“How can he remain silent?” Sydney inquired. “The gunboats came here believing that there was going to be trouble. Surely if the foreign governments do not hear from their representatives they will be suspicious.”
“It’s too deep for me this time,” Langdon declared. “The viceroy knows what he’s doing; that I can assure you. History usually repeats itself in these Chinese troubles, and he is probably banking on the timidity of the foreign governments. If the plain unvarnished facts of the attack on Lien-Chow got to Washington with no word from Commander Hughes, what would happen? That is what Chang-Li-Hun is counting on.”
“The president would wire for particulars,” Phil answered.
“Yes, and he wouldn’t get them,” Langdon returned; “and then what would happen?”
“I don’t know, but the viceroy believes he does and he hopes that Washington will act in such a way as to give the victory to Chang-Li-Hun.”
As the pilot’s voice died away, the predicament of himself and companions came home forcibly to Phil. His arms and legs were swollen, causing him great pain, and the thought of the further cruelty of those who held them captives was not pleasant.
“Is there no way to escape?” the lad asked, glancing about the insecure looking prison.
“We might succeed in getting out of the yamen,” Langdon answered discouragingly, “but we could never expect to get out of the city. There are but two gates, and both are heavily guarded at all times. Once we are missed from here the news would travel with the speed of wireless telegraphy throughout the city. No, we are as secure as if we were on a desert island.”
“Can’t we bribe the guards?” Sydney asked, casting a contemptuous glance at the ragged soldier at the door.
“What have we to bribe with?” Langdon asked mournfully. “I haven’t a cent about me.”