An enlivening spectacle from the window. The “Horse-killer” is being borne across the Square under a Japanese guard! The little sentries at the edge of town have been busy, this sweet-smelling morning after the rain! Even at the distance, Routledge perceives that the Englishman’s face is warmed with a lust for murder, and he hears the Englishman’s voice demanding _his_ Consul. Bingley is borne into the garrison, and his voice and step are heard throughout the halls. The voice continues--as he is locked in the apartment next to Routledge’s. Fifteen dreadful minutes. Bingley is a noisy, unlovely devil in the next room, beating against his bars. Routledge remembers what Hans Breittmann said of the caged orang-outang: “There is too much ego in his cosmos.” The “Horse-killer” does not know that his rival is so near--as he cries unto his heaven of martial law, for artillery to shoot his way out of this town of beastly, pig-headed Japanese coolies!... A Consul appears in the Square. It is not the natty Milner, but an elderly Briton, with a cane and a presence, who just now asks to be shown to Mr. Bingley.... The two talk softly for several minutes--a harsh interval for Routledge. “I shall do what I can as promptly as possible, Mr. Bingley--trust me,” concludes the Consul, and his cane sounds upon the flags once more--diminuendo. “Remember, I must be on my way at once,” the “Horse-killer” shouts after him. Seven-twenty. Where was Milner?... Routledge wondered bitterly if the Gods of War had turned their faces from him at last. A low laugh from Bingley. Milner was crossing the Square hastily, but did not approach the garrison--instead was admitted to the big building occupied by the Japanese headquarters. “God, I’d hate to have to depend upon an American Consul at a time like this,” is heard from the “Horse-killer.” Routledge’s nerve was taxed to smile at this.... Seven-thirty. Consul Milner reappears in the Square, this time followed by two Japanese officers of rank.... Routledge’s door is unlocked, and he is called out into the hall. “This is the gentleman--and I’ll vouch for him.” Milner observes, holding out his hand to Routledge. “Weed, my boy, how are you? Missed the train last night at Yopanga, I suppose, and came down the river. Didn’t you know we’re a closed port down here?” “Yes, but I knew _you_ were here, Consul. The battle’s on at Liaoyang, I understand.” The eyes of the men managed to meet. The Japanese officers bowed politely, and the two Americans left the garrison.... Bingley’s voice is loudly upraised. The Japanese officers politely inform him that the order for his release has not yet reached them. “Milner,” said Routledge, “would it complicate matters if I fell upon your neck and wept?” “Wait till we catch the train, Weed. That’s what you want, isn’t it?” the Consul whispered. “Badly.”