In the quilez I laughed at myself for allowing a prying old man like Meeker to upset my temper, and, as I rode back to the hotel, put the both of them out of my mind; but promised myself that I would take my revenge on the old pest in some way aboard the steamer.

My bag was packed again, and I was ready for tiffin and then an afternoon nap, to be called in time to catch the steamer.  My telephone rang, and I hastened to answer it, expecting orders from the cable-office, and hoping that London had decided, after all, to send me after the Baltic fleet to the south, rather than to Hong-Kong.

“Is this Mr. Trenholm?  This is the steamship office, Mr. Trenholm.  We wish to inform you that the Kut Sang has been delayed until to-morrow morning for cargo which did not get in to-day.  Sails to-morrow sure.”

It made little difference to me, and I would be glad to have a night’s sleep ashore after the rice-steamer.  However, it would be wise to have the exact sailing-time of the Kut Sang, so I rang up the steamship office and asked, not wishing to run the risk of getting to the mole and finding the steamer gone.

“She sails this afternoon at five, as noted on the board,” was the startling response to my query.  I was so taken aback for a second that I didn’t know what to think or say.  I remarked into the telephone that somebody in the steamship office must take me for a fool, and that I did not consider such things jokes.

No, they had not telephoned me the sailing was delayed; couldn’t say who had; certainly no one in the steamship office could think of doing such a thing, which sounded reasonable enough; knew nothing whatever about a delay, and were quite perturbed to hear I had been told there was; had no idea how it happened, but there was no doubt the Kut Sang would sail on schedule time, for the stevedore was there in the office at that minute getting lading-slips signed, and he knew of no delay.

“Meeker’s little joke is going too far,” I decided, after I had hung up the receiver.  “I think there are a few words I can say to him that will convince him I am not to be trifled with in this manner.”

Seizing my cap, I pulled the door open abruptly and almost fell over the little red-headed beggar lurking near my room.  He darted down the stairway, and I leaped after him.

CHAPTER III

THE SPY AND THE DEAD BOATSWAIN

Three steps at a time I took the matted stairway, which was reckless speed, for the shell-paned windows were shut, and the awnings pulled down to keep out the heat of the blinding sun, making it quite dark.  But I was bound to capture the little red-headed man, thrash him soundly, make him tell his motive in trailing me, and turn him over to the police.

I caught the indistinct figure of a man in white coming up, and threw myself to one side to avoid him, but he stumbled in front of me, and we went sprawling into the corridor below.  It was a nasty spill, and I shot out on the matting at full length with my hands thrown before me.  The polished teak-wood floor and the loose matting saved me from injury.