He was dry. He was in pain. His face felt sticky, and rubbing his fingers across it, he was at first inclined to doubt his senses. The right side of his face witnessed to several days neglect, while the left cheek and part of the chin were cleanly shaven. "_Pai ning,_" he repeated. "Or was it _pai ning_?" He could not tell. He remembered a native barber, but did not know if this were a new day or still last night. The last he remembered clearly was a vow of mortal friendship delivered in Shropshire dialect by a sailor from his Majesty’s cruiser _Dunedin_, and that they were about to anoint the vow in a bar-room close to the water-front. He wondered if all the lights had gone out at that instant or just his own. He patted his face in several places, regarding his hands intently in the gloom for blood, but none appeared. He was all right muscularly; the choking which he experienced was to be expected. Now the vital questions appeared: How long was he in for? Had he been tried? "_Pai ning,_" he repeated. "Yes, that’s what he said." He now arose and shoved back the metal disc once more, but his call was touched with a different respect. Listening was again rewarded with the scuffling step and a whining voice. "_Pai ning?_" "Sure! _Pai ning_," said the American. There was hesitation without, after which the question was repeated. The prisoner explained his need for drink in Chinese and found himself making signs of draining a fourth-dimension cup against the black door. The scuffling retreated. He now relapsed in awe. His first impulse had been to use strength. He was aware of his strength because it had been tested and failed. The awe had to do with thirst. He had felt this before and became deadly afraid at the memory. He pressed his body into the seat again and cleared his throat. Just now there was a voice in the corridor, a key in the door, and a Chinese gentleman in European attire entered smilingly, holding out his hand. The white man took the hand and tried to recall where he had seen that face before. It had nothing to do with China, nothing to do with recent years, yet somewhere before he had seen that smile, and something was glad within him. "Well, Mr. Romney," said Dr. Ti Kung, "did you rest well?" "Let me have a cigarette," the other said unsteadily. A certain case was proffered again. "Thanks. You haven’t a touch of heartener—have you?" "I have ordered refreshments," said Dr. Ti Kung, lighting a match. "How did you hear of my trouble?" "Trouble?" "Well, the fact is," said Romney, "I was not altogether there when it happened—just a sort of night-shift working.... What did I do?"