The missing chart which he felt sure had been taken by Emmons caused him the greatest anxiety. He had intended to block this channel with sunken stone-laden junks, but with the usual roundabout methods of the Chinese he had found the mandarin in charge of such work could not load the junks for some days, so he had passed it by, believing that the presence of such a channel would remain a secret. Hang-Ki, the Tartar general, could be the only one of those in the secrets of the yamen who would dare thwart him. Ta-Ling’s veins swelled with suppressed anger as he blamed his ill-luck for not having succeeded in his attempt on the general’s life. This man he felt sure was also in the daring plot which had liberated the Americans and placed him, second only in power to the viceroy, in chains, helpless, while his carefully-laid scheme of forever ridding China of the foreign leeches was falling like a house of cards about his head.
While his mind grappled with the intricate intrigues, there came a dull boom of heavy cannon, shaking violently the yamen. Again and again the earth was shaken and the deep tones of discharges of great guns reverberated through the vast building.
What did it mean? Had the Americans then succeeded in escaping and were the fort guns firing upon them? How could they escape by water when every launch had been wrecked by his trusted soldiers?
The yamen now was no longer silent. Ta-Ling could hear shrill cries and the hurried march of feet. Men were running wildly here and there, an unknown fear in their hearts. The Chinaman’s hopes rose; the viceroy would send for him to know the cause of the firing and he must before long be discovered. He tugged desperately but fruitlessly at his bonds, but Langdon had done his work well.
Exhausted and breathless, he at length resigned himself to fate. Then he heard his own name cried by the viceroy’s crier, resounding loudly throughout the yamen. After what seemed an eternity, the door of his cell was thrown open and several guards entered the dark prison.
“Here they are,” he heard a soldier exclaim, and then he felt himself grasped roughly and carried out into the courtyard.
The next moment a light was thrust in his face and then the guards recoiled in mortal fear as they beheld the features of the Chinese tyrant.
“We beg a million pardons, Excellency,” the leader cried, cringing before the terrible eye of the viceroy’s secretary, while his companions prostrated themselves before him.
Ta-Ling made a sign to remove his gag, his joy at deliverance fighting with his outraged dignity at being so roughly handled.
“Take off these irons, you dogs,” he hissed when he could speak; “the keys are on the floor of the cell.”