en Slattin moved, a big diamond which he wore upon the
third finger of his right hand glittered magnificently. There was a sort
of bluish tint underlying the dusky skin, noticeable even in his hands
but proclaiming itself significantly in his puffy face and especially
under the eyes. I diagnosed a laboring valve somewhere in the heart
system.

Nayland Smith's pen scratched on. My glance strayed from our Semitic
caller to his cane, lying upon the red leather before me. It was of most
unusual workmanship, apparently Indian, being made of some kind of dark
brown, mottled wood, bearing a marked resemblance to a snake's skin; and
the top of the cane was carved in conformity, to represent the head
of what I took to be a puff-adder, fragments of stone, or beads, being
inserted to represent the eyes, and the whole thing being finished with
an artistic realism almost startling.

When Smith had tossed the written page to Slattin, and he, having read
it with an appearance of carelessness, had folded it neatly and placed
it in his pocket, I said:

"You have a curio here?"

Our visitor, whose dark eyes revealed all the satisfaction which, by his
manner, he sought to conceal, nodded and took up the cane in his hand.

"It comes from Australia, Doctor," he replied; "it's aboriginal work,
and was given to me by a client. You thought it was Indian? Everybody
does. It's my mascot."

"Really?"

"It is indeed. Its former owner ascribed magical powers to it! In
fact, I believe he thought that it was one of those staffs mentioned in
biblical history--"

"Aaron's rod?" suggested Smith, glancing at the cane.

"Something of the sort," said Slattin, standing up and again preparing
to depart.

"You will 'phone us, then?" asked my friend.

"You will hear from me to-morrow," was the reply.

Smith returned to the cane armchair, and Slattin, bowing to both of us,
made his way to the door as I rang for the girl to show him out.

"Considering the importance of his proposal," I began, as the door
closed, "you hardly received our visitor with cordiality."

"I hate to have any relations with him," answered my friend; "but we
must not be squeamish respecting our instruments in dealing with Dr.
Fu-Manchu. Slattin has a rotten reputation--even for a private inquiry
agent. He is little better than a blackmailer--"

"How do you know?"

"Because I called on our friend Weymouth at the Yard yesterday and
looked up the man's record."

"Whatev