The figures
flitting before her were gnomelike. She saw clearly only the old man who
led her, holding her tightly by the arm. She knew that the Chinaman was
dragging Chess behind them, as though that unfortunate young man was a
sack of potatoes.

This outcome of their innocent adventure was entirely different from
anything Ruth had dreamed of. If she did not exactly fear the queer old
man who called himself the King of the Pipes, she certainly did fear the
men who were with him in this cavern.

CHAPTER XXI

IN THE CHINESE DEN

It was several minutes before Ruth could accustom her sight to the
uncertain, flickering flame of the torches with which the cavern was
illuminated. There was, too, a small fire on a stone hearth and above it
a stone and cement chimney that portrayed ingenuity in its building.

The cavern was a natural one, but man had made of it a not impossible
habitation. She felt rugs under her feet as she was drawn along by the
King of the Pipes, and when her eyes became accustomed to the half-gloom
of the place she saw that there were several low tables and a couch or
two, the latter likewise covered with rugs.

Not only had some ingenuity been expended in fitting up the cave, but the
furnishings must have occasioned the expenditure of considerable money.
It was not at all the sort of place that she would have expected the
queer old man to occupy on the lonely island.

She was so much interested in Chessleigh's state, however, that she gave
small attention to these other things. When she could break away from the
King of the Pipes she flung herself down upon her knees beside the
recumbent young man and raised his head in her arms.

Chess had received a hard blow from the Chinaman's club. And he had not
uttered a word. The latter fact caused Ruth more alarm than anything
else. She feared that he was very badly injured, although he was not
insensible.

But there was no blood on his head and face. She passed her hand swiftly
over his crown and found an unmistakable lump there, a lump raised by the
blow. But, looking more closely into his half open eyes she saw more
intelligence in their expression than she expected.

Indeed, as she peered closely at him she distinctly saw him wink his left
eye, and this act, with the bright look in his eyes, warned her that
Copley was playing possum.

Having been felled by the blow, and feeling himself out-matched by the
Chinamen who had come jabbering to