Ling led the way to one of the many warehouses which were situated along the wharf--which in China are called "go-downs." On attempting to open the door and finding it locked, with one wrench the Chinaman tore the hinges from the jamb and, casting the door aside, dragged Frank into a great darkened chamber that smelt of grease or some kind of oil. There he struck a match.

One of the first objects that attracted his attention was a candle stuck in the neck of a bottle, and this he at once lighted so that the place was dimly illumined.

The "go-down" was filled with all manner of packing-cases, casks, barrels and bales. Picking these up, one after another, as though each weighed but a few pounds, the great Honanese--who might have been in a towering rage--threw them right and left, breaking many open, and creating such a disturbance that Frank was surprised that the whole town was not awakened.

After a while, by means of such brutal violence, he had make a way for himself to the farther end of the warehouse. Thither he ordered Frank to bring the candle, and then proceeded to ascend a step-ladder that led through a trap-door, such as one usually finds over stables, to an upper story.

The boy, following his captor, found himself in a kind of loft, containing all manner of things--rope, sails, fishing-nets, straw and sacks of millet. Here Ling, holding the candle well above his head, carefully examined the roof.

He very soon found what he was looking for, and, laughing aloud, ordered Frank to come to him. Laying one of his enormous hands upon the boy's shoulder, he suddenly burst forth into the following eulogy upon his own abilities and prowess.

"The mighty Ling," he declared, "is the favoured child of the gods; swift as the kite, wise as the tortoise, strong as the tigers of Amoy. There are few things within the attainment of mortal man that Ling cannot accomplish. Scholar, poet, robber, soldier, merchant, mandarin--all these am I, and more. But there is one thing, I declare to you, that is beyond me. Guess, my little junk rat, what it is?"

Fortunately Ling did not appear to expect an answer, for he ran on, without giving the boy time to reply:

"Do you see that man-hole in the roof?" he asked, pointing upward. "Well, the sages themselves could not devise a method by which the mighty Ling could pass through there. But you can, my monkey, and thither you go, whether you want to or not."

"What am I to do when I get there?" asked Frank, who could think of no way of escaping from this truculent, swaggering monster.

"Know you nothing," roared Ling, "of the sayings of the seers? How it is written truly that 'Patience filleth the stomach, whereas he that hurries to the feast falleth by the way'? Hearken unto me and ask no questions."

He placed the candle upon the ground and seated himself straddle-legged across a sack, with his great legs sprawled out before him. Frank regarded the man's face in the candlelight, and thought that he had never seen anyone of appearance more formidable and sinister.

His huge countenance was like a mask of some weird and evil Eastern god. There were deep lines scored about his forehead, mouth and eyes--lines of wrath; so that even in moments of rest he appeared to be in the throes of an uncontrollable passion. And this expression of fierceness and of anger was intensified by his black, glittering eyes, which seemed to pierce whatsoever he regarded. In addition to this, Frank was impressed by the gigantic proportions of the Honanese: his great sinewy hands, the muscles in his neck, his thighs, each as thick as the waist of a smaller man.

"Listen," said he. "Listen to the description of the man who goes by the name of Men-Ching, who is a fool who believed in his blindness that he and his cur-dog friends could cheat the mighty Ling."

It was as if Frank Armitage had been struck. He was so astonished at the sudden mention of Men-Ching's name that he caught his breath in a kind of gasp. Fortunately Ling was not looking at him at the moment. The man had drawn a long knife of Malay design from his belt, and was examining it fondly, feeling the sharpness of the blade with his thumb.

"This man," said Ling, "is over sixty years of age--old in crime, but a babe in matters of intelligence. He has a long thin beard upon his chin and his grey queue is no larger than the tail of a rat. He wears a faded scarlet coat, and limps with his left foot when he walks. Also, he rubs his hands together as if he were always pleased. Pleased!" roared Ling. "When he sets eyes upon me, the pleasure will go out of him as a candle is blown out in the draught. But, tell me, you have listened and will remember?"

Frank answered that he had paid strict attention. He did not think it incumbent upon him to advise the "mighty Ling" that he already knew Men-Ching perfectly well. He was both amazed by the coincidence and utterly bewildered as regards the business which these two could have in common. He did not dream for a moment that Ling was as dangerous to himself as the redoubtable Cheong-Chau: that he now found himself in the presence of the man who would soon hold in his great hands the trump cards in this colossal game of Death.

Ling picked up the candle, and rose to his full height.

"If I lift you up by the feet," said he, "you should be able to reach that rafter. Thence, without difficulty, you should be able to gain the man-hole, and so to the roof. From the roof you will obtain an excellent view of the harbour. The moonlight should be sufficient to enable you to see anyone who approaches. Keep your eyes open, and the moment you see the man whom I have described let me know. I will remain here."

Frank had no alternative but to obey the instructions of this extraordinary ruffian. Indeed, he was powerless as a mouse in the jaws of a cat. He was ordered to straighten himself, to remain in a position perfectly upright and rigid, and then he was lifted high above the man's head until he was within easy reach of one of the rafters. Swinging himself on to this, he gained the man-hole which had been pointed out to him, and a moment after he found himself upon the roof.

Thence--as Ling had predicted--he was able to look down upon the numerous wharves and jetties along the bank of the river. The moon was sinking low, but it was so magnified by refraction on account of the moisture in the atmosphere that the boy was able to see quite clearly, not only the various junks, wupans and sampans that lay anchored along the shore, but also the whole extent of the bund itself.

A party of coolies was already at work, and in several places there were signs of life on board the ships. Frank, looking down through the man-hole through which he had passed, could see the mighty Ling, who had taken a book from his pocket and was reading aloud by means of the candlelight. He was reading the Analects of Confucius, a volume that is admitted to contain some of the purest ethical reasoning in the world. The man read aloud in a deep voice that sounded to Frank like a roll of far distant thunder. He was obviously fully conscious of the literary and philosophic beauty of the famous maxims.

As for Frank, his thoughts were purely material. He could not think why this singular and terrible man should be so anxious to find Men-Ching. He knew, however, that it was essential that he himself should get into touch with Cheong-Chau's second-in-command. Personally, he was not in the least inclined to render assistance to Ling. But he could not deny the fact, even to himself, that he feared the man more than he had ever feared anyone before--even the giants and ogres of which, as a child, he had been wont to dream. He knew that his life was at stake, that Ling would not hesitate to kill him if, through any fault of his, Men-Ching managed to escape.

There could be no doubt that Men-Ching was at that moment in the town, probably in one of the numerous opium dens which are to be found in every Chinese city. Frank had gleaned that information, and somehow or other Ling was equally well informed. It was also certain that some time that morning Men-Ching would embark and proceed upon his journey to Canton. Frank, therefore, kept a sharp look-out for the man, but it was only fear of Ling that impelled him to do so.

About half-an-hour before sunrise, when the first signs of daybreak were visible in the east, Men-Ching and his companion were among the first people to arrive upon the wharf. They went straight to a wupan that was moored at a distance of about two hundred yards from the door which Ling had broken from its hinges. There Men-Ching called out in a loud voice in order to awaken the owner of the boat, who was asleep under the awning. Frank had no doubt that he had found the right man, for he recognised his voice, and besides the light was sufficient to enable him to identify the old man's scarlet coat.

The boy looked down through the man-hole into the great loft below. Ling was still reading, though the candle had almost burned out.

"He is on the wharf," cried Frank. "He is about to go on board. The fisherman is preparing to hoist his sail."

On the instant, Ling closed his book and, springing to his feet, hastened to the head of the step-ladder that led to the room below. He did not trouble himself in the least about Frank, who was left upon the roof. By no means content to remain an inactive spectator of what was to follow, the boy descended rapidly to the rafter, and thence dropped to the floor, stinging his feet severely. A few seconds later he was swarming down the ladder, hastening after Ling, who had already gained the bund.

Men-Ching had just boarded the boat, when for the first time he caught sight of the mighty Ling, who charged down upon him like an infuriated tiger. Frank was in time to see the expression of absolute horror and dismay which was stamped upon every feature of the old man's face. At the sight of Ling, Men-Ching's jaw dropped and his eyes opened wide, and seemed in danger of springing from his head.

"Make haste!" he shrieked. "If I fall into that man's hands, everything is lost!"

With feverish hands the old man uncoiled the rope that secured the bows of the wupan to a wooden bollard. He succeeded in doing this in the nick of time, for when he was in the very act of pushing the boat clear of the wharf by means of a long boathook, Ling gained the shore and snatched the boathook from his hand.

In the meantime Men-Ching's companion, who had accompanied him throughout his journey from the cave, had seized an oar, with which he propelled the boat clear of the clustered shipping. By that time the fisherman who owned the wupan had hoisted his sail, which, filling immediately with the strong west wind, carried the boat down-stream at a considerable velocity.

Ling was like a raging beast. Stamping with his feet, he filled the air with the most terrible Chinese oaths--and there is no language in the world richer in expletives than the dialect of Southern China. The man's rage lasted no more than a moment. Determined not to allow Men-Ching to get out of sight, he looked about him for some method of following in pursuit. His eyes fell immediately upon a small sailing sampan, with a long oar fastened to the stern which did duty as a rudder.

"That will serve my purpose," he exclaimed, and then, lifting his great voice to the full extent of his lungs, he shouted after the wupan.

"Men-Ching," he cried, "you can never hope to evade me. Go north to beyond the Great Wall, or south to Singapore, and the mighty Ling shall follow."

Then, turning, he beheld Frank Armitage at his elbow.

"And you shall come with me," he roared. "There must be two of us to manage the boat."

He bundled the boy, neck and crop, into the sampan, and a few minutes later they were flying down-stream in pursuit of the wupan, upon the broad waters of the great West River that flows through the mammoth city of Canton.