He led the way into a warehouse-like place, one end of which was furnished with an arms-rack holding a dozen rifles, bayonets, and bandoliers. In a chest beside them were a dozen revolvers; and after displaying these, every weapon being kept in beautiful order, a trap-door in the floor was pointed out, regularly furnished with keyhole and loose ring for lifting.
“Key hangs in my room, if you want it when I’m out,” said the manager meaningly.
“I’m not likely to want the key of the cellar,” said Stan, smiling.
“Cellar? Nonsense! That’s the little magazine. Oh no! the cases down there are not cases of wine, but of cartridges for rifle and revolver.”
“Oh!” said Stan thoughtfully, for the announcement was of a very suggestive nature—one which brought up the night of the attack in Hai-Hai.
“There we are, then, if we have to fight,” said Blunt.
“With whom?” asked Stan sharply.
“Ah! who knows?” said Blunt, laughing. “River pirates; wandering bands of Chinese robbers; disbanded soldiers of the Government; anybody. China’s a big country, my lad, and abominably governed, but a splendid land all the same, teeming with a most hard-working, industrious population, eager to engage in trade, and on the whole good, honest folk who like dealing with us, and are free from prejudices, excepting that they look upon us as a set of ignorant barbarians—foreign devils, as they call us. But it doesn’t matter much. We know better—eh?”
“Of course,” said Stan, laughing. “But you have a good many Chinese at work for you here; don’t you ever feel afraid of them rising against you and the English clerks?”
“One way and another, there are about ten of them to one of us; and as in the case of a row the whole countryside would take part with them, you might say they would be a hundred or a thousand to one against us and still be within bounds.”