bombshell, O’Grady sat back and enjoyed himself. As he very well knew, it was a bombshell in all verity, for I had no proof behind me, no money, nothing.
French gave me an inquiring glance. His sister was looking from one to another of us in frowning disquietude.
“I’ve an order on any Shansi banker to allow me to draw any sum I desire against the accounts of Kohler,” I said. “Is there one of them here?”
“In Kiuling? Not likely,” French dissented. His gaze was uneasy; O’Grady had wakened suspicion in him, I could see. “But you must have something to show that Kohler sent you, Breck?”
“Not a thing,” I said, telling the blunt truth. “He seemed to think that nothing would be needed, in fact, beyond my word.”
O’Grady chuckled. His gaze crossed mine and in it I read triumph.
“Suppose you let me see that Shansi bank order,” said French.
I produced the document in question and handed it over. As French examined it, we could see that the ideographs meant nothing to him. He could not read Chinese. Then he suddenly started, looked at the paper again, and handed it back to me. He was smiling.
“That’s enough, Breck. The deal is made. I know that seal of Kohler’s, and I know that it’s sufficient guarantee of what you say. No one except Kohler’s most trusted men are allowed to carry that seal. You pretty near put over a good one that time, O’Grady, but it wasn’t quite good enough.”
O’Grady’s face was a study. Chagrin and consternation sat in his eyes, for he realized that he might have won his point had he only destroyed that paper instead of giving it back to me. Then a sudden roar of laughter came to his lips and he rose, hand extended in frank congratulation.
“Breck, old man, shake! You’ve won the round; I concede everything so far. And sorry I was to be tellin’ lies about you, ’pon my word!”
He meant the words, and I gravely shook hands with him, while Miss Janet and her brother smiled at the infectious gaiety of the man.
“What do you mean by conceding everything so far?” I demanded.
O’Grady shook his head, and sobered down.
“That’ be tellin’, me lad! I’m going to win out yet, y’ know; and hanged if I’m not sorry to beat you in the way I’ll have to! But I’ll beat you.” For a moment he regarded me with an air that was very serious, not unmixed with a trace of mournful regret. “Breck, hang it all, I want to see you win! You’re a white man. I like ye fine. But, me lad, that five thousand quid means a big stake to me. It means that I have a chance to get out o’ the hole of my own folly. I’m going to beat you, me lad, and sorry I am to do it, remember that!”
With this speech, the strange fellow turned and left us. What he meant by his words, how he still expected to beat me, I did not know; but I perceived that he was driven by an uneasy devil in this matter. At any cost, he had to win out. It meant everything to him.
The others saw the same thing.
“Look out for him,” said French quietly. “He’s clever, and dangerous.”
“So I’ve found,” was my dry response. “But he’ll keep his word, never fear! I’d have bribed him over to my side before this, except that his word to his employers meant more than money to him. Then, French, not matter what happens, you’re with Kohler?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t tell me the formula unless you want to. If you prefer—”
“I’ll tell you here and now,” he returned. “Janey, dear, watch at the door, will you?”
So the matter was ended, so far as I was concerned; that document written in red ideographs had given French implicit trust in me—rather, the seal had done so. I had the formula, and I committed it to memory.
The game was won, I knew at last. And yet, even as I sat there, the fruits of victory were fast being lost to me, had I but realized it.
VIII
Evening was upon us, and I anticipated an early retirement and a long sleep. I had no fear of any action on the part of O’Grady, for he would keep his word until we had left here at least. Later, undoubtedly, he would make trouble.
Yu had visited the village and must have thrown a healthy scare into French’s servants, for half a dozen of them showed up, unpacked some of the bags, and all four of us dined together in good style.
After dinner I sought out Yu, who was staggering with weariness.
“Go and sleep,” I told him. “I don’t think Schneider is coming at all, or he’d have been along before this; and if he does come, he can’t do anything. Our own party of men will be here tomorrow, too. So turn in and get a good night’s rest. You’ve earned it.”
The whole crowd of us were dead beat, to tell the truth. More than once I noted that O’Grady had lost his airy manner and wore a mien of frowning preoccupation, as though he were inwardly much perturbed about something. We said an early goodnight to the Frenches, and retired to the smaller building across the courtyard. As we undressed, O’Grady turned to me.
“Breck,” he said, “I did something today for which I’m cursed sorry. It can’t be undone now, however. I’ve been sorry, for that matter, ever since I’ve been in this damned game; I’m playing a renegade’s part, and it doesn’t fit me dev’lish easy, I can tell you, me lad! But I’ll have to stick by my mistakes; that’s the hell of it, and leaves a bad taste in the mouth. Good night to ye, and pleasanter dreams than I’ll be havin’.”
He rolled up in his blankets. I was too weary to ponder much over his words, although I could see that something was astir within him. Two minutes afterward, I had turned out the lamp and was asleep as soon as I hit the blankets.
Day had broken again before I wakened; but this wakening of mine was a most uneasy and singular one. I tried to move, and could not. I opened my eyes and stared around, found that I was indeed awake, yet could not stir a muscle. When I glanced down at myself, I perceived the reason.
I was neatly trussed up in my own blankets, roped like a sack of beans!
Astonishment seized upon me, and anger. My first thought was that O’Grady had broken faith; but a moment later his voice came to me, and at the whimsical drawl I twisted myself around and felt new bewilderment.
“Faith, have ye waked up at last? The top o’ the mornin’ to ye, Breck!”
There lay O’Grady, in like plight to my own!
“What’s it mean?” I demanded hotly. “If you haven’t done this—?”
The Irishman chuckled, but there was a glint of anger in his eye.
“Not guilty,” he answered. “You know what that poor devil in the Old Testament was always doin’—digging pits all over Palestine and then fallin’ into them himself? Well, me lad, that’s just what I’ve done.”
I stared at him.
“What d’you mean, O’Grady?
