, as in the outer apartment, an electric light
was burning. No window was discoverable, and not even an opening for
ventilation purposes. The latter fact he might have deduced from the
stagnation of the atmosphere.

Half an hour or more he spent in this fashion, without having discovered
anything beyond the secret of the observation trap. Again he took out
his pocket-knife, which was a large one with a handsome mother-o'-pearl
handle. Although Mr. Ho-Pin had examined this carefully, he had solved
only half of its secrets. M. Max extracted a little pair of tweezers
from the slot in which they were lodged--as Ho-Pin had not neglected
to do; but Ho-Pin, having looked at the tweezers, had returned them to
their place: M. Max did not do so. He opened the entire knife as though
it had been a box, and revealed within it a tiny set of appliances
designed principally for the desecration of locks!

Selecting one of these, he took up his watch from the table upon which
it lay, and approached the door. It possessed a lever handle of the
Continental pattern, and M. Max silently prayed that this might not be
a snare and a delusion, but that the lock below might be of the same
manufacture.

In order to settle the point, he held the face of his watch close to
the keyhole, wound its knob in the wrong direction, and lo! it became an
electric lamp!

One glance he cast into the tiny cavity, then dropped back upon the
bunk, twisting his mobile mouth in that half smile at once humorous and
despairful.

"Nom d'un p'tit bonhomme!--a Yale!" he muttered. "To open that without
noise is impossible! Damn!"

M. Max threw himself back upon the pillow, and for an hour afterward lay
deep in silent reflection.

He had cigarettes in his case and should have liked to smoke, but feared
to take the risk of scenting the air with a perfume so unorthodox.

He had gained something by his exploit, but not all that he had hoped
for; clearly his part now was to await what the morning should bring.

XXXII

BLUE BLINDS

Morning brought the silent opening of the door, and the entrance of
Said, the Egyptian, bearing a tiny Chinese tea service upon a lacquered
tray.

But M. Max lay in a seemingly deathly stupor, and from this the
impassive Oriental had great difficulty in arousing him. Said, having
shaken some symptoms of life into the limp form of M. Max, filled the
little cup with fragrant China tea, and, supporting the dazed man, held
the be