Miss Amy Vost was not in evidence when the two rickshaws rattled up to the platform of the red brick station.
"Perhaps she's waiting for us in the coach, holding seats for us," Peter suggested.
"Just like her," said MacLaurin. "She's a little peach!"
Peter entered the compartment first and scanned the heads. The only tresses in evidence were the long, black, shining ones of a bejeweled Chinese lady. The other passengers were men.
"There will be no tête-à-tête in Soochow," observed Peter Moore to his conscience.
"I'd go to hell for that girl!" declared Bobbie MacLaurin as he sat down at Peter's side. "Now, tell me what you were doing in that Jap rigging. Two years, isn't it, since we were chased out of Panama City by the spigotties?"
"I came over on the Vandalia."
"And didn't go back, I gather."
"She sailed up-river for Soo-chow yesterday. No, I won't go back. Bobbie, I started something on that ship, and I'm on my way to Ching-Fu—and 'way beyond Ching-Fu—to finish it."
"It will be beautifully finished, Peter! Or your name's not Moore."