Ill
WE GO TO SIAN
he looked as though he had just come out of prison.
But in China that is not so very unusual.
A slight, somehow crumpled figure, in a dark coat
with a fur collar humped around his ears. He kept his
hat on, even in the hotel lounge. There were lines of
strain around the mouth, and his eyes wandered rest-
lessly, fastening upon unfamiliar objects.
He smoked incessantly, with nervous gestures of
his fine hands. His face was thin, and very intellectual.
He had a charming smile* Rather incongruously, he
wore lavender-coloured spats.
He was introduced by the name of Chou, and that
was all we knew about him. That night, in spite of
obvious nervous tension, he made an impression of
complete indifference to personal danger. This, as we
were to learn, was his most characteristic quality.
I had stuffed a few clothes — mostly woollen
sweaters and heavy underwear—into a rucksack, and
rolled up a pair of boots and riding-breeches in a silk-
lined bedding-roll. (The last was a kind of protection
against the typhus-bearing lice that are most com-
mon in North-west China during the winter months,)
I thought this was travelling light, but came later to
regret the amount of luggage I had with me.
We arrived at the West Station with ten minutes to
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