CHAPTER XII

The shadows were lengthening, the sky was of a deeper and vaster blue,

when the train came to a creaking stop in the Kowloon Station.

Peter emerged, scanning the passengers warily, but catching not a

glimpse of his red-faced enemy. What did that one have in store for

him now? This chase was becoming a game of hide-and-seek. But in Hong

Kong he would feel safer. Hong Kong was a haunt of civilized men and

of able Sikh policemen, who detested the yellow men of China.

He took the ferry-boat across the bay to the city, which rose tier upon

tier of white from the purple water; and he made his way afoot to the

American consulate.

With auspicious celerity the sad-eyed clerk bowed him into the presence

of an elderly gentleman with white side whiskers and an inveterate

habit of stroking a long and angular nose.

This personage permitted his shrewd, grave eyes to take in Peter from

his blond hair to his tan walking shoes, and with a respectful mien

Peter prepared his wits for a sharp and digging cross-examination.

"I have been advised," began the American consul, giving to Peter's

blue eyes a look of curiosity in which was mingled not a little

unconcealed admiration, as he might have looked upon the person of

Pancho Villa, had that other miscreant stepped into his gloomy

office--"I have been advised," he repeated importantly, "by the

commander of the auxiliary cruiser _Buffalo_ that you contemplated a

visit to Hong Kong."

He sank back and stared, and it took Peter several moments to become

aware that the content of the remark was not nearly so important as its

pronunciation. The remark was somewhat obvious. The American consul

desired Peter to make the opening.

Peter inclined his head as he slowly digested the statement.

"I was told by Commander Eckles to report to you," he replied

respectfully, "for orders."

The American consul laid his hands firmly upon the edge of the mahogany

desk.

"My orders, Mr. Moore, are that you leave China immediately. I

trust----"

"Why?" said Peter in a dry voice.

"That is a matter which, unfortunately, I cannot discuss with you. The

order comes, I am permitted to inform you, from the highest of

diplomatic quarters. To be exact, from Peking, and from the American

ambassador, to be more specific."

It was crystal clear to Peter that the American consul was not

cognizant of what might be behind those orders from the American

ambassador; yet his face, for all of its diplomatic masking, told Peter

plainly that the American consul was not entirely averse to learning.

"Have I been interfering with the lawful pursuits of the Chinese

Empire?" he inquired ironically.

The American consul stroked his long nose pensively.

"Well--perhaps," he said. "On the whole, that is something you can

best explain yourself, Mr. Moore. If you should care to give me your

side of the question, ah----"

"I haven't a thing to say," rejoined Peter. "If the United States

Government chooses to believe that my presence is inimical to its

interests in China----"

"Pressure might have been brought to bear from another quarter."

"Quite so," admitted Peter.

"Now, if you should desire to make me acquainted with your pursuits

during the past--ah--few months, let us say, it is within the bounds of

possibility that I might somehow rescind this drastic--ah--order.

Suffice it to say, that I shall be glad to put my every power at your

aid. As you are an American, it is my duty and my pleasure, sir, if

you will permit me, to do all within my power, my somewhat restricted

power, if I may qualify that statement, to reinstate you in the good

graces of those--ah--good gentlemen in Peking."

It was all too evident that, back and beyond the friendly intentions of

this official, was a hungry desire for information regarding this young

man whose dark activities had been recognized by the high powers to an

extent sufficient to set in motion the complicated and bulky wheels of

diplomacy.

Peter shook his head respectfully, and the consul permitted his

reluctantly admiring and inquisitive gaze to travel up and down the

romantic and now international figure.

"I am able to say nothing," he expressed himself quietly. "If the

American ambassador has decreed that I ought to go home--home I go!

I'll confess right now that I did not intend to go home when I stepped

into this office, but I do respect, and I will respect, the authority

of that order."

"If the President, for example, should request you to

continue--ah--what you have been doing, for the good, let us say, of

humanity, you would continue without hesitation, Mr. Moore?"

Peter gave the long, pale face a sharp scrutiny. Did this

innocent-faced man know more than he intimated, or was he merely

applying the soft, velvet screws of diplomacy, endeavoring to squeeze

out a little information?

"I certainly would."

The consul rose, with a bland smile, and extended his hand.

"It has been gratifying to know one who has become such a singular,

and, permit me to add, such a trying figure, in diplomatic circles,

during the past week. Good-day, sir!"

Peter walked down Desvoeux road in a state of mental detachment. A

week! Only a week had passed since he had sailed from Batavia, a week

since he had thrown overboard the emissary of the Gray Dragon. He

concluded that in more than one way could his presence be dismissed

from the land of darkness and distrust.

How had the Gray Dragon brought pressure upon the American ambassador,

a man of the highest repute, of sterling and patriotic qualities? The

answer seemed to be, that the coils of the Gray Dragon extended

everywhere, like an inky fluid which had leaked into every crevice and

crack of all Asia.

He was still under orders to pay a visit to J. B. Whalen, the Marconi

supervisor. That cross-examination he was glad to postpone.

He called at the office of the Pacific Mail, and found that the _King

of Asia_ was due to leave for the United States the following morning

at dawn. He made a deposit on a reservation.