Reinhardt had made up his mind, while walking up to the yamen, to accept with as good a grace as possible the temporary inconvenience which he owed to the loss of his moustache--also temporary: he felt his upper lip, and discovered proofs of a new crop. By keeping his temper under control he would give himself the best chance of dealing with circumstances as they arose. Of course, when Su Fing returned all would be set right; and he promised himself that the ass of a captain who had so stupidly mistaken him should have cause to regret his imbecility. But he was a good deal puzzled. Who was this man, ostensibly a German, who had stood by indifferent while a compatriot of his own was being shamed? And who was the Chinaman who had uttered such abominable things about him? He was something like Lo San, Errington's boy. And then a light flashed upon him: it was Lo San; Errington, he knew, had been captured; no doubt he was the "other Englishman" who had been mentioned; and the whole affair was a plot on Lo San's part to bring his master and Reinhardt together, in the hope that the German might be persuaded to plead for him with the chief.
This thought comforted Reinhardt. Lo San was evidently a clever fellow; and as Errington's career was of course ended, his boy would probably be quite willing to enter the service of a new master. The German was therefore prepared, when he was pushed forward into the room, to find Errington waiting with open arms to receive him.
He was surprised when Errington refused to speak to him.
"Come, my friend," he said, "zis is not kind. Here am I, come at great cost to serve you, and you cut me! Zere is some big mistake; ze fool of a captain supposes me to be English, and makes me a prisoner. We are two prisoners togezer. Zis is not ze time for coldness between friends. Wizout you, I should not be here at zis moment." Reinhardt was unaware how truly he had spoken. "You owe me much. But you are young, and like many young men, you do not know your best friends."
Errington, on his part, was thoroughly amazed when he saw Reinhardt enter the room. Hearing footsteps outside the door, he had expected to see Burroughs again. The entrance of a man whom, after his recent interview with Burroughs, he distrusted and despised gave him a shock. Instinctively he refused him his hand. But now, at the German's explanation, strange as it was, he began to wonder whether he had not done him a double injustice. Perhaps the man had repented of his refusal of Burroughs' appeal, and after all had come up the river to his assistance.
He was wavering, on the point of asking Reinhardt whether he had seen Burroughs, when the German began to speak again.
"Yes, when your own countrymen do nozink for you, behold me, a German, putting my head into ze lion's mouse on your behalf. I ask you, why should I do so? You owe me five hundred dollars: bah! I zink nozink of zat. You are to me nozink but a friend----"
"And a servant of your firm," Errington blurted out, resenting the reference to his debt, and desperately uneasy now that it was clear that Burroughs and the German had not met.
"Not so," said Reinhardt complacently. "Zere is no reason why I should come to help you--nozink but friendship. You are no longer employed by my firm."
This took Errington's breath away. He listened in stony silence as Reinhardt proceeded.