“Burn it up,” Langdon exclaimed indignantly. “That’s the way things are run from a distance of ten thousand miles.” Then his glance encountered the wide-open eyes of Ta-Ling and he snorted with rage as he roughly jerked the bound Chinaman to his feet. “Did you hear it?” he cried. The mandarin’s eyes burned balefully as he nodded his head in assent. Langdon released the Chinaman, and but for Phil’s steadying hand he would have fallen to the floor. Then the pilot raised the long braided cue of the interpreter and with a swift cut of his jack-knife severed it close up to the Chinaman’s head; the next second, holding it out to Phil, he cried gleefully: “Put this on under your cap; it’s all you need to complete your costume. “You won’t be so keen to show yourself in public hereafter,” he continued spitefully to the mandarin. Ta-Ling was beside himself with rage, but he could only grow red and utter inarticulate sounds, while Langdon sat on the wooden bench laughing scornfully at the disgraced official. “If he doesn’t commit suicide in twenty-four hours, it’s because he’s chicken-hearted.” Langdon laughed in a low tone, mainly for the Chinaman’s ear. The pilot knew he held the secret of the cablegram. Apparently he had guessed at the contents and was going to send it together with the letter for the American captain. If the viceroy knew the stand that was being taken by the American government, every missionary in the valley of the Yangtse would be unsafe. The mandarin officials in the towns of the provinces were as yet guarding the foreigners against attack until they could be sure of the outcome at Ku-Ling. Once the viceroy had humbled the foreign pride then the rabble would be free to indulge its aroused hatred. Phil cut short the pilot’s mirth by taking him by the arm and leading him silently to the door. Once outside the cell the lad showed him the sketch plan of the yamen with the path they must take to reach the room where clothes would be found. “If we only knew where the sailors are,” Sydney whispered. Phil shook his head. It might only defeat them, and the sailors would be no better off. Langdon for the first time realized that he was not in the plot and would have asked many questions, but Phil and Sydney grasped him firmly on each side as if he were their prisoner and marched openly down the stone pavement of the courtyard. The place indicated on the sketch was easily found and Phil, leaving his companions, pushed the door quietly open. The room was lighted by a single swinging lamp, while in one corner sat a Chinaman reckoning laboriously on his abacus, a counting device used by the Oriental races; the click of the small wooden balls as he moved them along their wires sounded distinctly in the quiet of the room.