“Ransom,” she said. “They took me, and left my brother so that he could raise the ransom. But there was some sort of a dispute. Something happened, and they decided they had to attack Canton at once. I couldn’t understand what it was all about. There was a man there who told me some things. He could speak English fairly well. He—”

  The smooth voice of the Chinese who stood in the doorway interrupted. He was speaking in excellent English, and there was taunting mockery in his tones, as he answered Ballinger.

  “It is rather late in the game for abuse,” he said, “and it happens you no longer have power to block the delivery of munitions. Within a few moments my men will be returning. Now that we know the location of the prize we see, I fancy we can take it.”

  Ballinger gave an inarticulate roar of rage. He swung around and fired the heavy automatic twice from the hip.

  Flame spurted from the weapon. A long, jagged, yellow splinter appeared in the doorway within an inch of the head of the man who held the green-tipped dagger. The second bullet thudded into the thick planking.

  The man in the doorway flipped his wrist. The dagger glittered in the light as it flashed out into the region of darkness.

  Ballinger flung himself to one side, and the very violence of his effort rocked the sampan and sent the big form splashing into the river. The knife whizzed through the air and embedded itself in the wood of the light sampan.

  Ballinger’s hands splashed at the water. The unexpected nature of his immersion had caused him to drop his automatic, and, as his hands appeared above the surface of the water, splashing in the futile strokes of a man who cannot swim, the mocking laugh of Yeah Jing Suhn, the War Lord of Darkness, rippled across the dark ribbon of water.

  There was something compelling about that man who stood in the doorway, his eyes looking at that which went on about him with the expression of a cynical, sophisticated observer who is watching a play being performed on the stage and whose face shows a sarcastic superiority to the mummery of the footlights.

  His voice rang out, this time in Cantonese, “The Fat Pig has dropped his gun. He is like a snake whose fangs have been pulled. Gather him in, that I may have the pleasure of watching him die. And do not forget that girl who ran to the rear of the junk. Someone is there with a gun. Swing men around to the stem, dividing, to take either side of the deck. There are but two, and one is helpless. Perhaps we may collect a fat ransom after all.”

  Men sprang forward to do his bidding. Ballinger shouting curses, the dirty water filling his mouth, causing his curses to become panic-stricken, sputtering grunts and cries for help, flailed his arms about in the water.

  Men ran toward the stern of the boat. At the same moment, there were cries from the men on the junk which had been propelled toward the flag ship of the War Lord of Darkness.

  Harder knew that the mysterious black sampan, filled with men dispatched to do the bidding of the War Lord of Darkness, had returned and was giving battle to the munitions junk.

  “Can you swim?” he asked of Edith Minter as the half-naked men rushed along the stem of the junk.

  “Like a fish,” she said.

  “Over with you,” he told her. “Slip off your clothes. Swim over toward the shore. When you get where you can see the shore, float in the water. Listen for my instructions if I shout them to you. If you don’t hear from me, swim to the shore. Under no circumstances come back unless I tell you to.”

  She hesitated.

  “How about you?”

  There was no time for argument. Jim-, my Harder picked her up in his arms, tossed her overboard, flinging her over his shoulder into a clean dive, deftly.

  He stepped forward, where the piled matting and cordage furnished some protection.

  With the splash of the girl in the water, a cry arose from one of the men.

  “She has jumped!”

  “Swim after her!” shouted Yeah Jing Suhn.

  It was not the manner in which Jimmy Harder wanted to die. He was, however, under no illusions as to the men with whom he was dealing. They were men who had no sense of compassion, no mercy, and they were like otters in the water.

  Upon many occasions Jimmy Harder had speculated as to where he would be and what he would be doing when the grim executioner of death finally overtook him. He knew how little chance he stood, standing up against these desperate, all but naked fighters inflamed with a fanatical hysteria. But he knew that unless he could create sufficient diversion to give Edith Minter a chance to escape, these men would be on her like sharks in the water.

  Jimmy Harder stepped from his place of concealment in the shadows behind the rail and called in Chinese, “Stand back, you scum! I have business with your master!”

  He knew Chinese psychology, knew the benefit which could be expected from surprise, and knew also that principle of human psychology which is world-wide in its application, that all the animals including man, will attack that which runs, but that there is a tendency to stand in wary appraisal when an antagonist starts walking forward with the calm arrogance of conscious power.

  Harder saw the man in the bright red jacket and the dark trousers step forth from the cabin. The dagger had been thrown, but the jade box, with its green poison, was still clutched in the clawlike hand with the stained, tapering fingernails.

  The men fell back for a moment. Then a broad shouldered individual, naked from the waist up, his skin glistening in the light which poured out from the cabin door, lunged forward.

  It was not the gun of Jimmy Harder that checked him; it was the voice of the War Lord of Darkness.

  “Peace!” he said. “I have heard this voice before. Let us see. Ah! It is Jee Mah Wei, who posed as the silk merchant going to the monastery for penance, and, quite apparently, Jee Mah Wei is not Chinese at all, but is one of the white devil ghosts.”

  Harder continued to walk forward, the animals, including man, will attack him, he knew that the men closed in, forming a human wall between him and escape, but he knew also that he had diverted their attention from Edith Minter, who had been given an opportunity to make good her escape.

  Other men dragged George Ballinger to the junk. They lifted his fat, dripping figure to the teakwood planks.

  Yeah Jing Suhn surveyed both men in interested appraisal.

  Harder still held the gun in his hand.

  “Do you,” said the man in the scarlet coat, “carry weapons when you visit?”

  “Yes,” said Harder.

  The War Lord of Darkness rasped a command in Cantonese.

  “Disarm him and search him.”

  Men lunged forward.

  Jimmy Harder knew that he was close to death, knew, indeed, that it was eventually inevitable, but it needed only struggle to get a knife inserted immediately between his ribs. He had staked everything upon the element of surprise, and now he anticipated that which was to come by making a bow and extending the gun to .the nearest man.

  “And so,” said the War Lord of Darkness, still with that sardonic note to his voice, that scornful gleam in his eyes, “you changed your mind and did not give thanks at the monastery after all.”

  “No,” Harder explained. “Gods who are intelligent enough to help can read thanks in the heart and need not hear it from the lips.”

  The eyes flickered over him in contemplative appraisal.

  “The disguise was rather good. I will admit that I was fooled,” the Chinese leader said, speaking in drawling English which had a slight British accent. “And so Jee Mah Wei has become James Harder, the man who specializes upon intrigue in the Orient.”

  Jimmy Harder, smaller than either the fat Ballinger or the tall Chinese, stood with his feet planted wide apart, his head tilted slightly upward, his eyes blazing steadily into those of the tall Chinese.

  “I do not specialize upon intrigue,” he said. “I specialize upon a square deal. I seek a square deal for China. I seek peace instead of war.”

  “And you came up the river to block my effort,” the tall man said almost casually.

  “I came up river,” Jimmy Harder said, “because Charles Belter disappeared in Canton. I came to learn what had happened to-'him. I came to probe other disappearances.”

  There was a humorous twinkle in the man’s eyes.

  “The trail in Canton,” he said, “was getting rather hot, so I thought I would plant a clue that would lead further up river. I had no intimation that planting the clue in such an ingenious manner would bring you into the picture. Gentlemen, come in and sit down.”

  The man motioned to the interior of the lighted cabin.

  Jimmy Harder preceded Ballinger through the door.

  He heard the tall Chinese in the doorway say to his men in Cantonese, “You have dealt with a fox, and he has fooled you. While he walked toward you and you stood looking at him with open mouths, the girl went into the water. Take a sampan and find her. If you do not find her you will be punished.”

  The tall figure strode into the cabin.

  Ballinger said, “Look here, you can’t get away with this. I came up here in good faith. I delivered my stuff. If you’re going to keep any kind of a credit, so far as munitions are concerned, you’ve got to give safe conduct to the people who sell those munitions. Otherwise, you’ll find every munition company in the country will boycott you. You won’t be able to get a single gun or a single cartridge.”

  The half-amused gaze of the Chinese flickered over in Ballinger’s direction, then turned back to Jimmy Harder.

  “I have heard much of you men,” the Chinese said. “No, no, my dear Ballinger. Please. The door is guarded. A man waits with a knife poised, ready to strike if you should seek to leave without my permission.

  “As I was saying, Harder, I have heard much of you. I have been particularly interested in what I have heard concerning the games of chess that you play. They tell me that you do not speak to each other, but that you enjoy combatting one another over the chess board. It is most interesting. I wonder if you have ever played for stakes—for high stakes.”

  “What are you getting at?” Harder inquired gruffly.

  “I am wondering if you have ever played for stakes of life and death. I am wondering just how you would act if you were playing when your life hung in the balance. Come, gentlemen, you shall play chess with me—one at a time. If you lose the game, you lose your life. If you win the game, you will win your life. You will, of course, necessarily be held prisoners for awhile. You see, my operations are about ready to come to a head. It would be most inopportune to be discovered at this time.

  “And do you know, my dear Ballinger, some of my secret agents reported that after you had delivered my munitions to me, you intended to approach the Municipal Government of Canton and explain to it the danger that threatened and sell them another consignment of munitions, so that they could be prepared for an attack.

  “There was, of course, nothing to the rumor. It was merely one of those things which have no foundation in fact, but it simply shows what a dangerous thing gossip can be. And, in order to keep my men from being discontented, it would be necessary to hold you for a little while.”

  Ballinger’s face showed startled consternation. He started to speak, but the long, tapering fingers, with the stained, pointed nails, were raised in a deprecatory gesture.

  “No, no, I beg of you. Don’t bother to contradict,” said Yeah Jing Suhn.

  “After all, it is only a minor matter. Come, we will play chess. Be seated, gentlemen. And you, my dear Mr. Harder, please don’t keep in that tense attitude of listening. I know that you are trying to find out if my sampans have discovered the young woman who jumped into the water. I can assure you that if they do discover her, they will report to me immediately. And, in the meantime, we are losing valuable time. Come, let us get to our chess game. You will be first, my dear Mr. Harder.”

  Chuckling sardonically, the tall Chinese produced a chess board, set up men, indicated a stool.

  “I give you the white color and the first move as a consequence,” said Yeah Jing Suhn.

  Harder sat down to the strangest chess game he had ever played in his life. His life was at stake, and, after the first five moves, he knew why the Chinese had been so casually ready to play for such stakes.

  The man was a veritable master of chess, and he did not need to conform to the conventional openings, but departed almost immediately from the two-knight opening, to develop a form of attack which would have been suicidal in a less able player, but which speedily developed into such a baffling combination of unforeseen moves that Harder entered into a forced exchange and came out a piece the loser.

  Ballinger watched the game with interested, frightened eyes. He knew well enough that they had both met their master.

  “The conventional openings,” the Chinese said, “become so dreary and monotonous.' And, then again, the playing of a game becomes largely a matter of subconscious memory. Virtually every move combination has been experienced in one form or another in previous games. Now, for instance, with this form of attack—”

  His voice trailed away into silence as he made an unexpected move, apparently laying himself wide open.

  Harder sensed a trap. He stared intently at the man, suddenly realized that if he took advantage of that move he was doomed, and then realized, with a sickening certainty, that he had no other alternative but to launch a counterattack at the particular point the Chinese had opened up.

  He felt perspiration sliming his forehead, looked around him helplessly.

  Suddenly his eyes caught the flicker of motion. Years of experience in dealing with the unexpected had taught him never to betray surprise. He did not move his eyes, but continued to stare at the walls of the room, as though seeking to concentrate his mind.

  The room was lit by two peanut oil lamps. It was ventilated by a long narrow slit high up near the ceiling. A slender bamboo pole was slowly, slyly entering through one of the slits. It groped its way toward one of the peanut oil lamps.'

  “Come, come, my dear Mr. Harder, I’m afraid I shall have to insist on an immediate move. You have taken long enough. Your wits seem to be woolgathering. As a matter of fact, a man can solve any problem in chess by ten second’s concentration. If he takes longer than that it is a sign that his mind is vacillating between the problem at hand and other matters.”

  Jimmy Harder moved.

  With a gesture of triumphant satisfaction, the tall Chinese brought up another piece from an unexpected quarter, opening a line of attack from which there was no escape. Harder’s retreat was cut off. Another move, and he would be in check. Three more, and he would be mated.

  The bamboo pole moved swiftly. One of the peanut oil lamps smashed to the floor.

  The tall Chinese whirled in his chair. The long bamboo pole whipped to the other side of the cabin, groped uncertainly for a moment, and then the second lamp crashed to the floor.

  The room was plunged into inky darkness.

  Harder paused not. He lunged forward. The chess board crashed to the floor. The chess men rolled about on the hardwood. Harder caught the arm of the tall Chinese. He heard an exclamation of surprised rage, felt the haft of a knife in the man’s hand as Harder’s wrist slid down the silk-clad arm.

  The cabin door opened and closed. The tall Chinese thrust viciously with the knife. Harder jumped back, swung his left in a long circling punch, holding his right ready to crash home a straight from the shoulder follow-up.

  There was a mocking laugh in the darkness. His circling fist whizzed through empty atmosphere.

  Harder crouched close to the floor, groped forward, heard abruptly the sounds of swift struggle, the noise that might have been made by a plunging knife. Then a heavy body thudded to the teakwood planks.

  The darkness echoed with a chuckle and the voice of Mow Jie, speaking in Cantonese, said, “Come my master, the way is open.”

  Harder groped toward the sound of the voice, felt the fingers of the Cat Man on his arm. He was guided toward the door. The breath of night air which came through the opening struck him full in the face.

  “Quick!” Mow Jie said. “The sampan at the side—covered with black cloth!” Harder sprinted across the dark deck, saw a black blotch at the side, plunged into the sampan, crawled under the cloth. A moment later he felt the small craft bob about on the water as Mow Jie jumped to the stem. Then he heard the rhythmic sweep of the scull as the sampan moved away.

  “We must find the woman,” Harder

  cautioned from beneath the cloth. “Move toward the shore. There will be other sampans searching. I will call her name when we get near the shore.” Mow Jie said nothing. Harder heard the swish of the scull in the water, heard a sudden cry from the junk, then saw the flash of lights.

  After a few moments the voice of Mow Jie said, “We are near the shore, Master.”

  Harder emerged from under the black cloth, raised his voice, shouted, “Oh, Edith. Hello, Edith!”

  There was no response.

  Harder stared back in the direction of the junk. He could see the other junk which contained the munitions of war that Ballinger had agreed to deliver, could see the junk of the War Lord of Darkness, on which lights were now flitting busily about. He heard the sounds of struggle, the thud of blows, then an agonized cry which apparently came from the lips of Ballinger.

  Harder said to Mow Jie, “We need light. Scull toward the junk—the one with the contraband aboard.”

  “Toward the junk, First Born?” asked Mow Jie.

  “Yes.”

  Mow Jie wasted no time. He swung the sampan in a circle.

  “The black cloth will conceal us,” Harder said. “We have work to do.” His voice was grim and purposeful. The sampan slid smoothly over the water. Harder, keeping his voice low, said, “What happened to you, Mow Jie? I thought you were dead.”

  “The man,” said Mow Jie, “sees in the dark as well as I. He took me by surprise. I thought he was one of the crew. Before I knew what had happened they had me in the sampan, but I did not stay long. I went overboard, and as I went I left with those evil ones a memento of my visit. There is blood upon the deck of that sampan, First Born—blood which shows them they are not to trifle with Mow Jie, the Cat Man. And you? How did you get here?”