Frank, who feared instinctively that the worst would happen, retreated hastily to the other end of the room. There he busied himself with vigorously sweeping the floor, until he was summoned by Ah Wu to attend to the wants of the new-comer.

The boy's heart was beating violently. It was as much as he could do to lift his eyes from the ground to meet those of the redoubtable brigand from whose clutches he had so recently escaped; and when at last he did so, he was more than ever dismayed to perceive that Cheong-Chau was attended by three of his ruffians, whom Frank knew well by sight.

As in a flash, the boy reviewed the circumstances of the predicament in which he found himself. He saw no hope that he could avoid detection. Even if Cheong-Chau himself failed to recognise the fugitive--a very unlikely contingency--one of the other three would be almost sure to do so. It must be remembered that the boy had not disguised his features. His identity was but thinly veiled by the Chinese clothes he was wearing--which had been given him by the tea-grower--the false pigtail and the shaven forepart of his head. He could not believe for a moment that Cheong-Chau would fail to know him.

In his extreme anxiety, it did not occur to the boy that Yung How, who knew him a great deal better than any of the brigands, had been quite deceived, that Frank had been obliged to declare his identity to the man who had known him since childhood. For all that, even if the boy had had either the presence of mind or the inclination to take stock of his chances of success, he could not have overlooked a very important fact: that Cheong-Chau was looking for him, whereas Yung How, on the other hand, had never suspected for an instant that he had escaped.

Cheong-Chau and his men had come south in pursuit of the fugitive. The man had been enticed into the opium den by Ah Wu, whom he still believed to be his colleague. Here Cheong-Chau was to be drugged by order of the subtle and relentless villain who even then lay in hiding--like a great cat crouching by the side of a mouse-hole--behind the embroidered curtains. And now Cheong-Chau was to find himself, suddenly and unexpectedly, confronted by the very fugitive whom he had pursued for days.

Frank, cold with fear, certain of disaster, and dreading that he would be mercilessly put to death, looked Cheong-Chau in the face. The varied sensations he experienced were akin to what those must be of a condemned man upon the scaffold. He did but wait for the terminating blow to fall.

He could not look at Cheong-Chau for more than an instant. He turned and regarded Ah Wu, who was standing on the other side of him. Ah Wu was smiling in his oily, plausible manner. He looked the complete host, affability itself, and all the time he was planning the discomfiture of his guest. A fat, genuine rogue!

"Ah Li," said he, addressing Frank, "you will attend to the wants of our distinguished guest. Conduct Cheong-Chau and his friends to the more comfortable couches upstairs, smooth the pillows, place a spirit-lamp upon each table, and then hasten to the storeroom and procure the best quality opium. Cheong-Chau would smoke the Indian variety, that which comes from Calcutta, than which there is no finer opium in the world."

Frank turned, and departed up the staircase. Indeed, he was devoutly thankful to get away. At the top of the steps he paused, and stood for a moment trying to think, with his back turned to the room.

Nothing had happened--nothing at all. Cheong-Chau had not spoken. None of his men had said a word. The boy was still unrecognised. It was too good to be true. It was all like a dream.

Pulling himself together, Frank carried out his orders, thinking all the time that the remarkable chain of circumstances which had carried him against his will and inclination from one adventure to another was something altogether foreign to his former experiences. Life, instead of a pleasant and somewhat homely occupation, had become a kind of romantic nightmare. It was hard not to believe that presently he would awaken to find that Cheong-Chau, Ah Wu and Ling himself were phantasms, hallucinations, that would vanish at the moment of waking, their sinister and evil personalities fading away, in the boy's memory, like smoke upon the air.

He could scarce believe that a few minutes' calm reasoning would not instantly dissipate the reality of these strange and terrible people, the remarkable events dependent upon the thoughts and actions of a ruffian like Ling. Everything was all the more unreal to Frank because he appeared to exist, to continue to undergo such singular experiences, only by virtue of a series of miracles. The unexpected always happened.

It was also inconceivable to the boy that he himself, the nephew of one of the most distinguished government officials in Hong-Kong, a man of almost world-wide reputation as a lawyer, should find himself a coolie attendant in a Canton opium den, in which he conversed, in terms of intimate acquaintance, with Chinese thieves, brigands, swindlers and cut-throats. And yet he was not dreaming: he was conscious of a headache; both his knees and elbows had been badly bruised; and besides, Yung How, who had once been wont to take a small five-year-old boy for walks upon the level paths on the crest of the Peak, had known him, had fallen upon his knees before him, and had wept tears of repentance.

Whilst the boy was busy with these thoughts, he was carrying out his duties. He had arranged the couches, lighted the spirit-lamps, and seen that there was one of Ah Wu's best carved ivory opium pipes upon each lacquer table.

By that time Cheong-Chau and his three companions, attended by the officious Ah Wu, had ascended the stairs. Cheong-Chau's eyes glistened at the thought of the treat in store for him; while his men--rough Chinese of the very lowest class--stared about them in awed amazement at the carved wood, the rich draperies, the gilded lacquer that adorned Ah Wu's premises. Doubtless they had never before found themselves in such a high-class establishment. They had been wont to smoke their opium in the foul and verminous dens of the provincial town of Pinglo. Possibly they had never before beheld the miraculous city of Canton.

Frank observed all this, and knew that he could find here the reason why he had not been recognised. The men were too much impressed by their surroundings to take note of details. Place a beggar in a palace, and he will most likely fail to notice the pattern of the carpet upon which he stands, even though he stare in his embarrassment at nothing else.

Cheong-Chau stretched himself upon the couch immediately facing the stair-head. His three followers similarly disposed themselves upon his left, the one at the end reclining under the window through which Yung How had escaped.

Ah Wu rubbed his hands together and addressed himself to the brigand.

"They tell me," said he, "that one of your prisoners has cut off?"

"That is so," said Cheong-Chau, with an oath. "The fools of sentries let him through. He got away in the night. I and ten men started at daybreak, bringing with us the two other captives, but so far we have failed to find the culprit."

Frank, standing near at hand, listened intently to every word. The boy had placed himself against the wall, a little behind Cheong-Chau, so that the man would have to turn to look at him.

"Can he have reached Hong-Kong, do you think?" asked Ah Wu.

Cheong-Chau shrugged his shoulders.

"I think not," said he. "He has barely had time. But who can say?"

"And you have brought your other captives with you?"

"That was necessary," said Cheong-Chau. "I had to keep them under my eye. I cannot trust my men. They allow hostages to escape."

"Did you not find them very much in the way?" asked Ah Wu.

"Not in the least. We came down in one of my own sea-going junks. We are now anchored in the Sang River, about two miles from the Glade of Children's Tears. Still, I am not here to give information but to receive it. What news have you of Men-Ching?"

"He left here yesterday morning," answered the other, without moving a muscle of his face.

"Did he not say where he was going?"

"Not a word."

"Strange," said Cheong-Chau. "A surprising circumstance! He knew well enough that you were in our confidence. He ought to have spoken openly to you."

Ah Wu laughed.

"Of course," said he. "Why, it was I myself who arranged the whole matter."

"And what of the other man, Yung How, the Hong-Kong servant?"

"He also is gone."

Cheong-Chau was silent a moment.

"We must suppose," said he, "that Men-Ching has gone on to Hong-Kong with the letters. We may therefore presume that the letters have already reached their destination. The money may arrive at the Glade to-morrow. As for Yung How, I do not know the man. But if he contemplates treachery, it will go ill with him. And now, Ah Wu, my opium. I would smoke."

Ah Wu turned to the boy and ordered him to bring four bowls of Indian opium from the storeroom. Frank descended the stairs, passed down the length of the lower room, drew back the embroidered curtains and entered the storeroom, where he found Ling seated upon a stool. It was one of those high stools upon which Chinese of the merchant class are wont to do their accounts, similar to the old-fashioned clerks' stools sometimes seen in offices in England. When seated upon one of these, the average man rests his feet upon a cross-piece, several inches from the ground. Ling, however, sat with one foot upon the floor and the other leg crossed upon his knee.

When the boy entered, Ling was reading, but he at once looked up from his book.

"The writings of Confucius," said he, "assure me that the perfect life cannot be attained by any man. Troubles, disappointment, sorrows and failure are bound to accompany us wherever we go. Divine philosophy instructs us to accept our destiny with grace. The coat of every man is patched; there are cracks in the armour upon which he depends to defend himself from the arrows of adversity. He who thinks himself infallible falls the most heavily; the conceited man lays the trap by which he himself is caught; his own vanity trips him up. He who attempts much, hopes for much, but is prepared to go unrewarded, is he to whom success is doubly assured. I trust, my youthful friend, you follow me."

"Perfectly," said Frank.

"That is well," said Ling, laying down his book. "And now we will poison Cheong-Chau."

"Poison him!" exclaimed the boy.

"Fear not," said Ling. "Send him comfortably to sleep--a sleep that will last for some days. By then I shall have gathered the harvest at the Glade of Children's Tears, and you, my little one, will be free--your heart's sole desire."

He turned and picked up a large pale blue bowl in which he had stirred a quantity of opium, mixing it with a colourless fluid contained in a bottle.

"There are four of them, I understand?" said he.

"Yes," said Frank.

"It is as well," observed Ling, "that I have made enough. I fill four small bowls--one for each. These fools will not taste anything; they will not suspect. They will smoke and dream, and enjoy to the full the delights of opium. And they will fall gradually into such a sleep that the firing of a cannon in the room would not awaken them."

He handed to the boy the four small bowls upon a tray of carved black wood.

"Take it," said he, "and leave me to my reading. Happiness is to be found in wisdom, not wisdom in happiness. In prosperity the heart withers; in adversity, it blooms. Farewell."

Frank went out, holding the tray before him, and ascended the flight of steps.