projected it nicely through the bedlam of
engine-room noises. "Why you up so early--or so late? Anything wrong?"

Peter took out a cigarette and nervously lighted it at the sputtering
flame Minion held for him. "Mr. Minion, something's in the wind," he
complained, and hesitated. He was at the verge of telling what he had
seen on the promenade deck, of the confusion on the pierhead, of the
unaccountable behavior of the woman in the window above Ah Sih King's,
of the suspicious attitude of Blanchard, of the recent plea for help.
Again something checked him.

"Mr. Minion, what is Len Yang? And where is it?"

The scythe-like brows contracted. Minion's lucid, brown eyes rested on
his lips, seeming to await an elaboration of the query. His features
suddenly had stiffened. His whole attitude appeared on the moment to
have undergone a change, from one of friendly interest to a keen
defensiveness.

"Len Yang is a city in China. Why?"

The operator suspected that Minion was sparring for time.

"Where is Len Yang?"

"Do you mean, how does one reach Len Yang?"

"Either."

"Mr. Moore"--the suspicion fell from the chief's expression, leaving it
calm and grave--"you are not an amateur. You have discretion. The man
who controls Len Yang is the _Vandalia's_ owner."

"Why, I understood the Pacific and Western Atlantic Transport Line
owned her!"

"This man--he is a Chinese. Oh, I've never seen him, Mr. Moore. One
of the richest of China's unknown aristocrats, the central power of the
cinnabar ring. You have never gone up the river with us to load at
Soo-chow?"

Peter shook his head. "Cinnabar from his mine is brought down the
Yangtze on junks and transferred at Soo-chow?"

Minion seemed not to be listening. His eyes were stagnant with an
appalling retrospect. "A terrible place--horrible! Five years ago I
visited Len Yang. Hideous people with staring eyes, dripping the
blood-red slime of the mines! And girls! Young girls! Beautiful--for
a while." He sighed. "They work in that vicious hole!"

"Young girls?" Peter exclaimed.

"Imported. From everywhere. I tried to find why. There is no
explanation. They come--they work--they become hideous--they die! It
is his habit. No one understands. Poor things!"

Peter was staring at him narrowly. "Quite sure he imports them to work
in the mines?"

Minion nodded vehemently. "I made sure of that. I went up the river
as _his_ guest. Trouble with t