The gaping crowd pressed ever closer. Phil could feel the fetid breath of those nearest him; he saw a big Chinaman emerge from the dense throng and push his way to Langdon’s chair; the lad would have cried out a warning, but all happened with such lightning-like swiftness that he had not found his voice before the bold Chinaman had released his hold upon the pilot’s coat, and had fallen back into the arms of his countrymen nearest him, a deep red stain upon his closely shaved head, while Langdon waved menacingly his Colt revolver, the blunt butt of which had successfully cowed the would-be leader.

Fortunately for the foreigners, a troop of mounted soldiers arrived on the scene at this juncture and brutally cleared the way, trampling under their horses’ feet the nearest of the mob, chained as they were by the mass of humanity behind them. Presently the chairs were again in motion; the soldiers now keeping the crowd in check, and in a few minutes more the embassy arrived in front of the yamen, the official residence of the viceroy. The heavy, grotesquely painted doors were quickly opened, and closed sharply in the faces of the unruly crowd.

The naval men alighted from their chairs, well satisfied to have escaped so easily from a disagreeable situation; but the pilot was not so well pleased.

“We’re in for it, I fear,” he confided to Phil; “that was another insult. The viceroy knew we were coming and he doubtless planned that we should be mobbed, holding his soldiers back to give us a few unpleasant minutes.”

“What would that Chinaman have done to you?” Phil asked gravely.

“It was an act of bravado,” Langdon answered smilingly, the picture of the discomfited man in his mind; “but if he had succeeded in pulling me from the chair it would have been serious; a leader is all these people need.”

“Pretty tight squeak, eh, Langdon?” Commander Hughes asked while they waited for the summons to approach the audience-chamber.

“It looked bad for a time, sir,” the pilot replied; “if some one had thrown a stone, we’d have been mobbed then and there, and the soldiers would have been powerless to save us. Not in my ten years among these people have I seen such a menacing mob. We must deal boldly with the viceroy, sir, or else we’ll not get out of the city alive.”

“Is it really as bad as that?” the captain asked anxiously.

“Yes, sir,” Langdon answered earnestly, lowering his voice so as not to be heard by any save the captain; “they were in an ugly mood, and if I am not mistaken they were acting under orders from the yamen; otherwise the rabble wouldn’t have dared molest us. If we don’t keep our feet on their necks, they’ll make short work of every foreigner in the Yangtse Valley.”

After a few minutes more of waiting the inner doors were thrown open and the naval men were ushered into the second courtyard, and then through more doors to the council-chamber of the viceroy. Here they found Chang-Li-Hun and his advisers ready to receive them.

Commander Hughes advanced toward the viceroy and bowed ceremoniously; the ancient Chinaman clasped his hands in front of him and murmured a few monosyllables in his own language, after which all were seated. Phil found his place between Langdon and a Chinaman, while Commander Hughes sat at the viceroy’s left, the seat of honor in the dragon kingdom.

The silence was undisturbed for several minutes, during which time the lad gazed covertly about him. He noticed the sphinx-like face of the high mandarin, whose power was as far-reaching as even the empress dowager’s, to whom he acknowledged allegiance but gave it grudgingly. This wizened old man had the power of life and death over nearly twenty million human beings. If he so willed, he could order any of his subjects to be brought to the execution grounds and chop their heads off with as little feeling as one would have in beheading a chicken. The midshipman’s eyes traveled in turn over each face of the viceroy’s advisers, men of great promise in the empire; they represented the enlightened few governing with iron rods a people who are yet stifled in the superstitions and customs of medieval times. Through the open door, the lad caught a glimpse of Chinese guards; their blue tunics similar to the one he had stripped from the back of the Chinaman at the mission gate.

Finally the silence was broken by the high-pitched voice of the aged viceroy in his own staccato language. Phil believed he could read both anger and contempt in the tones of the mandarin’s voice.

After he had spoken there was a moment’s silence, then a voice was raised in perfect English. Phil gasped in surprise as he beheld the speaker; a Chinaman seated on the right hand of the viceroy. There was not a trace of the accent which he had believed was habitual with every Chinaman who learns the English tongue.

“His Excellency, Chang-Li-Hun, thanks the high naval commanders for the honor of this visit and desires to hear their requests,” the interpreting Chinaman announced.

“Give our compliments to his Excellency,” replied Commander Hughes without a second’s hesitation, “and say that the time has long passed for requests. We come now to demand that our countrymen be protected, in accordance with the sacred word of China given by treaty.”

The interpreter’s face was a study; the American’s words were evidently unexpected; he glanced uneasily at the viceroy as if fearing the storm which he knew would break forth when the sharp words were translated into his guttural tongue. After a few moments of thought, during which time the old mandarin blinked his watery eyes expectantly the interpreter spoke, hesitatingly and as one who is not sure of his ground; but instead of the burst of rage which Phil felt was inevitable, the old statesman nodded his head in assent.

The lad saw Langdon rise to his feet and speak in an undertone to Commander Hughes; then the Chinese mandarins grasped the arms of their heavily carved chairs with indignation and horror while the pilot’s voice in their own tongue rang out loudly, in direct address to the viceroy. Then he turned to his captain and explained his action.

“The interpreter did not give the viceroy your words, sir,” he said, his voice quivering with emotion. “I thought it best that he should know.”

The parchment-like features of the aged mandarin were stamped with hatred as he snapped out his reply to his attentive interpreter.

“His Excellency is much disappointed at the unfriendly attitude of the foreigners,” the Chinaman announced after the viceroy had ceased speaking, “and is grieved to hear their harsh language.”

Again Langdon’s voice was raised above the silence which followed the placid words of the interpreter: but this time in English.

“Those were not the viceroy’s words,” he exclaimed turning toward Commander Hughes but glowering at the discomfited interpreter; “his answer was a threat against our lives.”

Commander Hughes was on his feet instantly, his face pale with anger.

“Langdon,” he cried, “tell the viceroy that our meeting is ended; that we came to demand punishment for those of his countrymen who attempted to injure our mission on the hill back of the city, but as he refuses to keep to his country’s treaty, we shall be forced to resort to arms to protect our own people.”

Langdon promptly translated Commander Hughes’ words to the viceroy, sitting craftily observing the incensed foreigners.

Chang-Li-Hun was too clever a diplomat to show his hand was against the foreigners; he must appear to aid them in their endeavors to protect their countrymen, and by the art understood best by the Oriental he would make these naval men “lose face” in the Chinese eyes, and thereby show his people that the vainglorious boasting foreigners were but human, and could suffer and die as easily as those of their own race.

A few guttural words escaped from the lips of the aged mandarin, which Langdon translated at once, not waiting for the unreliable interpreter.

“The viceroy begs you will again be seated; he says he knows nothing of the acts against the mission.”

“Tell him, then, Langdon,” the American captain ordered, while the members of the embassy reluctantly took their seats; “and give it to him as strong as you can,” he continued his wrath but slightly mollified.

This was all too pleasant a task for the pilot, whose knowledge of Chinese officialdom had not left him with much respect for their roundabout methods. He went straight to the point, addressing the viceroy directly, while the latter appeared to listen eagerly.

After the pilot had stopped speaking and had reseated himself at Commander Hughes’ side, the viceroy drew his interpreter aside, and in a voice so low pitched that Langdon could not hear a word, conversed with him earnestly for many minutes; then the interpreter arose and hurriedly left the council-chamber.

The embassy sat in silence, wondering what would be the next move of this adroit diplomat. Phil’s nerves were atingle with expectancy; the dangers of their position within a hostile city, and in the grasp of an avowed enemy, gave his young and untamed spirit high hopes for excitement. How he wished for Sydney that he might share whatever was in store for the embassy before it again reached the safety of its steel broadsides!

The naval men had not long to wait before the inner gates of the yamen were thrown open and a battalion of soldiers filed into the courtyard, outside the audience-chamber. Another moment, and the light screens forming the sides of the council-chamber were removed and the embassy looked fairly out upon this martial display.

The soldiers were quickly formed into a hollow square between the embassy and the outer gates, which then were likewise opened and a seething mob of excited, riotous Chinamen poured through, filling up the courtyard beyond.

“What’s the meaning of this?” the American commander exclaimed in sudden alarm; but before Langdon could disclaim his knowledge of what was about to happen, a part of the square opened and a number of tightly-bound prisoners were dragged to the middle of the courtyard directly in front of the viceroy. As they approached, Phil unconsciously turned away his head to shut out the pitiful spectacle; the prisoners were cruelly shackled together in a manner practiced only by the Chinese.

After the lad had gained control of his feelings and once more glanced toward the prisoners, the viceroy was speaking, while the pilot listened intently; the mob beyond was silent, gazing with evident enjoyment at the terror-stricken prisoners before the viceroy.

“His Excellency says that he has just discovered that these men were arrested last night by his guards with contraband concealed upon their persons, and when tortured confessed to having attempted to blow in the gates of the American mission, and that he will punish them in our presence as a warning to his people,” Langdon announced loudly, then lowering his voice, he whispered hurriedly to Commander Hughes: “I don’t like the looks of it, sir; a moment ago he knew nothing of it, and now he claims to have the culprits; it seems strange.”

“Hold!” cried Commander Hughes, starting to his feet; “we must have proof that these are the right men; we want no useless executions.” For he knew only too well that this form of punishment was the one dear to the Chinese heart, and he could read upon the faces of the crowd that it was waiting joyfully to see these human heads severed from their bodies and doubtless had been promised this stirring sport.

Langdon translated his captain’s wish hastily to the viceroy, but the mandarin turned a deaf ear, raising his thin, veined hand with its claw-like nails as a sign to proceed with the gruesome work.

A muscular Chinaman, naked save for a loin cloth, stepped from the ranks of the soldiers brandishing a sharp curved sword, and moved quickly to the side of the kneeling prisoners. Commander Hughes and his colleagues started precipitately toward him as if to prevent him from carrying out his murderous intentions.

Phil saw the bright blade circle above the head of a terrified prisoner and then descend. He closed his eyes in horror to shut out the appalling sight.

A report of a pistol shot rang out deafeningly, and he opened his eyes to a view of Langdon with a smoking revolver in his hand, while the executioner lay on the sand beside his victim.

A PISTOL SHOT RANG OUT