Mr. Crawford walked on quickly. Time was passing; there was already a glimmering of dawn in the East. It was necessary that he should effect an entrance, and also necessary that the entrance should not be betrayed to the enemy. His heart beat high, the goal was almost reached, and half, at least, of his mission had been accomplished. He approached the tree indicated, hit it three times smartly with his sword, and then waited anxiously. After a few seconds, which seemed to him of interminable length, he thought he distinguished a faint sound beneath him, but, to his horror, he saw a party of men approaching from the road down which he had just come. He had only just time to slip behind the plane tree, and from this post of observation he noticed that Wang was talking to them, and had adroitly contrived to distract their attention; he was pointing to the hall in the distance, and they were all eagerly looking the other way. CHAPTER XI. MR. LI’s WONDERFUL HOUSE. But this state of things could not go on for ever. Mr. Crawford waited in an agony of impatience; for every moment he expected one of the party to turn round, and then he knew he would be discovered. Would the man never be able to undo the door? It seemed an eternity to him, whilst the bolts and bars were being withdrawn; and what a terrible noise they made! He felt sure they would be heard, and—yes, one of the men talking to Wang suddenly turned, started, and pointed in the direction in which he was standing. He gave himself up for lost; but at that very moment the ground under his feet seemed to slide away—so suddenly, that he would have fallen into the dark cavern had he not sprung quickly to one side. A dark head, adorned with a pigtail, appeared for a moment above ground. "Quick! quick!" the man said, in Chinese, "I fear we are followed." Mr. Crawford had hardly time to think, though, like lightning, the thought did cross his mind that Wang might have betrayed him; but even a moment’s hesitation might have been fatal, and he sprang down into the darkness. Not a minute too soon—as the trap door closed above him, he distinctly heard voices and footsteps overhead. His fears of an ambush, however, and treachery in one direction were soon dispelled, for his hand was seized in an honest British clasp, and an English voice exclaimed:— "Mr. Crawford, I believe?" "Yes; and you are—?" "Paul St. John. You may have heard of me." "Often," replied the younger man. "I am so glad to meet you." "And I to meet you." And the two men grasped each other’s hands. "How is Miss Leicester?" asked Mr. Crawford, eagerly.