Frank had every reason to suppose that he would be recognised in spite of his disguise. To deceive Men-Ching was one thing, but Yung How had known the boy for years. More than ever he desired to escape. It was clear that both Yung How and even Ah Wu himself were equally anxious to get away from the room. All three of them, however, were caught like rats in a trap, for Ling guarded the entrance, and it was as much as the life of any one of them was worth to attempt to pass, either by force or stealth.

Ling approached Yung How, lifted the man's coat and drew a large nickel-plated revolver from his belt.

"I thought so," said he. "I draw the jackal's teeth."

So saying, he thrust the revolver into his pocket.

"And now, Ah Wu," he cried, "is Men-Ching here or not?"

Some seconds elapsed before Ah Wu could summon sufficient courage to answer.

"Yes," said he at last. "He is."

"Where?" asked Ling.

"In the little room--asleep."

"Asleep! He could not have arrived more than an hour ago!"

"He was very frightened," said Ah Wu, who was now certainly speaking the truth. "His nerves were shaken. He knew you were in pursuit. He smoked opium to calm himself, and now he sleeps."

"Lead the way," said Ling. "And you too," he added, addressing himself to Yung How. "I drive you before me like a herd of pigs."

This was indeed a very accurate description of the proceeding, for Ling was determined that neither of the Chinese nor Frank should for a moment get out of his sight. It was remarkable that one man should have so much power--by which we mean will-power as well as physical force. But undoubtedly, the most extraordinary thing about him was the unbounded confidence he seemed to have in himself. And it was this self-confidence, even more than his courage and great physical strength, that made this man a master over others.

Into the little room under the staircase he hustled the three of them. There he locked the door and pocketed the key. Upon the only couch in the room lay Men-Ching in his faded scarlet coat--sound asleep.

Ling bent down and placed both hands upon the sleeper's chest. Then he smiled, and turning slowly round, looked Ah Wu straight in the face.

"They are here," said he. "It is the custom of the gods to reward those who deserve to prosper."

"What do you seek?" asked Ah Wu, upon the features of whose face was stamped an expression of the most profound dismay.

"The letters," said Ling. "The letters for which I have searched for fourteen days."

"Fourteen days ago," retorted Ah Wu, "they were not written."

"Of that," answered the other, "I confess I know nothing, and care less. It is sufficient for me--and for you, too--that I have found that for which I sought."

There was a pause. And then Yung How asked a question.

"How did you know about these letters?" said he.

Ling smiled again. "Do you think," he asked, "that when I found you three rascals with heads together in this very room--do you think I did not know that something was afoot, something into which it might be worth my while to inquire? Do you suppose for a moment I believed your lies? No. I watched. And I sent a spy here to smoke opium and to pretend to sleep--a spy who listened to all you had to say, who told me that Cheong-Chau had sent a messenger with the news that the fish had been landed high and dry, and a promise that both Ah Wu and yourself would have your share of the ransom as soon as it was paid. I had but to watch the river. And when I was told that one of Cheong-Chau's men had been seen in Sanshui, and the description of that man agreed with Men-Ching, I should be little short of a fool if I did not guess that Men-Ching carried with him letters demanding a ransom. And now," he concluded, "these same letters are mine."

He bent down, and very gently unbuttoned Men-Ching's coat. Then, without waking the sleeper, who appeared to be heavily drugged with opium, he tore open the lining and drew out the two letters: that of Cheong-Chau, written in Chinese, and Sir Thomas Armitage's letter, written in English.

Neither of these was in an envelope, but both were sealed in the Chinese fashion. Without a moment's hesitation Ling broke the seals, and Sir Thomas's gold signet ring fell to the floor. He stooped and picked it up, and then read both letters to himself. And as he read his smile broadened, displaying his fang-like yellow teeth.

"It is fortunate," said he, "that I can read English. It is of advantage in this life to be a scholar. The ignorant man works in the paddy-field wading knee-deep in the mud, but the wise man eats the rice." Then he remained silent for some minutes, still reading to himself.

"I see," he remarked, "this matter has been well arranged. Cheong-Chau threatens to take the lives of the foreigners if he does not receive a ransom of twenty thousand dollars before the new moon. It interests me to learn that the money must be hidden before that date in the Glade of Children's Tears, upon the banks of the Sang River. I know the place well. I even remember the red stone--though I admit I did not know there was a vault beneath that stone. Certainly the matter has been well arranged."

During this soliloquy--for Ling had to all intents and purposes been speaking to himself--Frank could not help regarding the countenances of Ah Wu and Yung How. The expression upon the face of each was suggestive of the most complete disgust. Disappointment and infinite distress were conveyed in every feature. Ling looked at them and burst into laughter.

"Two fools!" he cried. "Had you been wise men you had taken me into your confidence and allowed me a share of the plunder. As it is, you may see not a cent of it. It will be very simple for me to deliver these letters and to keep watch upon the Glade of Children's Tears."

His laughter had disturbed the sleeper, for Men-Ching turned over upon his back and mumbled a few incoherent words in his sleep. Then, still sleeping, he moved a hand to the breast of his coat, to the place where he had carried the letters.

Almost at once he sat bolt upright--wide awake.

"Stolen!" he cried, his hands still clutching at his coat. "Stolen," he repeated.

Then he set eyes upon Ling.

Upon his face an expression of dismay turned, as in a flash, to one of uncontrollable anger. He sprang to his feet, at the same time drawing from his belt a long curved knife. Though he stood upon the couch itself, he was little taller than Ling. With a savage oath he raised the knife above his head. And then he struck downward, straight for the heart of the gigantic Honanese.

The tragedy that now took place was the work of a few seconds. Men-Ching's wrist was caught. He let out a shriek of pain as that grip of steel tightened under such steady, inevitable pressure that the very wrist-bone was in danger of breaking like a piece of rotted wood. Then he was caught by the throat. He was jerked forward. Something snapped. And then he was thrown down upon the floor--dead. It was all over in an instant.

Frank Armitage was horror-stricken. He had never seen anything so terrible in all his life. And this was murder. And the man who had committed the crime merely shrugged his shoulders.

"Take warning," said he. "Behold the fool who tried to kill me. He who lives by violence comes to a violent end. I had no wish to kill him; he attempted to stab me. I have dealt with him in the same way as I would snuff a tallow candle."

Here Ah Wu fell into a kind of hysterical panic. Wringing his hands together, he worked himself up to such a pitch of emotion that the tears streamed from his eyes.

"What is to become of me?" he cried. "This thing has happened in my house. If the tao-tai hears of it I shall be led to my execution in a potter's yard. Woe is me that such a crime should be committed under my roof!"

Ling laughed.

"You make a great fuss about nothing," said he. "Put him away till darkness falls. Then set him up in a ricksha, place a lighted cigarette between his lips, run him down to the river, and throw him in. Such things have happened before in this city of Canton. You make much of nothing. What was the old scoundrel worth? Not a snap of the finger. And in any case he had but a few years to live."

Ah Wu seated himself upon the couch, immediately above the body of the murdered man. Placing his elbows upon his knees and his head between his hands, he rocked himself from side to side. As for Frank, the whole thing seemed to him like some terrible nightmare. He had lived in China all his life, but he had lived in a different China--a land of comfort and civilisation. This was a world of devilry and crime. And all this time Yung How stood by, motionless, speechless, his face pale with terror.

Ling stooped down and thrust the body under the couch.

"What is death?" he asked. "A sleep--no more. A long sleep in which--for aught we know--the divine spirit roams the eternal heavens. Sweeter by far the adventures of the soul than the dreams that come from opium. A moment since he slept upon the couch, and now he sleeps beneath it. Why grieve, old fool? Why weep? Men-Ching is already with the spirits of his fathers."

Taking the key from his pocket, he unlocked the door.

"Come," said he. "We will hold converse together; there are many things that I wish to discuss. See that the outer door is locked, that no one is allowed to enter the house. We four will be alone."