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father’s shadow. Into what unsavory paths his devotion led him I don’t know. My father’s activities were many—there was talk of the opium trade in those days. No doubt Hung was a useful go-between. Twice he saved my father’s life when it was attempted by revengeful members of Hung’s own race.
“To-day, on his fiftieth birthday, as you can see, his long period of slavery—there is no other word—was ended. I know my father had grown very fond of Hung, and there was in his nature an odd sentimental streak that no doubt led him to hit on the birthday party as a fitting climax to all those years of devotion. Probably it was not so much to honor Hung that he lit the fifty candles on the cake; he wanted to call the attention of the world to the remarkable loyalty that he had inspired and, in honoring Hung, honor himself.” Mark Drew paused. “That’s all, Sergeant. I’m afraid I haven’t helped you much, at that.”
