His Excellency Hao Su Ting showed his august back to the turbulent intruders and paced slowly toward the house. Several of the party turned to follow him, but the secretary aforesaid, together with a few of the staff, tarried in order to be sure that the trio of invaders left the place. Captain Michael O’Shea was not to be thwarted by the disadvantageous situation in which he found himself. Hustling Maguire to his feet, he tried to drive it into him with strong words and meaning gestures that he must be obedient and no harm would come to him. The revolver was an eloquent argument in itself.
Sensible Johnny Kent turned the sailor about so that he could see nothing of the Chinese and was facing the cliffs and the sea. In this position the engineer held him, while O’Shea, seizing the opportune moment, fairly ripped the coat off the man and pulled up his shirt to bare his back. It was dramatically done and the effect was instantaneous. Not a word was said in explanation. None was needed. The great Chinese character that spread between the man’s shoulder-blades and down to his waist, showed black and scarred and livid.
The secretary and the other Orientals stood gazing at it without moving so much as a finger. They said nothing, but one heard their breath come quick. A kind of whistling sigh escaped the dapper secretary, and his eyes glittered like two buttons of jet. He was striving to maintain a composure which had been racked to the foundations. His blood was of a finer strain than that of the underlings who stood near him, and he held his ground while they began to edge away in retreat. Presently one of them broke into a run. The others took to their heels in a panic route and scampered toward the house, their baggy breeches fluttering, queues whipping the wind, felt shoes fairly twinkling. From one of them came back a shrill, wailing, “Ai oh.”
They raced past His Excellency Hao Su Ting, who stood aghast at the gross disregard of etiquette and vainly commanded them to halt. Nor did the mad pace slacken until the last of them had dived to cover. O’Shea forgot his business and grinned with honest enjoyment, but the face of the secretary, now haggard and parchment-like, recalled him to the task in hand. This lone Chinese who had withstood the desire to run away was moving nearer to examine the branded back of the red-haired sailor.
“Ye have all the marks of a man that is sick to the soul with fear,” grimly observed O’Shea, “but you are too brave to give up to it, and I admire ye for it. Tell me, have you ever seen a man scarred like that before?”
The secretary spoke with a visible effort, and his voice had the rasping edge of intense excitement.
“Yes, I have seen that character, symbol, whatever you will call it—in my own country. It is most shocking, amazing, to behold it in this way, inflicted upon an American.”
“Do you need to look at it any longer? Can ye remember it? Will I show it to His Excellency?” demanded O’Shea.
“I cannot forget it,” slowly replied the other. “No, it is not necessary to show it to the ambassador. I assure you it is not necessary. I shall inform him that I have seen it. He will know what it is. I wish very much that it may not be seen by his illustrious self.”
The words and manner of the secretary conveyed the weightiest earnestness. He was in an agony of dread lest Hao Su Ting should return and view the spectacle of the branded man. O’Shea pitied his distress and was shrewd enough to perceive that nothing would be gained by opposing him. Maguire was restless, and Johnny Kent had trouble in sticking fast to him.