traitor, and deserved his death. Possibly our friend Narth will take a different view when he recovers, and realizes that he has so committed himself.”
Spedwell was eyeing him steadily.
“You told me that the sacrifice was to be a Yun Nan man—the fellow who fell into the hands of Lynne. I hated the idea, but like a brute I agreed. God! When I saw Leggat’s face!”
He wiped his streaming brow; his breath came more quickly.
Fing-Su said nothing, but waited.
“How did you get Leggat?” asked Spedwell at last.
“He just came. We gave him a drink—he knew nothing,” said Fing-Su casually. “He had betrayed us—you know that. He’s dead and there’s an end of him. As to Narth, his life is in our hands.”.
Spedwell, who had dropped into a chair, looked up.
“He will have to be really mad to believe that,” he said. “As I told you before, Fing-Su, our lives are in his hands, not his in ours.”
Fing-Su carefully scooped out the end of his cigarette, inserted another in the ebony holder and lit it before he answered.
“Where have you put him?”
“In the stone hut. He won’t shout any more; I’ve given him a shot of morphia. There’s only one thing to do, Fing-Su, and that is to get this man out of the country as quickly as you can. The
“With the girl?”
Spedwell’s eyes narrowed.
“What do you mean, ‘with the girl’?” he asked. “You’re keeping her in London until Cliff Lynne gives you the share you want.”
The Chinaman puffed thoughtfully, his low forehead creased in thought.
“That was the original idea,” he admitted. “But so many things have happened in the past few hours…I am inclined to change my plans. We could get her to the Chinese coast and up one of the rivers without attracting any attention.” He sent a cloud of smoke to the ceiling and watched it dissolve. “She’s rather delicious,” he said.
Major Spedwell rose, walked deliberately to the table and stood, his palms resting on its surface.
“She’ll stay in England, Fing-Su,” he said, slowly and emphatically, and for a second their eyes met, and then the Chinaman smiled.
“My dear Major Spedwell,” he said, “there can only be one master in any such organization as this, and that master, I beg to emphasize, is myself. If it is my wish that she should stay in England, she stays; if I desire that she should go to the coast, she goes, Is that understood?”
So quickly did Spedwell’s hand move, that Fing-Su saw nothing but a blur of moving pink. In that fraction of a second something had appeared in Spedwell’s hand. It lay flat on the table, its black muzzle pointing to Fing-Su’s white waistcoat.
“She stays,” said Spedwell tensely.
The Chinaman’s face was creased and puckered for a moment with a fear which the white man had never seen before. Presently he recovered himself and forced a smile.
“As you wish, she may stay. There is nothing to be gained by quarrelling,” he said. “Where is she now? In the factory? Go and get her.”
Spedwell stared at this unexpected request.
“I though you didn’t want her to know you had a hand in this,” he said.
“It is a matter of indifference to me,” said the other. “Go bring her, please.”
Spedwell had reached the door when he heard the soft swish of a drawer opening, and turned in a flash. A bullet seared his face and splintered the panel of the door. As his gun jerked up, he saw Fing-Su drop to the floor. For a second he hesitated, then, turning, fled into the big room from which the private office of ‘the Emperor’ led.
It was a storehouse, piled high with bales of goods, with three narrow alleyways leading to the big doors at the end. He had only one chance. At the far end of the warehouse was the fuse-board which protected the lights in this wing of the factory. As, in response to the sound of shooting, the end door burst open, and a crowd of coolies flocked into the warehouse, he raised his automatic and fired twice. There was a splinter of marble and glass, and all the lights in the place went out.
Leaping up, he pulled himself to the top of a bale and ran lightly along, springing from bale to packing-case, until he came within a few feet of the open door, around which a few undecided coolies were grouped. With one leap he was amongst them, his pistol blazing. They had not recovered from their astonishment when he had dived through them, sped across the dark yard and reached the top of the wall by way of the shed that Clifford Lynne had seen the night he made his unauthorized visit. Before his pursuers could reach him, he had dropped over the wall into the muddy alley and was flying for his life along the canal bank.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
“There’s another door here,” said Willing suddenly.
He was examining the wall of the inner cabin with the aid of his lamp. He pointed to an oblong aperture which apparently was fastened on the other side.
“It is pretty useless to us,” said Clifford Lynne after a brief inspection. “We shall have to wait until somebody comes in to make the bed. If what I believe is correct, the
“What are they waiting for?” grumbled Joe. “Always thought they wanted a high tide to float out, and she’s running high now. And with this rain, it is dark enough to hide a Dreadnought!”
In the door behind which they were imprisoned were a number of small air-holes, and this gave Lynne an opportunity of observing the bigger room. The men had left the bulkhead lights burning, and dimly through the small porthole which faced him he could get a view of a blurred light moving and disappearing on the well deck. From beneath their feet there came the hum and whirr of the dynamo, and whilst they were listening they heard a dull roar from over the ship’s side.
“She’s got a full head of steam,” said Willing. “This looks as if your theory may be right, Lynne, and we are going to see something!”
There were other evidences of activity. Above their heads they heard an insistent patter of feet, and a wailing chorus while a boat was hauled up and swung inboard.
It was a quarter to three when they heard the clank of the anchor capstan, and almost immediately a well- known voice came to Lynne. The door of the outer cabin was flung open, and Fing-Su, in a long, fur-lined overcoat, stalked majestically into the apartment.
“Here is your room, my young lady, and here you will stay. If you make a noise or give me any trouble or scream, I will find you a better furnished cabin!”
It required all Clifford Lynne’s presence of mind to check the cry that came to his lips, for there had followed Fing-Su into the cabin, a pale-faced girl. She was hatless, drenched with the rain, yet her little chin was held up and there was no fear in her eyes. He groaned in his soul as he recognized Joan Bray.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
She had been awakened from an uneasy sleep by the smashing in of her door, and had submitted, with a resolution, and a calm which were inexplicable to the watching Fing-Su, to be carried to the waiting car. The night was favourable to such a move; the streets were deserted, and nobody saw, in the two closed cars that moved swiftly towards Rotherhithe, anything of an unusual nature. It was not till she alighted on a deserted wharf, before she walked down the rickety stairs to the waiting boat, that she observed she had a companion in misfortune— somebody whose head was enveloped in a blanket, through which moans and whimperings were audible. She could never recall that journey from the shore to the ship. She had a vague recollection that somebody had carried her up a steep ladder and had deposited her on a wet and slippery deck, from which she rose with an effort. And then, through the rain, she had seen Fing-Su’s peering face, and found herself pushed through the door of a poorly furnished cabin.
The Chinaman went to the door and called a name which she thought sounded like ‘Mammy!’ and presently a fat Chinese woman came waddling in, wiping her hands upon a soiled apron.
