It was a pleasant dream. I suppose the shock of the swim, the race up the terrace to the "Swan," the rum and milk which followed had a soporific, soothing effect. I wasn't exactly asleep, I was pleasantly drowsed, and I had a sort of feeling that something was going to happen. Just about closing time Rolston glided in--I never saw a European before or since who could so perfectly imitate the ghost walk of the yellow men. I looked to see that the door to the bar was shut. "Well, how's our friend?" I asked. "He's had a big shock, Sir Thomas, but he's all right now. I've rubbed him all over with oil, fed him up with beef-tea and brandy and found him dry clothes." "He's from the towers, of course?" As I said this, I saw Bill Rolston's face, beneath its yellow dye, was blazing with excitement. "Sir Thomas," he said in a whisper, "this is Pu-Yi himself, Mr. Morse's Chinese secretary, a man utterly different from the others we have seen here yet. He's of the Mandarin class, the buttons on his robe are of red coral. In this house, at this moment, we have one of the masters of the Secret City." I gave a long, low whistle, which--I remember it so well--exactly coincided with the raucous shout of the Honest Fool--"Time, gentlemen, please!" A thought struck me. "The other Chinese in the large and small rooms, do they know this man is here?" "No, Sir Thomas; I am more than glad to say I got him up to your own room when both doors were closed." "What's he doing now?" "He's having a little sleep. I promised to call him in an hour or so, when he wishes to pay you his respects." He listened for a moment. "The others are going downstairs," he said. "I must be there to see them out, and I have one or two little transactions--" He felt in a villainous side pocket and I knew as well as possible what it contained, and what would be handed to one or two of the moon-faced gentlemen as they slipped out of the side door on their way home. Bill came back in some twenty minutes. "Now," he said, "I'm going upstairs to wake Pu-Yi and bring him down to you. You must remember, Sir Thomas, that I am only a dirty little servant. I am as far beneath a man like Pu-Yi as Sir Thomas Kirby is above Stanley Whistlecraft, so I cannot be present at your interview. My idea was that I should creep into the bar--Stanley will have had his supper and gone to bed--and lie down on the floor with my ear to the bottom of the door, then I can hear everything." "That's a good idea," I said, for I was beginning to realize what an enormous lot might depend upon this interview. Then I thought of something else. "Look here, Bill, you must remember this too. I fished the blighter out of the Thames and no doubt he will be thankful in his overdone, Oriental fashion. But to him, a man of the class you say he is, I shall be nothing but a vulgar publican, and I don't see quite what's going to come out of _that_!"