“Mr. Overshaw,” said he, “pardon a perfect stranger giving you advice—but you seem to be a frank, straight man. You’ve made a mistake in coming to Hong-Kong. It’s a beast of a climate. In a few days’ time the rains will begin. Then it will rain steadily, drearily, hopelessly, damply, swelteringly, deadlily day after day, hour after hour, for four months. That’s one way of looking at things. There’s another. I am perfectly sure there’s not a vacancy for an amateur clerk in the whole of Hong-Kong. If we want a linguist—your specialty—we can get Germans by the dozen who not only know six languages but who have been trained as business experts from childhood—and we can get them for twopence halfpenny a month.” Martin, remembering the discussions at the Café de l’Univers, replied: “And when the war comes?” “What war?” “Between England and Germany.” “My dear fellow, what in the world are you talking of? There’s not going to be any war. Besides,” he smiled indulgently, “suppose there was—what then?” “First,” said Martin, “you would have given the enemy an intimate knowledge of your trade, which by the way he is even now reporting by every mail to his government”—he was quoting the dictum of a highly placed Egyptian official whom he met at a dinner party in Cairo—“and then you would have to fall back upon Englishmen.” Mr. Tudsley laughed and rose, so as to end the interview. “I’ll take the risk of that,” he said easily. “But the immediate question is: ‘What are you to do?’ Have you visited any other firms?” “Several,” said Martin. “And what have they said?” “Much the same as you, Mr. Tudsley, only not so kindly and courteously.” “That’s all right,” said Mr. Tudsley, shy at the compliment. “I don’t see why Englishmen meeting at the other end of nowhere shouldn’t be civil to each other. But my advice is: Clear out of Hong-Kong. There’s nothing doing.” “What about Shanghai?” “That’s further still from Europe.” “Singapore?” “That’s better—on the way back.” “I must thank you,” said Martin, “for giving me so much of your time.” “Not a bit I am only sorry I can’t give you a job or put you on to one. But you see the position, don’t you?” Martin smiled wryly. “I’m beginning to see it with painful clearness.” “Good-bye and good luck,” said Mr. Tudsley. “Good-bye,” said Martin. Between then and the date of sailing of the next homeward bound steamer, Martin knocked at every door in Hong-Kong. Nobody wanted him. There was nothing he could do. There was no place for him on the very lowest rung of any ladder to fortune. He sailed to Singapore. CHAPTER XXII WHEN Martin landed at Marseilles he found the world on the brink of war.