All this had happened in less than a minute. Frank Armitage had only just time to observe that the lamp had fortunately gone out, and that there was no danger of the place being set on fire. And then he himself was plucked violently from off his feet.
Ling had picked him up as though he were a babe in arms. In his haste and violence, the man tore down the embroidered curtains. Frank heard the front door slam, and then he was conscious of the fact that he was being borne onward at a terrific pace, through the dark and narrow streets of the great Chinese city.
[CHAPTER XXI--OF THE GLADE OF CHILDREN'S TEARS]
Frank had neither time to consider the extraordinary sequence of events narrated in the previous chapter nor the slightest inclination to speculate in regard to the future. He realised, somewhat dimly, that he was no more than a pawn in the game. A few moments since, he had stood defenceless in the stifling atmosphere of the opium den; he had beheld the knife raised to strike him down. He had been delivered with dramatic suddenness at the eleventh hour. At the same time, he could not help realising that, in all probability, he had fallen out of the frying-pan into the fire. If his deception had been detected by Cheong-Chau, his identity had also been discovered by the formidable Ling.
In the meantime he was being carried away to some unknown destination. The boy realised the futility of attempting to struggle, and if he cried out for help in those dark streets, no one was likely to take the least notice of him.
Ling kept--so far as he was able--to the by-streets: the narrow, twisting lanes that form a veritable labyrinth in the poorer parts of this wonderful and mysterious city. The hour was tolerably late--approaching midnight. The main streets were lighted by means of the flares in the shops and upon the hawkers' booths; and when it was necessary to cross one of these, the spectacle of the great Honanese carrying under his arm one who was apparently a foreign boy, dressed in Chinese clothes, attracted no little attention. However, with every Chinaman it is a fixed principle of life to mind his own affairs, and no one interfered.
At last, Ling set down the boy upon his feet, and taking hold of him by a wrist, proceeded to drag him forward. Presently they came forth upon the outskirts of the town. It was a bright night; for though the moon was on the wane, the sky was clear and there was a glorious canopy of stars--stars such as can only be seen east of the Suez Canal. The boy was able to make out the great gabled tower, situated upon a hillock to the north of the city, which goes by the name of the Five-Storied Pagoda. He remembered very well visiting this place, a few weeks before, accompanied by Mr Waldron and his uncle.
Ling took a bridle path leading directly to the north, lying in a bee-line across the down-like hills. The man strode forward, walking at such a great pace that Frank was obliged to run to keep up with him. All this time he said nothing. He walked, staring straight in front of him--a gaunt, sinister and gigantic figure. Never for a moment did he release his hold of Frank's wrist, which felt as if it was held within a vice.
After a time they came to a river, or canal. Since the path led straight into the water and was visible in continuation upon the other bank, it was evident that there was a ford. Ling hesitated a moment, and then, hoisting his captive upon his shoulder, carried him high and dry to the other side, himself wading in water that reached to his knees. Beyond, he once more set down Frank upon the ground; and they went forward at the same steady pace. And at every step the water squelched in the soft felt shoes the Chinaman was wearing.
At the end of an hour, Frank was beginning to feel fatigued; he was considerably out of breath. Ling, on the other hand, appeared to be in no way exhausted. They came to a hut--the habitation, in all probability, of some swineherd or peasant.