Under the Chinese Dragon: A Tale of Mongolia

by F. S. Brereton

'And now to get rid of him and my own clothes. Ah! I know. Into the bed with him. Shy the clothing out of the window.'

He was not the one to waste time when the minutes were flying swiftly, and when there might be an interruption at any moment. David bundled the unconscious Tartar on to the kang, covered him with a faded quilt, and tied his own discarded clothing into a bundle. A dexterous heave sent it through the window, and if only he had known it, caused the faithful Jong the greatest consternation.

'What dat?' he asked, standing back in the dense shadow which hid him. 'Something come plump from de window. Not likee de look of him at allee, not at allee. Heart go plippee-plappee when ting like dat happen. Suppose I go over and have a look.'

He was in the very act of stepping out on to the white highway, which gleamed in the pure rays of the moon, when his sharp ears caught a sound. Some one was treading the narrow path which ran beside the road; some one was approaching. Jong lay flat in the shadow, hugging the wall, and stared out into the open. Presently a man's figure hove in sight—a man dressed in elaborate military costume, his flowing robes blowing about his feet, the flat cap on his head surmounted by a wide button. Nor did it want two glances at the stranger to disclose the fact that this was Tsu-Hi, the deputy-governor of the walled city of Hatsu, an official with absolute powers for the moment of life and death; one who, discovering Jong where he lay, could, with one single nod, condemn him to instant execution. No wonder, therefore, that the Chinaman shivered, and squeezed his body still further into the shadow, wishing that the ground might rise in a friendly manner and cover him. He scarcely dared to breathe, while, so terrified was he, that his teeth almost chattered together. Then, quite by accident, his hand touched the hilt of the knife he carried in his belt. The sudden contact seemed to bring him courage. Jong gripped the weapon and drew it, his eyes fixed all the while on the figure of Tsu-Hi.

'He is alone; he is the cause of all this trouble,' he whispered. 'Let him show that he has seen me and I will send him to join his ancestors; yes, to join them with treachery in his heart.'

But the official made no sign. He came stepping down the path slowly, as if deeply engaged with his thoughts. His hands were tucked into the baggy sleeves he wore, while his eyes were dropped on to the roadway. He passed the spot where Jong was secreted, advanced slowly to the steps which led to the door of the prison, and lifted a hand to summon those within. Jong heard the clang of a gong somewhere in the distance. And David heard it. He was at that very moment about to slide back the last of the two bolts that secured the door of the cell in which he imagined Dick to be when the deep, musical note of the gong sounded down the passage, coming from a spot somewhere above, at the top of the flight of steps down which he had watched the Tartar descending. And then he heard a sharp rapping in the opposite direction.

'A visitor; perhaps Tsu-Hi,' he thought. 'What's to be done now? Who'll admit him?'

For one instant the mad idea occurred to him that he himself would go to the door and let the deputy-governor in.

'I could overawe him at once, and bring him in here,' he told himself. Then he shook his head emphatically. 'Might spoil everything. I want help before I move any further; I must have Dick beside me.'

Clang! The gong sounded again, the note ringing down the passage, and then there was silence. No one answered the summons; there was not so much as a step to be heard. David reflected that the gaoler was in bed, and fast asleep in all probability.