We shook hands on the bargain and swore, all three of us, to tear the mystery out of that shadowy land behind the mountains or add our names to the long list of explorers who have died of curiosity. The day was spent in a lively bustle of preparation. If Philipson was upset over the destruction of thousands of pounds' worth of his property in Shanghai, he gave precious small sign of his chagrin; on the contrary, he seemed to look on that business as a useful warning not to underestimate the vigour and vindictiveness of our enemies. As for the bi-lingual Lo Eng, he proved himself a pearl of price. All that day he was in and out of the city buying stores, thus enabling the rest of us to lie doggo--no small boon to folk in our case. Backed by Philipson's deep purse he procured food, petrol, and ammunition with despatch and discretion--so much so that I don't think even the hawk-eyed customs officers, always watchful for the gun-runner and opium-smuggler and similar law-breakers, ever knew of our stay in the port. But to make sure of secrecy, when the time came to leave we stole out of our creek propelled by the pair of small oars the launch carried; and I've no doubt that in the fickle light before moonrise we passed easily enough for one of the innumerable native boats thronging the mouth of the inlet and the margins of Yangtze River itself. We rowed well out into the stream, turned our nose westward, and proceeded on a throttled engine until we had left Nanking a mile or two over our quarter. Then began our long tussle with the down-rolling might of Yangtze Kiang. Philipson made for the north bank, where, thanks to our shallow draught, we could hug the shore even closer than the interminable string of native junks, which, like ourselves, were there to avoid the full strength of the current. These craft we overhauled by the hundred, and now and then passed the lights of a river steamer out in midstream going three miles to her two. Philipson kept the tiller, Poyning and I sat down in the well, while Ah Sing tended the engine and Lo Eng, in the cabin, got ready the beds against such time as we should turn in. My last recollections before dropping off in my bunk were the lady-like snores of Poyning as he lay tucked up opposite me, and the chuckle of the wine which Philipson--tiller in one hand and drinking outfit close by the other--poured out for himself. He hadn't forgotten this among the preparations for departure--I think, indeed, that before squaring up with mine hostess of Nanking, Saunders Philipson bought the remainder of her cellar in a lot.