Errington, on his part, was thoroughly amazed when he saw Reinhardt enter the room. Hearing footsteps outside the door, he had expected to see Burroughs again. The entrance of a man whom, after his recent interview with Burroughs, he distrusted and despised gave him a shock. Instinctively he refused him his hand. But now, at the German’s explanation, strange as it was, he began to wonder whether he had not done him a double injustice. Perhaps the man had repented of his refusal of Burroughs’ appeal, and after all had come up the river to his assistance. He was wavering, on the point of asking Reinhardt whether he had seen Burroughs, when the German began to speak again. "Yes, when your own countrymen do nozink for you, behold me, a German, putting my head into ze lion’s mouse on your behalf. I ask you, why should I do so? You owe me five hundred dollars: bah! I zink nozink of zat. You are to me nozink but a friend----" "And a servant of your firm," Errington blurted out, resenting the reference to his debt, and desperately uneasy now that it was clear that Burroughs and the German had not met. "Not so," said Reinhardt complacently. "Zere is no reason why I should come to help you--nozink but friendship. You are no longer employed by my firm." This took Errington’s breath away. He listened in stony silence as Reinhardt proceeded. "Zey pay you zree munce salary instead of notice. I have ze cheque in my pocket. Now you see what a friend I am, when you are no longer wiz me in business, and owe me five hundred dollars. Which is ze friend, Conrad Reinhardt, or Burroughs, ze man what preach, ze man who is what you call a smug, who eats and drinks merry when his old friend is----" Errington could stand no more. Springing to his feet, he hit out a swinging blow that sent the German spinning across the room. Reinhardt’s hand flew to his breast pocket. He whipped out a revolver, and was taking a snapshot at Errington when his arm was struck up from behind; the weapon exploded harmlessly, and next moment was wrenched from his grasp and flung across the room. Unseen, unheard, Burroughs had quietly entered the room and taken in the situation at a glance. No word had been spoken. While a man might count three there was a dead silence in the room. Then Burroughs, stepping to the still open door, confronted the sentinels and Chin Tai, who were pressing forward, alarmed by the shot. "Bind that man!" cried Burroughs, pointing to the German, now slowly rising to his feet. [Illustration: ERRINGTON HITS OUT]