, or Chinese nurse. He could talk Cantonese before he knew fifty words of English. When I am travelling on the mainland I always take Frank with me. The Chinese are extraordinary people. If you speak their language badly they will not attempt to understand you, but Frank can talk the Southern dialect as well as the peasants themselves."

"I'm in luck's way," observed Mr Waldron. "In the old days in Texas, if I was prospecting for gold, I struck oil; if I was looking for oil, I found gold. That's how I made my pile. I guess there're not many globe-trotters who get such an opportunity of leaving the beaten track, of seeing China from the inside. And, Judge, I'm no good on the stump, but let me tell you, sir, I appreciate the honour; and if ever you find yourself in Paradise City, Nevada, U.S.A., you'll find my name a free pass to anything that's going, from a ten-cent circus to a pocketful of cigars. And that's a bargain, Judge."

Whilst Mr Waldron was expressing, in his own peculiar fashion, his sense of obligation, there appeared, in the shadows of the room that gave upon the verandah, a tall, dark-eyed Cantonese servant, a man of about thirty years of age, with a black glistening pigtail which reached almost to his knees.

Wearing soft, felt-soled shoes, he glided across the room as noiselessly and as stealthily as a cat. At the casement window he caught sight of the shining barrels of Mr Waldron's nickel-plated revolver. And at once he disappeared-behind a curtain.

"And now, Judge, may I ask when you intend to start?" asked the American.

"In a week's time," said Sir Thomas. "That will give you a few days in which to see the sights of Hong-Kong. Bring no more baggage than one man can carry. We are going into a country where there are no roads, only a few footpaths between the ricefields. And above all, Mr Waldron, I must request you to say nothing about it to anyone. Our destination must remain a secret. I do not trust even my own personal attendants."

"Your wishes will be obeyed, Judge," said Mr Waldron. "But may I ask, sir, why these precautions are essential?"

"They are not essential," said the judge, "but I think you will agree with me they are wise when I tell you that the West River abounds with pirates, and there are several gangs of Chinese bandits in the Nan-ling Mountains, especially in the neighbourhood where we are going. The town of Pinglo has an exceptionally bad reputation. You yourself, Mr Waldron, are a wealthy man, and I have a position of some importance in this colony. It might be well worth the while of some rascal who is in touch with the West River pirates to give information against us."

"I get your meaning, Judge," said Mr Waldron, returning his revolver to his hip-pocket. "I'm as dumb as a dewberry pie. And now I must get back to my hotel. Good-night, and, sir, I'm pleased and honoured to have met you."

"One moment," said the judge. "Let me send for a ricksha. I am afraid my own chair coolies have gone to bed."

Sir Thomas entered the drawing-room, unconscious of the fact there was a man not five paces away from him hiding behind the curtain. He rang a small bronze hand-bell and returned to the verandah.

The man behind the curtain dropped down upon his hands and knees, and keeping in the shade of the various chairs and tables he gained the door, opened it, and passed through silently.

Two seconds afterwards he re-entered, standing at his full height, with an expression of profound dignity, even of contempt, upon every feature of his face.

He closed the door with a bang, marched with a stately stride across the room, and presented himself at the window.

"Master rang," said he.

"Yes," said Sir Thomas. "Yung How, please order a ricksha for Mr Waldron, to take him to the King Edward Hotel."

The man bowed-if an almost imperceptible downward movement of the head may be so described.

"Yes, master," said he.

Stepping upon the verandah, he picked up the empty glass which had contained Mr Waldron's whisky-and-soda. Holding this in his hand, as if it were something sacramental, Yung How stalked gravely from the room.

That night, tossing restlessly upon his bed in the stifling heat of the breathless tropic night, Mr Hennessy K. Waldron, of Paradise City, Nev., dreamed of heathen gods.

CHAPTER II-OF AH WU'S OPIUM DEN

The small river-launch steamed away from the narrow creek which divides Canton city from the island of Shamien. The Chinaman at the wheel navigated the little craft into the very midst of the clustered shipping, the mass of junks and river-boats that thronged the entrance to the creek. Her prow cutting the water in a long, arrow-shaped, feathery wave, the launch gained the fairway of the main river, and thence worked up-stream. Seated in a comfortable chair in the bows, a cigar in his mouth and a pair of field-glasses in his hand, was Mr Hennessy K. Waldron, of Paradise City, Nevada, U.S.A.

Sir Thomas Armitage drew a basket-chair into the shade afforded by an awning. There he produced his spectacles and, opening a book, settled himself to read. His nephew, with his coat off and his sleeves rolled up, was occupied with an oil-bottle in the little engine-room.

In the stern of the launch stood Yung How, with folded arms. His dark face was expressionless. For all that, his eyes were fixed upon the northern bank of the river, where the houses of the city were so close-packed that a man standing with outstretched arms in one of the narrow streets could have touched with his finger-tips the walls on either side.

At the extremity of one of these dark, stifling lanes stood a Chinaman, wearing a faded scarlet coat. This man was an old man, with a grey tuft of hair upon his chin, and a queue that was white and short and thin as a monkey's tail. He stood motionless, shading his eyes with the palm of a hand and looking out across the river. As the launch hove into sight he drew back a little, hiding himself in the doorway of an adjacent house. The launch passed within fifty yards of the shore.

He observed Mr Waldron and he observed Sir Thomas Armitage, who was engrossed in his reading. Moreover, he observed Yung How, who slowly raised his right hand and laid it upon the shaven forepart of his head.

At that the man disappeared. He vanished into the gloom of an even narrower side street. Five minutes afterwards he appeared in the open space on the western side of the Temple of the Gods. Here a coolie was standing, holding the bridle of a thick-necked, short-legged Mongolian pony, of the breed common in the north of China but seldom seen in the south. The man with the faded scarlet coat flung himself into the saddle.

"It is the West River!" he cried, and he was off like the wind, riding due north, leaving the suburbs of the great city to his right.

Such an extraordinary incident stands, perhaps, in need of explanation. The judge's party had spent a week in Canton, during which time Mr Waldron had inspected the Five-Story Pagoda, the Water Clock, the temples of the Five Genii and the Five Hundred Gods; he had witnessed theatrical performances and a public execution; he had smelled the smells of Canton.

As for Yung How, he also had not been idle. He had gone by night to a certain opium den in the vicinity of the Mohammedan mosque-the opium den of Ah Wu. Thither we must accompany him if we are to make head or tail of the narrative that follows.

Yung How had appeared before Sir Thomas Armitage. "Master," said he, "I have a brother in Canton."

The judge smiled. He had lived many years in China. He knew that Chinese servants always have brothers and aunts and grandmothers.

"And you want a day's leave, Yung How?" he asked.

"No, master," said Yung How. "Go away to-night, after dinner-time. Come back to-morrow morning."

Sir Thomas guessed that Yung How's "brother" was nothing more or less than an opium pipe. He knew, however, that it would be useless to refuse the man leave. Yung How was sadly addicted to opium; in Hong-Kong he often appeared in the morning with the pupils of his eyes no bigger than pinheads. And Sir Thomas knew also that, once a Chinese has become a slave of the opium pipe, nothing will ever cure him. The judge shrugged his shoulders.

"Very well, Yung How," said he, "you can go."

"Thank you, master," said Yung How. And he stalked in a majestic manner from the dining-room of the Shamien Hotel, where the judge and his party were staying.

Yung How crossed the little bridge of boats that connects the island with the main part of the city to the north. He found himself in narrow, twisting streets densely packed with people, the majority of whom were of the coolie class and wore little or no clothes. The shops and booths were ablaze. Everyone was shouting at once, swearing, wrangling, bargaining till they were hoarse. The heat was insufferable, the atmosphere humid. The foul smells of the city would have sickened a European, but they did not seem to affect the Oriental nostrils of Yung How, the Cantonese.

He walked slowly with long strides, turning to the left, then to the right, then to the left again. He was evidently familiar with the city. Brushing past half-naked, gesticulating coolies, and thrusting children aside, he came presently upon a great sow, sleeping in the middle of the street. Since there was no room to pass on either side he kicked the animal violently. As the pig got grunting to its feet, Yung How swept past with an expression of contempt upon his face.

He found himself, at last, outside the Mohammedan Mosque. Crossing what the Europeans call "West Street," he entered a dark thoroughfare, a blind alley, at the end of which was a solitary, blood-red Chinese lantern, suspended above a door.

Yung How did not knock. He walked straight in and found himself in the presence of Ah Wu.

Now Ah Wu was a notorious character; he was also a notorious scoundrel. He was a little, fat man, with a round, smiling, cherubic countenance-except that there was nothing cherubic about his eyes, which were small and evil, and glittered like those of a snake.

"Ha!" he exclaimed, the moment he set eyes upon Yung How. "You have returned to Canton! Ah Wu bids you welcome. If he eats rice under the roof-tree of Ah Wu, Yung How shall have of the best. He shall smoke the finest Chung-king opium."

"I desire none of these things," said Yung How.

Ah Wu looked disappointed, for Yung How was a rich man as Chinamen went, who paid for his night's entertainment in brand new Hong-Kong dollars.

"Ah Wu," said Yung How, in a low voice, "I desire to speak with you upon a matter which is private. It will be worth your while to help me if you can."

Ah Wu's eyes glistened. He rubbed his hands together. "Come with me," said he.

He drew aside a heavy, richly embroidered curtain and, passing through, they found themselves in the opium den. This was a room of two stories, with a flight of stairs in the middle leading to the upper story, which was a kind of balcony. All around the walls, both upstairs and downstairs, were couches, and by the side of each couch was a small lacquer table. Upon every table was an opium pipe, a small bowl containing a substance that resembled treacle, and a little spirit-lamp. And upon each couch was a man, stretched at full length, wearing no more clothes than a kind of towel tied around his waist, for the heat of the room was like that of a Turkish bath.

Some of these men were engaged in smoking, rolling the opium into little pills, holding these pills over the flame of the spirit-lamp until they frizzled in the heat. Some were lying flat upon their backs, with their arms folded behind their heads, staring with eyes wide open at the ceiling. Others were motionless, insensible, asleep-drugged into oblivion. The room reeked with the pungent smell of the drug.

Yung How, taking no notice of the occupants of the den, followed the proprietor into a small room under the stairs. There a paraffin lamp of European manufacture burned upon a table. Ah Wu offered his guest a chair and seated himself on the opposite side of the table. He produced a matchbox from the sleeve of his coat, struck a match, and lighted a small spirit-lamp. This, together with a bowl of opium and a large ivory pipe, he shoved across the table.

"You will smoke?" he asked.

Yung How could not resist the temptation. He snatched up the little skewer and dived it into the brown glutinous substance.

"Thank you," said he. "I can think better when I smoke. The matter of which I have to tell you, Ah Wu, is of some importance. It may be very profitable to me, and also, in some degree, to you-if you are able to assist me."

Ah Wu's little almond-shaped eyes glistened more than ever. His face became wreathed in smiles. He got to his feet and went to a cupboard, from which he produced his own opium pipe. Then he seated himself again at the table, and with their heads very close together these two sleek, shaven, unmitigated rascals rolled their little pills and filled the room with bitter-smelling smoke.

And as they fell under the influence of the wonderful and subtle drug that holds sway over the whole of the Far East, from Shanghai to Bombay, they discussed in low voices the affairs of Mr Hennessy K. Waldron, of Paradise City, Nevada, U.S.A.

"Tell me," asked Yung How, "do you ever see anything of Cheong-Chau, the robber?"

"He himself," said Ah Wu, "comes often to Canton. He invariably stays here. He is a great smoker. He smokes opium by day and walks abroad by night. He will not show himself in the streets by daylight, in case he should be recognised by the soldiers of the Viceroy."

"He is a brave man," said Yung How-avoiding, after the manner of the East, the point at issue.

"He fears not death," said Ah Wu. "But the day will come when he will be led to his execution, to the Potter's Yard, where they will cut off his head, and the heads of all his followers."

"How many men has he?" asked Yung How.

Ah Wu shrugged his shoulders.

"Some say twenty," said he; "some say thirty. Men-Ching, his second-in-command, is always here. He is one of my oldest patrons." Ah Wu nodded his head towards the door. "He is in there now," he added, "sound asleep. I saw him as we passed."

It is not the custom of a Chinese to convey surprise, satisfaction or displeasure, or any other emotion, upon the features of his face. Yung How's countenance remained expressionless. He did not raise an eyebrow. And yet he was delighted. He was in luck's way, and he knew it.

"What sort of a man is this Men-Ching?" he asked.

"He is an old man," said Ah Wu, "a grandfather. He wears a small grey beard, and his pigtail is almost white."

Yung How leaned across the table and whispered in Ah Wu's ear:

"I know of a party of Europeans," said he, "who are going up one of the rivers-I am not sure which. I have not yet discovered their destination. They are rich men. How much will Cheong-Chau give, do you think, if I deliver them into his hands?"

Ah Wu chuckled. Then, very carefully, he rolled another opium pill and puffed the smoke from his mouth.

"This can be arranged," said he, rising to his feet. "I will fetch Men-Ching. He returns to Pinglo to-morrow."

Ah Wu entered the opium den and, ascending the stairs, awakened a man who was sleeping upon one of the couches. This was an old man with a small grey beard and so little hair upon his head that his pigtail was not six inches long.

Men-Ching listened to Ah Wu's apologies, and then got slowly to his feet. He put on his faded scarlet coat and followed the proprietor down the stairs. In the little room below, he was introduced to Yung How, and a Chinese introduction is a serious and ceremonious occasion. For the better part of five minutes the two men paid each other compliments, which were neither the truth nor intended to be such. Then all three seated themselves at the table, and presently the smoke from three opium pipes, instead of two, was filling the room with the bitter, pungent smell.

They discussed the matter in every detail; they regarded it from every aspect. They calculated the risk and speculated upon their own share of the plunder. They tried to estimate the illimitable wealth of Mr Hennessy K. Waldron. Perhaps Ah Wu had visions of retiring from business and settling down in his native town of Chau-chau, on the banks of the Han river, where the rice is the best in China.

At all events they were three great scoundrels, and although Cheong-Chau himself may have been a greater one, there was a certain man who-even whilst they were closeted together-had entered the opium den, who was without doubt the greatest villain in all the thirteen provinces, in all that land of thieves and knaves and cut-throats, from the Great Wall of China to the Shan States, upon the borderland of Burmah.

And this man was Ling. He burst into the opium den with such violence that the outer door was in danger of being broken from its hinges. He thrust aside the embroidered curtains so roughly that several of the wooden rings that secured them at the top were broken. Once inside the room, he bellowed for Ah Wu, the proprietor of the establishment, and his voice was so great that he awakened many of the sleepers.