Chapter Thirty.
“To Certain Death?”
In the minutes that elapsed before the enemy could make their way into the deserted portion of the defences Stan and his Englishmen worked hard, making the coolies bring in a sufficiency of water for the hot and thirsty, while watch and ward was kept, and wonder was expressed as to what had been done with the stink-pots.
“I’m expecting,” said the lieutenant, “that we shall know by the crackling of burning wood what has become of them.”
But there was nothing to break the silence, no rush to indicate that the enemy had climbed in, and all attempts made to take an observation from the chinks of the boarded-up windows of the office were useless; for these latter only resulted in the examiners seeing the far-stretching verdant country, no sweep of the river being visible from that portion of the building.
“What does it mean?” said Stan at last. “Some trap?”
All listened again for some minutes before Stan, pistol in hand, led the way to the foot of the warehouse stairs, where they stood listening for a few minutes before the lad planted his foot on the first step.
“No, no, sir; let me lead,” whispered his lieutenant—“let me go this time. The first thing you’ll hear will be the swish of one of their great swords. They’re lying ready to take off the heads of all who begin to show.”
“But we must get to know what they’re doing,” said Stan.
“Then let the carpenters take down the top plank of one of the doors, sir; it’s only screwed, and we can see everything then. If they begin with their spears, a volley from our pistols will drive them back till the board is screwed on.”
“But I don’t believe that any one can be upstairs after all,” cried Stan impatiently. “How foolish to have all the windows closed up without leaving a hole!”
“Hasn’t proved very foolish, sir,” said the lieutenant dryly, “according to my ideas. Holes for us to peep out at mean places for the enemy to send spears through. Where we could reach from inside they could get at from outside.”
“Listen,” said Stan; and for nearly five minutes silence was maintained, without a sound being heard.
“There!” whispered Stan triumphantly; “do you mean to tell me that the enemy would be able to keep as still as that if they were up there?”
“I’m afraid they would if they had laid a trap for us.”
“Oh, impossible!” replied Stan.
“Perhaps you are right, sir,” said the lieutenant; “but I’ve been working out here in China for the last twenty years, mixing with the people and learning their ways, and I’m ready to say that they’re about the most artful beggars under the sun.”
“Then you really believe that they are upstairs in hiding?”
“I do, sir. What is it they want to do?”
“Murder us, of course.”
“Exactly; and they’ve been trying to do that for the last hour, losing men heavily all the time. Force has done no good, and now they’re trying some artful trick to get hold of us without losing any more men.”
“Then why don’t they burn us out? That seems to be the most likely thing to do.”
“Yes; only they’d burn all the rich loot they want to take. They haven’t attacked us here for nothing. Of course, they’d go back rejoicing after hacking us to pieces, but they don’t want to sail away back with empty junks.”
“There’s something in that,” said Stan thoughtfully.
“It’s a trap, sir, and if you want any proof of their cunning, you’ve just had one over those cartridges.”
Stan frowned and looked sharply in the speaker’s eyes.
“You don’t doubt that it was Chinese work?”
“No,” whispered back Stan; “we must have a traitor among us.”
“Yes; one who felt that the enemy would get the upper hand.”
“Do you know who did it?”
“I think so, sir,” was the reply; “and did at first, though I’ve had my doubts since.”
“Well, that’s all over. What we want to see now is whether the enemy are on the upper floor.”
“I say they are, sir; and if one of us goes up, the next thing we shall hear will be a horrible thud from one of their swords, and we shall be a man short.”
Stan stood listening in silence again for a few moments, gazing up the stairs from out of the semi-darkness into the light which came down from above.
“I don’t care,” he said at last; “there’s something more in this than you say.”
“Perhaps so, sir; but the grim death I can see is quite enough for me.”
“You’re all wrong, and I’m going up to see what’s the meaning of this silence.”
“What’s the good, sir?”
“The good?” cried Stan. “What an absurd question! To know, of course.”
“And what’s the good of your knowing when you won’t be able to tell us?”
“You mean I should be killed at a blow, and not be able to come back and say what I had seen?”
“Of course, sir.”
“Ah, well!” said Stan bitterly, “that wouldn’t matter. If you didn’t hear me cry out, you’d know you were right by my not coming back. Now then, lend me another pistol, and I’ll rush up at once.”
The lieutenant glanced round at those who were with him, and then stepped before the lad.
“You’re not going to run such a risk, sir,” he said.
“What! Who’s going to stop me?”
“I am, sir; and the rest are going to help me.”
“Mr Blunt put me in command, for all of you to obey me.”
“Yes, sir, to defend the place—fight for it with us.”
“And you are beginning a mutiny,” cried Stan angrily.
“No, sir; only going to stop you from doing a mad thing.”
“Mad?”
“Yes; going to throw your life away, when we want you to help us.”
Stan hesitated.
“I don’t want to do anything mad,” he said more quietly. “But we must know the meaning of what is going on upstairs and outside. The enemy may be laying a mine to blow us all up.”
“No, they may not, sir. In their selfish cunning they will not do anything to destroy the place.”
“Absurd!” cried Stan. “Why, they’ve been trying since the beginning to burn the place down.”
“Oh no, sir; there you’re wrong. Only to drive us out—stifle us with their stink-pots. As soon as they had done that they would have been the first to drown out any fire that had taken hold. Come, sir; I’ve fought my best and tried to prove to you that I was staunch, so take my advice—wait.”
“No one could have been more brave and true,” cried Stan warmly. “Forgive me if I have spoken too hotly, but don’t try and stop me now. I must make a dash for it.”
“It’s your duty to Mr Blunt and your people, sir, to stand fast and order us to go up.”
“To certain death?”
“Yes, if it means it, sir.”
“Then you have your doubts,” cried Stan. “There! I’m going to make a rush up. Who’ll follow?”
“All of us,” came in a burst.
“Ready, then,” cried Stan, cocking his pistol. “Now then; once more—ready?”
No one spoke, but there was a sharp clicking of pistol-locks, and then a pause, while Stan stood with his left foot on the second stair, ready to bound up, but listening intently.
“No one there,” he said in a sharp whisper, and rushed up into the light.