ith the perfume of jasmine swimming over and
about his head and the goodly Book of Confucius on his knees.

A thudding sound--that wasn't the wind. Ling Foo looked over his buttons.
He saw a human face outside the door; a beautiful boy's face--white. That
was the first impression. But as he stared he saw a man's fury destroy the
boyish stamp--gestures that demanded admission.

But Ling Foo shook his head with equal emphasis. He would not go near that
door again this night.

The man outside shook his fists threateningly, wheeled, and strode off.
Three strides took him out of sight; but Ling Foo, with a damp little
chill on his spine, remarked that the visitor limped.

So! This would be the man who had carried the bloody head and shoulders of
the unknown.

Oriental curiosity blazed up and over Ling Foo's distaste. What was it all
about? Why had the limping man returned and demanded entrance? What had
they done with the body? Pearls! The thought struck him as a blow. He
began to understand something of the episode. Pearls! The beaten man had
heard that sometimes Ling Foo of Woosung Road dealt in pearls without
being overcurious. A falling out among thieves, and one had tried to
betray his confederates, paying grimly for it. Pearls!

He trotted down to the door and peered into the night, but he could see
nothing. He wished now that he had purchased those window curtains such as
the white merchants used over on the Bund. Every move he made could be
seen from across the way, and the man who limped might be lurking there,
watching.

The man had come to him with pearls, but he had not been quick enough.
What had he done with them? The man with the slue-foot would not have
returned had he found the pearls on his moribund partner. That was sound
reasoning. Ling Foo's heart contracted, then expanded and began to beat
like a bird's wing. In here somewhere--on the floor!

He turned away from the door without haste. His Oriental mind worked
quickly and smoothly. He would tramp back and forth the length of the shop
as if musing, but neither nook nor crevice should escape his eye. He was
heir to these pearls. Slue-Foot--for so Ling Foo named his visitor--would
not dare molest him, since he, Ling Foo, could go to the authorities and
state that murder had been done. Those tiger eyes in a boy's face! His
spine grew cold.

Nevertheless, he set about his game. With his hands in his sleeves, his
chin down, he paced the passage betw