ergyman--and the change in his voice was
startling. "I am called to Nan-Yang. Only One may deter my going."

The admixture of deep spiritual reverence with intense truculence in
his voice was dissimilar from anything I ever had heard.

"Then only One can protect you," cried Smith, "for, by Heaven, no MAN
will be able to do so! Your presence in Ho-Nan can do no possible good
at present. It must do harm. Your experience in 1900 should be fresh
in your memory."

"Hard words, Mr. Smith."

"The class of missionary work which you favor, sir, is injurious to
international peace. At the present moment, Ho-Nan is a barrel of
gunpowder; you would be the lighted match. I do not willingly stand
between any man and what he chooses to consider his duty, but I insist
that you abandon your visit to the interior of China!"

"You insist, Mr. Smith?"

"As your guest, I regret the necessity for reminding you that I hold
authority to enforce it."

Denby fidgeted uneasily. The tone of the conversation was growing
harsh and the atmosphere of the library portentous with brewing storms.

There was a short, silent interval.

"This is what I had feared and expected," said the clergyman. "This
was my reason for not seeking official protection."

"The phantom Yellow Peril," said Nayland Smith, "to-day materializes
under the very eyes of the Western world."

"The 'Yellow Peril'!"

"You scoff, sir, and so do others. We take the proffered right hand of
friendship nor inquire if the hidden left holds a knife! The peace of
the world is at stake, Mr. Eltham. Unknowingly, you tamper with
tremendous issues."

Mr. Eltham drew a deep breath, thrusting both hands in his pockets.

"You are painfully frank, Mr. Smith," he said; "but I like you for it.
I will reconsider my position and talk this matter over again with you
to-morrow."

Thus, then, the storm blew over. Yet I had never experienced such an
overwhelming sense of imminent peril--of a sinister presence--as
oppressed me at that moment. The very atmosphere of Redmoat was
impregnated with Eastern devilry; it loaded the air like some evil
perfume. And then, through the silence, cut a throbbing scream--the
scream of a woman in direst fear.

"My God, it's Greba!" whispered Mr. Eltham.

CHAPTER VIII

IN what order we dashed down to the drawing-room I cannot recall. But
none was before me when I leaped over the threshold and saw Miss Eltham
prone by the French windo