“Will you attend to it, O’Neil,” Phil said at once, “and look into the engineer’s intentions, too?” Phil held O’Neil in high regard for his ability in handling men. He would soon find out if the engineer were worthy of trust, and if not, O’Neil had a way of intimidation that seemed to take with the rascals he encountered. The “Sylvia” sped by Singapore and out into the Straits of Malacca. The Americans were eating their noon meal when the joyful news was received that the Chinese squadron was in sight ahead. The midshipmen, as they stood on the bridge of the yacht, gazing in admiration at these mighty fortresses with their small watchdog destroyers hovering solicitously near, could not repress a thrill of wonder and relief; wonder at their majesty and power, and relief that this priceless prize was not to be the cause of a useless struggle at arms by two friendly nations. The “Sylvia” approached the Chinese squadron at an incredible speed, and it was only a short time after the Americans had reached the deck before the yacht had gone by the squadron whose dragon flags waved proudly in the bright tropical sunshine, and had turned and glided up to the side of the leading ship. Signals by the international code had been exchanged, and the Chinese flag-ships had stopped to communicate with the yacht. A boat was quickly lowered from the “Sylvia” and lay manned at the gangway. Phil, before entering the boat, went to Takishima’s cabin. He told the crestfallen lieutenant his entire plan and appealed to his fairness to join him and Sydney in this humane enterprise. But Takishima remained unshaken. “Perry,” he exclaimed earnestly, “my father is a Samurai, and if he had failed as I have, he would have committed hara-kiri ere this; but the modern spirit has made me a coward. Three times I have taken my short dagger to end my worthless life, but each time I have tricked myself into believing that yet I might serve my Emperor. Now all hope is over.” Phil showed a grave face as he heard these solemn words, and before Takishima could read his intentions had snatched up the sharp dirk from the bunk. “You must leave me my honor,” his old classmate cried, reaching out appealingly for his dagger, which Phil had quickly passed to the faithful Marley outside. Phil was in a fever of dread lest the super-sensitive Japanese should put an end to his life, and asked O’Neil to guard him, and then entering the waiting boat he, Sydney and Impey were soon on their way to visit Admiral Ting, the Chinese commander of the squadron. Impey had been released and taken along, for Phil believed that there might be some question raised in regard to the authenticity of the letter from the Wai-Wu-Pu. They were cordially received at the gangway of the flag-ship by Admiral Ting himself, and escorted to his cabin. Phil promptly handed him the letter from the Wai-Wu-Pu and as he read in silence, the midshipmen were prepared to see a look of surprised annoyance on his face.