Bishop was aroused from his meditations. His Chinese
servant approached deferentially. "Man want see Master," he explained
laconically, with the imperturbability of the East.

"What like man?" enquired the Bishop, in pidgin English. "China man,"
came the response. "Must see Master. All belong velly important."

A quick foreboding possessed the Bishop, even in this hour of his
tranquillity.

"Show him here," he replied, after a second's consideration. A tall
figure appeared before him, bowing. A lean, very dirty Chinese, who
bowed repeatedly. In spite of the Oriental repression of feeling, it
was plain that he was troubled. He extended a lean, claw-like hand,
with a long and very dirty nail on the little finger, and offered a
soiled letter to the Bishop.

"Velly important. All belong much tlouble," he explained, and tucked
his hands well inside his long blue sleeves, and stood by impassively,
while the Bishop received the letter, crumpled and soiled, as if
carried for a long time in a pocket. He turned it over and found it
addressed to himself. There was no stamp. The handwriting was
Walker's. The Bishop started erect in his long chair, and then sprang
up, straddling it as usual.

"Where get this?" he asked excitedly. The impassive Chinese bowed once
more.

"Say come quick. Letter velly important. Letter belong you. No police.
My savee you want letter now." He backed away, still bowing. With a
sweep of his arm he indicated the dark night outside.

"You come quick," he repeated, "or call police." By the light of a
lamp which his obsequious but curious Chinese servant carried in, the
Bishop tore open Walker's letter, read it, then crushed it hurriedly
into his pocket.

"Come quick," reiterated the unknown Chinese, "I got lickshaw." The
Bishop strode forward across the verandah, snatching at his hat as he
went, and then hastened across the lawn with hurried steps, followed
by the Chinese pacing rapidly behind him. Two rickshaws were waiting
under the street lamp, two shabby rickshaws. Yet somehow, the Bishop
did not care for his own private conveyance at this moment, did not
wish the sharp, inquisitive eyes of his runners to follow him just
then. He mounted hastily, and the coolies started off with a will, the
Chinese leading the way. Even in that moment of anxiety, the Bishop
was aware that the Chinese was leading the way, was conscious that the
place of honour was not his--for the first time in his life, his
ve