“Mr. Blakeborough?” asked the Owner, addressing the eldest of the four.
“What’s left of me, sir,” was the reply. “I never expected to be released so soon. It’s almost a miracle.”
He introduced his companion-assistants of the now demolished factory.
The Chinese in the launch began handing up heavy boxes.
“Better start ’em, sir,” suggested Raxworthy. “Just in case they contain lead instead of gold!”
But the bandit chief had realized that it wouldn’t pay to deceive the “foreign devils”. The boxes contained the precious metal right enough.
“Your compensation will be paid out of that, Mr. Blakeborough,” explained Wilverley. “Of course, we can’t do it on the spot. It’s a case for the courts at Shanghai. . . . Hello, what’s this?”
A wicker basket he had handed out of the launch. None of the Chinese could speak English, but when Mr. Blakeborough interpreted the Owner’s question, they replied that it was a present to the Honourable Captain from Fu-so-li.
“Don’t know what I’ve done to warrant a present from the blighters,” commented Wilverley. “If it’s grub we’ll ditch it in case it’s poisoned! Open the thing, Richards!”
The bluejacket addressed pulled out his lanyard-knife and cut the bamboo lashings securing the wicker lid. It revealed a covering of large green leaves, but under the leaves was the gory head of Ti-so.