the panel. Running water. The fool had time to take a
bath!

A plan flashed into his head. Why not end the affair here and now, and
reap the glory for himself? What mattered the net if the fish swam into
your hand? Wasn't this particularly his affair? It was the end, not the
means. A close touch in Hong-Kong, but the fool had slipped away. But
there, in the next room, assured that he had escaped--it would be
easy. The squat man tiptoed to the window. Luck of luck, there was a
fire-escape platform! He would let half an hour pass, then he would
act. The ape, with his British mannerisms! Death to the breed, root and
branch! He sat down to wait.

On the other side of the wall the bather finished his ablutions. His
body was graceful, vigorous, and youthful, tinted a golden bronze. His
nose was hawky; his eyes a Latin brown, alert and roving, though there
was a hint of weariness in them, the pressure of long, racking hours of
ceaseless vigilance. His top hair was a glossy black inclined to curl;
but the four days' growth of beard was as blond as a ripe chestnut burr.
In spite of this mark of vagabondage there were elements of beauty
in the face. The expanse of the brow and the shape of the head were
intellectual. The mouth was pleasure-loving, but the nose and the jaw
neutralized this.

After he had towelled himself he reached down for a brown leather pouch
which lay on the three-legged bathroom stool. It was patently a tobacco
pouch, but there was evidently something inside more precious than
Saloniki. He held the pouch on his palm and stared at it as if it
contained some jinn clamouring to be let out. Presently he broke away
from this fascination and rocked his body, eyes closed--like a man
suffering unremitting pain.

"God's curse on them!" he whispered, opening his eyes. He raised the
pouch swiftly, as though he intended dashing it to the tiled floor; but
his arm sank gently. After all, he would be a fool to destroy them. They
were future bread and butter.

He would soon have their equivalent in money--money that would bring
back no terrible recollections.

Strange that every so often, despite the horror, he had to take them out
and gaze at them. He sat down upon the stool, spread a towel across his
knees, and opened the pouch. He drew out a roll of cotton wool, which he
unrolled across the towel. Flames! Blue flames, red, yellow, violet, and
green--precious stones, many of them with histories that reached back
i