"They stayed with the Chinese Nationalist Forces all through the world war and afterwards, when the Communists took over, they were lost. When I was demobbed from the British Army I went to Hong Kong but I couldn't trace them and I couldn't get back into China. Some of the refugees I met thought they'd been executed for aiding the anti-communists ... mostly their own converts to Christianity, but there was no proof. That's why I came over here to work when I ran out of money. Vancouver is the closest main port to the Orient and I hoped I might keep in touch while I made a living. Now I know they are almost certainly dead ... and I want a chance to do something to beat those Red pigs." * * * * * His voice rose again on the last sentence and he looked straight at the Director. Hallam had sunk deep into his chair, again, his eyes shaded behind the heavy rims of his glasses. "I see ... I see now," he murmured. "Yes, you must have your chance." I looked over at Polly. Her eyes were wet and her lower lip looked suspiciously tight. She said nothing as Pat put a warm arm around her shoulders. Harry was staring again at the fire. He was not here. Somewhere in China, or maybe nowhere in this world, was the red hell he saw in the flames. CHAPTER 9 The Ides of March, as I like to call the month, were upon us. Once in a while the sun peered through the heavy clouds, sliding its pale beams between their tumbling banks to reach the soggy earth. Then came a night of rain, of heavy wind and thrashing trees; a faint rumbling of thunder over the sea and the mountains. I woke up and lay listening to the water as it dripped on the balcony while Pat, in troubled sleep, muttered and moved beside me. I woke again to a bright, cloudless sky, a perfect spring day. After the routine checking of our animals and cultures, Dr. Hallam called a halt. "Pat, you're tired," he said. "I think you're going stale." "I'm slowed to a walk. It must be spring fever." "It's spring all right," I said. "Look at that beautiful sunshine. It's time to shuck off the long woollies and take a big dose of sulphur and molasses." "What a horrible thought," Pat grimaced, "Did you ever taste it?" "I sure did," I said. "My mother was the old-fashioned castor-oil-is-good-for-you type. She thought I needed a tonic to get the sap running every spring." "The sap can run again ... right out to Stanley Park," Hallam grinned, "and take Pat with you. She needs a rest and some fresh air. I'm going to play golf. We'll start again tomorrow." We had reached a lull in our experiments. It was the obvious time for a break. * * * * *