Hwei flung himself forward. "Tell--tell--tell," he grasped, and he laid his long fingers on Burgh's throat. The young man threw him over with a great effort and slipped back to the wall, where he stood beside Rupert. The two had out their revolvers. "You wait," said Clarence in a breathless voice, for the struggle though brief had been violent, "tell me the secret of the fan, and I'll give you the name of the person who has it." "What," cried Hwei furiously, "betray my master, you foreign devil. I will kill you first." "You've just got five minutes to do it in," cried Burgh jeeringly. The Chinaman put his fingers to his lips and blew a shrill whistle. In a moment the room was filled with Chinamen, chattering and screaming like so many infuriated parrots. Hwei threw himself on the young men. "Die--Die--" he said thickly. "Fire--fire," cried Clarence, kicking Hwei back. For the next few minutes Rupert had no very clear idea of what was happening. He fired into the mass of Chinamen pushing forward, and heard a cry as a man dropped. The others fell over him, and in the struggle upset the shrine. The ugly joss rolled on to the floor and caught fire. There were shrill screams from the Chinese, who began to jab with their knives. Clarence was rolling on the floor in close grips with Hwei, and the draperies of the joss flared away in a brilliant manner. It seemed as though the two rash men would be either burnt or stabbed, and the end was coming rapidly. All at once the silvery chime of the clock sounded and then came the rapid striking of the hour. The door opened and the boy in red appeared. He said something in a screaming voice, and then, almost as by magic, the room emptied. The rolling mass of Chinamen had extinguished the flaming joss, and Hwei, suddenly disengaging himself from the buccaneer, darted through the door. The boy followed with the rest of the assailants, and when Rupert and Burgh got their breath they found themselves facing the still smoking joss, with Tung-yu blandly smiling at them. "Ho," said Clarence rising and shaking himself. "I guess the row's over. Hurt Ainsleigh?" "Got a flesh wound," said Rupert, winding his handkerchief round his left arm, "and you?" "I'm as right as a pie. So here's Tung-yu. Your hour I guess." The Chinaman bowed, and picking up the god restored him to his shrine, which was considerably damaged. "It is lucky the red boy cried that Hwei's hour was over," he said coolly, "or you would both have been killed." "You wouldn't have got the fan though," said Rupert throwing himself down on his seat, "but you don't intend to kill us I suppose." "No. The god Kwang-ho is merciful now. I make you rich." "Humph," said Burgh crossly, "I wish I had that fan with me." "You have, or Mr. Ainsleigh here, has it," said Tung-yu, "I will give you five thousand for the fan." "I haven't got it." "Think--ten thousand." "Great Scot!" cried Clarence avariciously, "wish I could trade."