green wall.
Suddenly the bridge gave way with many creakings and groanings and
Peter saw the moonlight upon the silvery white road beyond.

A group of figures, mounted on mules, with many pack-mules in
attendance, made a grotesque blot of shadow. Then a shrill scream.

Hoofs trampled hollowly upon the loose, rattling boards, and the
cavalcade marched in.

A slim figure in a long, gray cloak rode on the foremost mule. Peter,
aided by the black shadow, crept to her side.

"Miss Vost! Miss Vost!" he called softly. "It is Peter, Peter Moore!"

He heard her gasp in surprise, and her moan went into his heart like a
ragged knife.

Peter tried to keep abreast, but the red clay dragged him back. Behind
him some one shouted. They would emerge into the sharp moonlight in
another second.

"Help me! Oh, help me!" she sobbed. "He's following! He is too late!"

She was carried out into the moonlight. At the same time, countless
figures seemed to rise from the ground--from nowhere--and in every
direction Peter was blocked. The stench of Len Yang's miserable
inhabitants crept from these figures upon the chill night air.

Naked, unclean shoulders brushed him; moist, slimy hands pressed him
back. But he was not harmed; he was simply pushed backward and
backward until his bare foot encountered the first board of the bridge
which was still lowered.

Behind him an order was hissed. He placed his back to the surging
shadows. Coils of heavy rope were unfolding. The drawbridge was being
raised.

Down the white road, veering drunkenly from one side to the other, came
a leaping black dot.

The drawbridge creaked, the ropes became taut, and the far end lifted
an inch at a time.

Peter shouted, but no one heeded him. His breath pumped in and out of
his lungs in short, anguished gulps. He leaped out upon the bridge,
and shouted again. The creaking ceased; the span became stationary.

The drunken dot leaped into the form of a giant upon a galloping mule
which swept upon them in a confusion of dust. Hoofs pounded on the
bridge; the giant on the mule drew rein, and to Peter it was given to
look upon the face of the man he thought dead. The raging eyes of
Bobbie MacLaurin swept from his face to his muddy feet.

"Moore! Where have they taken her?" ripped out the giant on the mule.

"Dismount and follow me. To the white palace! Are you armed?"

"And ready to shoot every dam' yellow snake in all of China!"

He