Together they lifted a bench from the poolside to the wall. Romney helped his companion over the jagged glass on the coping. He then removed his coat and laid it upon the top for his own passage over, his hands and arms already bleeding. On the coping, he perceived that Ti Kung was not alone below. Romney landed upon his feet between two struggling figures. A knife burned his back. He kicked with effect in the direction it came. Meanwhile he called for Ti Kung, and a hand came up to him from below. The assailant had vanished. Something in the touch of that hand made him know that his friend was badly hurt. "As little noise as you can, Romney," came a whisper. "There will be others upon us. Are you hurt?" "No, are you?" "I am afraid—a little. Help me up. We must get away from here with all speed. Have you the packet?" Romney left him and sprang to the wall’s coping for his coat, pulling it loose from the glass. The papers dropped out as the coat fell. "Yes," he answered, "I’m glad you mentioned that. I’ll be more careful hereafter." "Do," said Ti Kung, regaining his feet. They were in a passage of almost utter darkness. The Chinese was making poor work of walking. The American lifted him forward and listened for direction from a voice that grew weaker as moments passed. All was silent behind. "I need sewing up," the Chinese whispered. "It’s very unfortunate.... That light ahead is the Grotto Road. We will be safe there. If consciousness leaves me, put me in a carriage, paying the driver and speaking the words, _Sarenji loopni_; then make your way as rapidly as possible, taking the papers with you, to a gentleman named Minglapo, in Merchant’s Square, Tienstin—full directions inside outer envelope." Romney reached the lights of Grotto Road with the form of the Oriental sagging limp in his arms from loss of blood. It looked like death to the American. The hardest, or possibly next to the hardest thing he ever did, was to obey orders. It was very far from Romney’s way to leave a friend in a plight, but this he was called upon to do. Whatever it meant, the driver seemed to understand, but to Romney, there was something altogether too frail in the words _Sarenji loopni_ to send a friend away with. The driver accepted his coin, closed the door of the vehicle, and whipped away, leaving Romney standing alone under the dim street light. He watched the vehicle out of sight, and began for the first time to feel the effects of the night’s activities. Under his torn coat he was wet with blood. He transferred the packet of papers to a safer pocket, lit his pipe thoughtfully, and then it occurred that he must set out for Tientsin that night either by rail or the sea. *5*