To O’Shea and Johnny Kent the words were like a flash of lightning against the black background of night. They revealed the man for what he had been in his prime, in the full stature of heroic self-abnegation, thinking of others and not of himself even in the last extremity. They understood this kind of manhood. It squared with their own creed. Aglow with sympathy, they plied the derelict with eager questions, but he only muttered, wearily shook his head, and turned away to gaze at the sea. At the Poplar Cove station they hired a carriage and were driven along the cliff road to the pretentious summer-place occupied by His Excellency Hao Su Ting and his silk-robed retinue. To escort a crazy sailor into the august presence of the distinguished diplomat, and demand a translation of the brand upon his naked back was an extraordinary performance, taking it by and large. However, the stout old engineer had no notion of hanging back. He had the fine quality of courage that is not afraid of ridicule. As for Captain O’Shea, he was in a wicked temper, and it would fare ill with the man that laughed at him. His smouldering indignation at the barbarity inflicted upon the seaman had been just now kindled by the words which leaped so vividly out of the clouded past and were winged with so much significance. “Bill Maguire” had unflinchingly played the cards as the fates dealt them and had paid a price as bitter as death. The game was unfinished, the account had not been settled. At this moment O’Shea detested the entire Chinese race and would have gladly choked the ambassador in a bight of his own pigtail. The trio walked slowly across the wide lawn and drew near to the rambling white house of a colonial design to which the Chinese dignitary had transferred his exotic household. It was for O’Shea to explain the fantastic errand and gain admittance, wherefore he prepared to dissemble his hostile emotions and make use of that tact and suavity which had carried him over many rough places. Alas for his plan of campaign! It was overturned in a twinkling. The red-haired sailor followed obediently to the pillared portico which framed the entrance of the house. O’Shea rang the bell, and his quick ear detected the soft shuffle of felt-soled shoes. The door was swung open and there confronted them a Chinese servant in the dress of his country. At sight of the shaven head, the immobile, ivory-hued countenance, and the flowing garments of white and blue, the demented sailor became instantly enraged.