e stood swaying... and looking into the
face of MR. KING!

Soames' body already was as rigid as it would be in death; his mind was
numbed--useless. But his outraged soul forced utterance from the lips of
the man.

A scream, a scream to have made the angels shudder, to have inspired
pity in the devils of Hell, burst from him. Two yellow hands leaped at
his throat....

XXXVIII

THE SECRET TRAPS

Gaston Max, from his silken bed in the catacombs of Ho-Pin, watched the
hand of his watch which lay upon the little table beside him. Already it
was past two o'clock, and no sign had come from Soames; a hundred times
his imagination had almost tricked him into believing that the door was
opening; but always the idea had been illusory and due to the purple
shadow of the lamp-shade which overcast that side of the room and the
door.

He had experienced no difficulty in arranging with Gianapolis to occupy
the same room as formerly; and, close student of human nature though he
was, he had been unable to detect in the Greek's manner, when they
had met that night, the slightest restraint, the slightest evidence of
uneasiness. His reception by Ho-Pin had varied scarce one iota from that
accorded him on his first visit to the cave of the golden dragon. The
immobile Egyptian had brought him the opium, and had departed silently
as before. On this occasion, the trap above the bed had not been opened.
But hour after hour had passed, uneventfully, silently, in that still,
suffocating room....

A key in the lock!--yes, a key was being inserted in the lock! He
must take no unnecessary risks; it might be another than Soames. He
waited--the faint sound of fumbling ceased. Still, he waited, listening
intently.

Half-past-two. If it had been Soames, why had he withdrawn? M. Max arose
noiselessly and looked about him. He was undecided what to do, when...

Two shots, followed by a most appalling shriek--the more frightful
because it was muffled; the shriek of a man in extremis, of one who
stands upon the brink of Eternity, brought him up rigid, tense,
with fists clenched, with eyes glaring; wrought within this fearless
investigator an emotion akin to terror.

Just that one gruesome cry there was and silence again.

What did it mean?

M. Max began hastily to dress. He discovered, in endeavoring to fasten
his collar, that his skin was wet with cold perspiration.

"Pardieu!" he said, twisting his mouth into that wry smile, "I kno