Being informed that Ah Wu was privately engaged, he strode into the little room beneath the stairs, and there found himself confronted by Men-Ching, whom he knew well by sight and reputation, and Yung How, whom he had never seen before.

For some moments he stood regarding the three men. Then he laughed-just as a jackal laughs.

"What's this?" he cried. "Three such heads were never brought together to discuss Confucius or the writings of the learned Lao Tzu. An old fox, Ah Wu-one of Cheong-Chau's paid assassins, and a smooth-faced Hong-Kong 'boy'! Vulgar men, all three, who breathe from their throats, and walk in fear and trembling. Fetch me a pipe, Ah Wu, and take us into your council. I have a mind to learn the reason of these whisperings."

We have said that the Oriental does not betray his innermost feelings upon his features. We have stated that the Chinese countenance is incapable of expression. The case was overstated, for all three of them, the moment they set eyes upon this self-confident intruder, became visibly alarmed. It is true that to no small extent the personal appearance of Ling may have been responsible for this.

The man was a giant. Yung How was a tall man; but when he stood at his full height, the shaven top of his head was not level with the shoulders of the new-comer, who must have been at least six feet eight inches in height. His complexion was so sallow as to be almost green; his cheeks were hollow like those of a human skull. At the same time, he had enormous features: a great hooked nose; a square, massive chin; a mouth that almost reached to his ears when he grinned. He had coal-black eyebrows which met upon the bridge of his nose, and slanted slightly upwards. Upon his upper lip was a long black moustache, the ends of which hung down below his chin. His bones were mammoth-like; he had enormous fists; and when he walked, his great shoulder-blades could be seen moving under his long blue silken robe. Ah Wu looked up at him, with the glint of fear in his little fox-like eyes.

"We were discussing the rice crop," said he.

"Liar!" roared Ling.

And he brought down his fist upon the table with such force that the opium bowls jumped, and one of the spirit-lamps went out.

"Liar!" he repeated. "Fetch me a pipe, as I bid you, and speak true talk. This is a human affair and concerns me as much as you. Were it a question of divine philosophy, I should be the last to intrude. Come, I propose to give you advice."

Thereupon, without the least warning, he seized Yung How by the scruff of his neck, and lifted him bodily out of his chair.

"This foreign devil's flunkey shall increase the wisdom of the mighty Ling," he shouted. "He shall tell me in his Hong-Kong jargon why he holds conference with one of Cheong-Chau's bandits, and one who has grown so old in wickedness, and so rich in ill-gotten gains, that his eyes are sunk in the wrinkled fat of his face."

He dumped Yung How back into his chair, and for once the habitual expression of serene dignity had departed from that gentleman's countenance. Indeed, he looked terribly frightened-but not more so than Ah Wu himself, who now came forward, holding in his trembling hand an opium pipe, which he offered politely to this gigantic Oriental swashbuckler.

Ling examined the pipe critically; and then, apparently satisfied with the appearance of it, proceeded to roll opium pills in his huge, flat-tipped fingers.

"I smoke," said he, "not like fools, to dream. I smoke to fight, to think, and to make fools of others."

As he said these words he flung off his long coat. Underneath he was wearing a thin vest of the finest Chifu silk. Around his waist was a belt, attached to which was a great knife-a Malay kris-the handle of which was studded lavishly with jewels.

CHAPTER III-OF THE TIGER AND THE FOXES

Ling was a Northerner. He hailed from the province of Honan, a land of rugged hills and dark, inhospitable valleys, through which flows the unnavigable Hoang-Ho, the turbulent Yellow River that thrashes its way into the Gulf of Pe-chili, over cataracts and rocks, through dark, precipitous ravines.

The Honanese are a warlike race. From this province the viceroys of the north were wont to recruit the majority of their soldiers-wild, raw-boned men who, in the old days, guarded the sacred presence of the Emperor.

The pirates of the West River may be compared to wolf-packs that roam the southern provinces in search of plunder. But Ling may be likened to a solitary beast of prey, a man-eating tiger, or a rogue elephant-than which there is no more dangerous beast in all the world. He lived by his wits, his great strength and cunning. He had established such a reputation for himself in the provinces of Kwang-si and Kwei-chau that he was feared alike by peasants, priests, and mandarins. He committed crime openly and gloried in it; for in China there are no police, and prefects and magistrates can be bought with silver taels.

And Ling was a man of great wealth. He employed bribery when that was likely to succeed. Otherwise he relied upon his Malay kris, or his great hands, with which he could strangle the life out of an ordinary man in no more time than it would take to wring the neck of a hen.

The wonder of this man was that he was a great scholar. He had passed several of the public examinations in which the candidates could be numbered by the thousand. He was learned in the classic books: Spring and Autumn, The Doctrine of the Mean, The Analects of Confucius, and the books of History, Rites and Music, and the Odes.

He was in the habit of quoting Confucius and the writings of the sages; and he could always, by twisting the meaning of the proverbs of antiquity, find excuses for his crimes.

"To the good I would be good," he would quote, adding: "As there are no good on this earth, there is no necessity to be other than I am."

In no other country in the world would such a man have been allowed to walk at large in the streets of a populous city. Everyone knew him, and everyone feared him; but no one had the courage to step across his path. He came and went at his pleasure, laughing in his loud, boisterous manner, quoting from the writings of Confucius, Mencius, and the learned Lao Tzu, the founder of the Taoist religion. It must be remembered that China is a country in which everyone minds his own affairs. The sages have taught the Chinese to believe that the destiny of every man is in his own hands, and that whether he lives foolishly or wisely, whether he does evil or good, is a question solely between that man himself and the Spirit of the Universe. No one has the right to interfere.

In this world there are those who talk and those who act. Ling did both. He bullied and threatened and stormed; he was childishly vain of his learning, and in seven dialects he scattered his knowledge broadcast. At the same time, he was a man of action; he was resolute and brave, and without scruples or a sense of pity.

But neither courage nor brute strength nor wisdom, nor a combination of the three, can accomplish all things. And in Ah Wu's opium den, the mighty Ling found himself in the presence of three subtle, smooth-tongued Cantonese; and the whole world across, from San Francisco to Yokohama by way of Port Said, there is no more capable and fluent liar than the lemon-skinned, almond-eyed Chinese who hails from the province of Kwang-si. It is difficult to say who could lie most gracefully, who was the greatest hypocrite-Ah Wu, Yung How, or Men-Ching, the brigand. Each in his own way was a past master in the craft of falsehood.

Moreover, they had no intention of taking Ling into their confidence. They may have been frightened of the man, but not even fear could make them behave like imbeciles. They knew that if Ling gained knowledge of the presence of Mr Hennessy K. Waldron upon the upper reaches of one of the rivers, there would be but little booty left for themselves. And so they lied-gracefully, easily, pleasantly, and with admirable consistency.

What that lie was is immaterial to the skein and texture of this story. It was a presentable and passable falsehood, you may be sure, but it was not good enough to deceive Ling, who, however, professed that he believed every word they had told him, whilst he complacently smoked pipe after pipe of opium-at Ah Wu's expense.

And then he left the opium den, paying for nothing, quoting from Mencius in regard to the virtue of hospitality. In the dark streets of the mammoth city his colossal figure became lost in the shadows; but he left behind him, in the opium den, in the little room beneath the stairs, an atmosphere of tension-a feeling that a great typhoon has passed, which by a miracle had caused but little damage. The three conspirators continued to discuss their plot, but they were no longer conscious of a sense of security. Once or twice Ah Wu, who was the most nervous of the three, glanced anxiously over his shoulder, whenever a heavy footstep was heard in the room beyond.

They had lied to Ling to the best of their ability-which was saying much. For all that, they had no reason to suppose that the gigantic Honanese had believed a single word of what they had told him. In consequence, they feared him all the more. The tiger was on the prowl, and the three foxes, their heads close together, whispered in the ears of one another and rolled their little pills.

They arranged matters to their satisfaction. Yung How was to attempt to discover the destination of Sir Thomas Armitage and the wealthy American. Men-Ching would lie in wait upon the river bank. Yung How would signal to him as the launch went by. If their destination was the North River, Yung How was to place his left hand upon the shaven fore-part of his head. If it was the West River, he was to raise his right hand. In either case, Men-Ching was to take horse and ride to Pinglo, where he would inform Cheong-Chau that the fish were swimming into his net. As for Ah Wu, at a later date, he was to play a certain part for which-on account of his cunning and secretive nature-he was eminently suited.

It was an exceedingly well-arranged plot, which will be duly explained in the appointed place. There was some discussion in regard to what sum it would be possible to obtain; but in the end it was decided that twenty thousand dollars would be sufficient, allowing that Cheong-Chau would take the bulk of it himself.

It was long past midnight when they came to the end of their deliberations. By then they were heavy with opium, and their eyes glazed from the drug. They threw themselves down upon the soft matted couches in the outer room, and slept and dreamed-as Chinese will-of things celestial, transcendental, such as cannot be expressed in words. For all that, the following morning Yung How presented himself at the breakfast-table of Sir Thomas Armitage in the Shamien Hotel.

"Well, Yung How," said the judge, "did you see your brother in Canton?"

"Yes, master," said Yung How, without moving a muscle of his face. "He makes bobbery with his wife."

"You mean," said Sir Thomas, for the edification of Mr Waldron, "that he and his wife have quarrelled?"

"Yes, master. She does not like that he smokes opium-once a week."

The judge made a wry face. "A nasty habit," said he.

"Yes, master," said Yung How; "only bad men smoke opium."

Sir Thomas looked at Yung How's eyes. The pupils were shrunken to the size of little beads.

"Yes," said he. "You are right, Yung How; only bad men smoke opium."

"Opium does harm," said Yung How, who, five minutes later, appeared in the hotel kitchen. Several coolies were eating rice upon a doorstep, and one of these was the engineer of Sir Thomas's river-launch. It is not pleasant to watch lower-class Chinese eat rice. They hold the bowl about two inches from their mouths, which they open very wide, and then they scoop up the rice with their fingers in much the same manner as one might brush pieces of fluff from the sleeve of a coat.

"Ah Su," said Yung How, to the engineer, "has the judge told you where we are going?"

"No," said Ah Su.

"The weather," said Yung How, "is very hot."

He then departed to the vestibule of the hotel, where he encountered the comprador. In China, the comprador knows everything.

"Are there any letters for the judge?" asked Yung How, in a lordly manner.

"He has them," said the comprador. "He himself took them into the breakfast-room."

"We leave to-day," said Yung How casually.

"So I understand," said the other.

"I suppose letters will be forwarded?"

"The judge has given instructions. All letters and parcels are to be forwarded to the British Consulate at Wu-chau."

"In Wu-chau," said Yung How, "I have a brother."

He turned away and went upstairs, where he entered the bedroom of Mr Waldron. In one of the small drawers of the dressing-table he discovered the millionaire's cheque-book; and since he could read English tolerably well, he spent a pleasant five minutes studying the counterfoils. Then quite suddenly Mr Waldron came in.

"Say," said he, "what are you doing here?"

"Have cleaned hairbrushes," said Yung How, without a moment's hesitation.

"Then, git!" cried Mr Waldron. "Guess I can fill my own grip-sack. When I want a slit-eyed son of Satan hanging around my boudoir, I'll send for him. So, git!"

And Yung How "got." He walked gravely from the room with his head held proudly in the air, and his eyes fixed upon the ground. He appeared grossly insulted.

He knew very well, however, that the great city of Wu-chau lies upon the West River, and is not so far-as the crow flies-from the town of Pinglo, where Cheong-Chau was in the habit of smoking opium.

CHAPTER IV-HOW CHEONG-CHAU CAME FORTH OF THE TOWN OF PINGLO

Mr Waldron appreciated the journey up the West River even more than the sights of Canton. Stretched comfortably upon his deck-chair, he surveyed through his binoculars the rich, prosperous landscape of Southern China. He interested himself in the straw-hatted peasants at work in the tea-gardens and the ricefields. As the launch steamed upon its way, he inspected river-side villages, temples, gateways and pagodas.

The party arrived at Wu-chau, spent two or three days seeing the sights, and then proceeded up-river. A few days later, the launch arrived at the town of Pinglo-three days after Men-Ching, seated astride his little Mongolian pony, had ridden in from the East.

Since there was little or nothing to see in Pinglo, Sir Thomas Armitage, Frank and Mr Hennessy K. Waldron, accompanied by Yung How and one other personal servant, set out on a journey across country towards the north. They carried knapsacks upon their backs, and proceeded by way of the narrow paths separating the ricefields. The heat was excessive, but as they progressed, and reached higher altitudes, it became cooler, and at the end of three days' march the Nan-ling Mountains stood out before them like a great wall.

They found the Taoist temple, surrounded by trees, tucked away in the corner of a picturesque valley, where there were great numbers of birds of brilliant plumage.

Mr Waldron was delighted. The temple was deserted, and appeared to have been neglected for centuries. The plaster had crumbled from the walls and lay in heaps upon the floor. The place consisted of one huge hall, with several smaller rooms on either side. Everything of value had been stolen; but the architecture remained, solid and fantastic, and of the greatest antiquity.

Ranged around the walls were the figures of scores of gods and goddesses, chief amongst whom was Buddha. Sir Thomas was able to identify several of the images, one of whom he recognised as Mohammed, another as St Paul, and a third as Marco Polo. That Marco Polo should have risen in China to the dignity of a deity is conceivable, since this dauntless adventurer was the first European to reside in the ancient Tartar kingdom of Kublai Khan. But it was indeed remarkable that the fame of such great preachers as St Paul and the founder of the Mohammedan religion should have reached-across the whole of Asia-the heart of the Chinese Empire. This is no treatise on Chinese theology, else we could write much concerning the Taoist temple on the southern slopes of the Nan-ling Mountains, at the very back of the beyond. It is sufficient to say that the judge took copious notes, and Mr Hennessy K. Waldron was delighted. As a memento of the expedition he knocked off a stone gargoyle from above the porchway of the temple.

In many ways the expedition resembled a delightful picnic, in a country that was charming and romantic. The ruined temple was surrounded by flowering shrubs and queer-shaped deciduous trees, and there were moss-grown banks upon which one could lie at ease during the heat of the day or sleep tranquilly by night, when thousands of frogs were croaking in the valley below, and crickets were singing in the longkiao-liang that grew upon the mountain-side.

The place was a natural garden, scented with almond and mimosa. During the heat of the day there was shade in plenty; after sunset the temperature was cool and refreshing. Yung How and his assistant attended to their wants; gave them four-course luncheons and dinners, produced from a saucepan and a frying-pan by means of a small wood fire laid between two bricks. Neither Mr Waldron nor the judge himself showed the slightest inclination to return to the steaming valley of the river. As for Frank, he was happy all day long, exploring the neighbourhood, climbing to the crest-line of the hills, whence he could survey a vast panorama of terraced paddy-fields, winding rivers, scattered villages and towns, each with its joss-houses and its temples and its great horseshoe graveyards.

On the second day of their visit, whilst his uncle and the American were occupied in inspecting the temple, Frank Armitage ascended a steep bridle-path which crossed the mountains at a narrow pass. To the north he found his view obstructed by another and even more rugged range of mountains. Anxious to gain a more commanding position, the boy left the bridle-path and climbed, on hands and knees, the steep face of the adjacent peak.

It took him the greater part of an hour to gain the top, but there he found his efforts rewarded by a view that reminded him of many scenes pictured by Gustave Doré, illustrating Don Quixote or Paradise Lost-pictures that had fascinated and frightened him as a child.

Immediately before him was a second valley, at right angles to the one dividing the parallel ranges, resembling a huge, deep sword-cut in the barren, savage hills. This valley narrowed as it rose to a higher altitude, and finally became lost in mountain mist. There were few trees upon the steep, glistening slopes, and such as were to be seen were stunted and deformed. There were no roads or paths; no sign of life or civilisation. The sun itself appeared to have been shut out for ever from this stretch of desolation.

Frank turned and looked towards the south. In this direction were green trees, green fields-a plain, rich, fertile, well-watered and thickly populated. It was almost impossible to believe that a narrow watershed could divide landscapes so different that they might have been scenes from different planets. He glanced again at the dark sinister valley; and as he did so he caught a glimpse of something red, moving slowly across the spur that formed the angle of the two valleys immediately below.

He could not at first make out what this could be, for the moving object almost at once disappeared behind a hillock. When it appeared again, however, it was in mid-valley; and he recognised a party of men dressed in scarlet coats, who were marching in close formation, making in the direction of the pass across the range.

Frank knelt down behind a boulder and watched with interest, and not without apprehension, the approaching figures. A natural instinct warned him that it would not be wise to show himself. There was something in the forbidding nature of the valley itself that warned him that its sole occupants were not likely to be men whom one could trust.

They climbed the bridle-path, gaining at last the pass whence Frank himself had ascended to the hill-top. They were now easy to distinguish. The party numbered about thirty. They were brown-skinned Chinese, evidently mountain-born; all were armed with scythe-like spears or long, curved knives, and one or two carried pistols in their belts. All wore scarlet coats, some of which were bright and new, others being so faded that they were a kind of dirty pink. At the head of the party marched a little shrivelled man, whose scarlet coat was trimmed with gold. Frank Armitage did not know it-though within eight hours he was to learn the truth-but this was the redoubtable Cheong-Chau himself-the brigand chief who plundered the southern provinces from the Nan-ling Mountains to the sea.

As they passed, swinging on their way, these men sang a low, wailing chant that might have been a funeral dirge, but which was, in fact, a pirate song of blood and lust and murder. At the rear of the party was an old man, seated upon the back of a short-necked Mongolian pony. This was Men-Ching, who had ridden post-haste from the city of Canton, bringing greetings to Cheong-Chau from Ah Wu, who kept an opium den in the vicinity of the Mohammedan mosque.

Men-Ching had seen Yung How in the city of Wu-chau, and had there heard news of the ancient Taoist temple upon the southern slopes of the mountains. And Cheong-Chau had shaken off the sleep of opium and, gathering his men, had issued from the town of Pinglo, and had marched by night into the mountains, the sovereignty of which he shared with the eagles and the kites.