ed the other slowly, and with a repetition
of the weary upraising of his hand to his head, "it is fairly evident
that the garage used by the man Gianapolis must be very near to--most
probably adjoining--the entrance to this place of which you speak."

"Quite true," agreed the Frenchman. "But these are clever, these people
of Mr. King. They are Chinese, remember, and the Chinese--ah, I know
it!--are the most mysterious and most cunning people in the world.
The entrance to the cave of black and gold will not be as wide as a
cathedral door. A thousand men might search this garage, which, as
Detective Sowerby" (he clapped the latter on the shoulder) "informed me
this afternoon, is situated in Wharf-End Lane--all day and all night,
and become none the wiser. To-morrow evening"--he lowered his voice--"I
myself, shall be not outside, but inside that secret place; I shall
be the concierge for one night--Eh bien, that concierge will admit the
policeman!"

A groan issued from Dr. Cumberly's lips; and M. Max, with ready
sympathy, crossed the room and placed his hands upon the physician's
shoulders, looking steadfastly into his eyes.

"I understand, Dr. Cumberly," he said, and his voice was caressing as
a woman's. "Pardieu! I understand. To wait is agony; but you, who are
a physician, know that to wait sometimes is necessary. Have courage, my
friend, have courage!"

XXXVII

THE WHISTLE

Luke Soames, buttoning up his black coat, stood in the darkness,
listening.

His constitutional distaste for leaping blindfolded had been over-ridden
by circumstance. He felt himself to be a puppet of Fate, and he drifted
with the tide because he lacked the strength to swim against it. That
will-o'-the-wisp sense of security which had cheered him when first he
had realized how much he owed to the protective wings of Mr. King had
been rudely extinguished upon the very day of its birth; he had learnt
that Mr. King was a sinister protector; and almost hourly he lived again
through the events of that night when, all unwittingly, he had become a
witness of strange happenings in the catacombs.

Soames had counted himself a lost man that night; the only point which
he had considered debatable was whether he should be strangled or
poisoned. That his employers were determined upon his death, he was
assured; yet he had lived through the night, had learnt from his watch
that the morning was arrived... and had seen the flecks at the roots of