At that he produced the revolver he had taken from Yung How. He played with it for a moment in his great hands, and then put it back in his pocket.
"I shall require the junk," he added, "in order to take the treasure away. And even if I fail to get possession of it, I have you, my little one, who are so clever. You are worth, to me, at least another twenty thousand dollars."
Frank saw the truth as in a flash: once again he was a hostage. Ling no doubt intended to demand a second ransom as the price of the boy's freedom--perhaps his life. As the man remained silent for some minutes, Frank had the greater time to think the matter out. And the more he thought of it, the more was he obliged to admire the consummate subtlety of Ling, who had the faculty of grasping a situation without a moment's waste of time, estimating the salient factors at their proper value.
In the opium den, Frank's identity had been unmasked, and his life threatened in a period of time which could not have been more than thirty or forty seconds. And yet, in those brief and breathless seconds, Ling, in hiding behind the curtain, had summed up the position at a glance. He had seen that Cheong-Chau--who for the moment was blind with rage--was about to throw away a human life that was likely to be extremely valuable to himself. It was not a sense of humanity that had prompted him to save the boy. He had done so for his own personal ends.
"Come," he cried, "to the junk! I promise you I will flutter the dovecot. I will scatter them like ducks."
At that he strode forward, followed by Frank, amazed at the man's calmness and audacity.
[CHAPTER XXII--OF THE CAPTURE OF THE JUNK]
Ling walked in an easterly direction, keeping at a distance of about a hundred yards from the river bank. The morning was exceedingly still; nothing disturbed the silence but the ceaseless sound of the current of the river, stirring the tall reeds that grew in the shallow water. The Sang River, which at this place was about a hundred and fifty yards across, is one of the main tributaries of the Pe-kiang, which flows into Canton from the north. As Frank knew well, it was navigable for a considerable distance, even for sea-going junks. Presently Ling began to talk to himself in a low voice, but loud enough for the boy to hear.
"The sages have told us," he observed, "to think before we act. Men speak of the 'road of life.' That is a false metaphor. In life there are many roads; it is open to us to travel by one or by another. The junk will be anchored in midstream." He broke off, turning quickly to the boy. "Tell me, can you swim?"
Frank replied that he was a good swimmer.