his dyed hair, blanched by the terrors of that vigil--of that watching,
from moment to moment, for the second coming of Ho-Pin.

Yes, the morning had dawned, and with it a faint courage. He had shaved
and prepared himself for his singular duties, and Said had brought
him his breakfast as usual. The day had passed uneventfully, and once,
meeting Ho-Pin, he had found himself greeted with the same mirthless
smile but with no menace. Perhaps they had believed his story, or had
disbelieved it but realized that he was too closely bound to them to be
dangerous.

Then his mind had reverted to the conversation overheard in the
music-hall. Should he seek to curry favor with his employers by
acquainting them with the fact that, contrary to Gianapolis' assertion,
an important clue had fallen into the hands of the police? Did they
know this already? So profound was his belief in the omniscience of
the invisible Mr. King that he could not believe that Power ignorant of
anything appertaining to himself.

Yet it was possible that those in the catacombs were unaware how
Scotland Yard, night and day, quested for Mr. King. The papers made no
mention of it; but then the papers made no mention of another fact--the
absence of Mrs. Leroux. Now that he was no longer panic-ridden, he
could mentally reconstruct that scene of horror, could hear again,
imaginatively, the shrieks of the maltreated woman. Perhaps this same
active imagination of his was playing him tricks, but, her voice...
Always he preferred to dismiss these ideas.

He feared Ho-Pin in the same way that an average man fears a tarantula,
and he was only too happy to avoid the ever smiling Chinaman; so that
the days passed on, and, finding himself unmolested and the affairs of
the catacombs proceeding apparently as usual, he kept his information to
himself, uncertain if he shared it with his employers or otherwise, but
hesitating to put the matter to the test--always fearful to approach
Ho-Pin, the beetlesque.

But this could not continue indefinitely; at least he must speak
to Ho-Pin in order to obtain leave of absence. For, since that
unforgettable night, he had lived the life of a cave-man indeed, and
now began to pine for the wider vault of heaven. Meeting the impassive
Chinaman in the corridor one morning, on his way to valet one of the
living dead, Soames ventured to stop him.

"Excuse me, sir," he said, confusedly, "but would there be any objection
to my going out on Fr