“That’s because you Chinese are a weak race, and haven’t the back-bone to stand up for your rights,” Langdon replied, “while we are men enough to insist on fair treatment for our citizens abroad. That’s where you are lacking in national character.” A rattle of chains and harsh cries of rage and pain followed the sally of Langdon, causing the listeners to hold themselves rigid with suppressed excitement. “That beast!” Phil whispered. “I wish I had let him drown.” “I’ll go to your midshipmen friends,” Ta-Ling said sullenly. “I believe they are frightened enough to be bought by the price you refuse. Remember, I’ve given you the last chance you’ll get.” Langdon was apparently too angry to speak. The lads could hear distinctly his heavy breathing, caused by some torture administered by this cruel Chinaman. “You’re trying to hedge, is that it?” the thick voice of the pilot was heard to say; “or do you count upon catching the gunboats unawares as they steam by the forts flying flags of truce?” The Chinaman administered a vicious kick in answer, and the lads held their breath in almost a panic as they heard the door of Langdon’s cell close and Ta-Ling’s footsteps die slowly away down the courtyard. “It’s all up with us,” Sydney breathed hopelessly. “He’ll soon find we are not in our prison, and then----” he ended with a shiver as his thoughts dwelt upon the terrible death by decapitation. A loud clank made the overwrought midshipmen start terrified; then Phil fairly gasped with surprise and joy; his arm manacles had fallen to the ground. In the darkness he quickly reached out and grasped Sydney’s hand, fingering nervously the cruel iron bracelets. The metal rings were clamped but unlocked, and he readily removed the irons from his companion’s hands. In but a moment more they both stood free of their retaining bonds. “Ta-Ling and the jailer,” Phil whispered as a sound of approaching footsteps became audible. “If they enter here we must overpower them. It’s our one chance now.” Sydney moved closer to Phil, taking his hand in silence, and pressing it in sign of his readiness to follow his friend’s lead. “They must make no outcry,” Phil continued. “I’ll take the one nearest me.” The Chinamen stopped at the cell door, and the voice of Ta-Ling was raised angrily, storming in Chinese at the jailer, apparently for daring to remove the prisoners from their former cell. The midshipmen retreated until their backs touched the wall of the narrow cell, having replaced their hand irons to appear to be still in chains. A dim light shone into their cell as the door swung loudly open, and the scowling face of Ta-Ling appeared, with the jailer behind him, timidly holding up an oil lantern.