“Lun! lun!” he whispered sharply to his young charge; and catching at his wrist, he tried to drag him towards the door in the back of the place.
He was too late.
A rush was made by the rough-looking soldiers, several of whom literally pounced upon Stan, hurling him down to the floor; and as he, naturally enough, made a brave dash for liberty, a fierce struggle ensued, in which the lad had ample proof of the futility of a half-grown boy trying to resist the united efforts of half-a-dozen heavily built men.
Of course, the struggle did not last many minutes before Stan found himself upon the earthen floor of the Chinese house, with four men seated upon him, leaving him hard work to get his breath, as he stared wildly round to see how his companion had fared.
But he looked in vain, for in the noise and confusion Wing had managed to get behind some of the people of the house, who willingly helped him to pass outside, leaving Stan to his fate.
“A coward!” muttered the boy as soon as he had satisfied himself that Wing had gone.
“No,” he added after a few moments’ thought; “he couldn’t help it, poor fellow! I know: he has escaped. He’ll go down the river to warn Mr Blunt, and he’ll get help from the port. They’ll send men up from one of the ships to get me set at liberty. For these people will not dare to hurt me. I’ll be bound to say that Mr Blunt will soon get to know, and if these scoundrels are not punished severely for this it is strange to me.”