agined them clasped
about her white throat, and her very soul seemed to shrink from the man
who stood there looking at her with those long, magnetic, inscrutable
eyes.

She wondered why she was surprised, and suddenly realized that it was
because of the expression in his eyes, for it was an expression of cold
anger. Then the intruder spoke.

"Who are you?" he demanded, speaking with an accent which was unfamiliar
to her, but in a voice which was not unlike the voice of Lou Chada. "Who
brought you here?"

This was so wholly unexpected that for a moment she found herself unable
to reply, but finally:

"How dare you!" she cried, her native courage reasserting itself. "I
have been drugged and brought to this place. You shall pay for it. How
dare you!"

"Ah!" The long, dark eyes regarded her unmovingly. "But who are you?"

"I am Lady Rourke. Open the door. You shall bitterly regret this
outrage."

"You are Lady Rourke?" the man repeated. "Before you speak of regrets,
answer the question which I have asked: Who brought you here?"

"Lou Chada."

"Ah!" There was no alteration of pose, no change of expression, but
slightly the intonation had varied.

"I don't know who you are, but I demand to be released from this place
instantly."

The man standing before the curtained door slightly inclined his head.

"You shall be released," he replied, "but not instantly. I will see the
one who brought you here. He may not be entirely to blame. Before you
leave we shall understand one another."

Tone and glance were coldly angry. Then, before the frightened woman
could say another word, the man in the blue robe robe withdrew, the
curtain was dropped again, and she heard the grating of a key in the
lock. She ran to the door, beating upon it with her clenched hands.

"Let me go!" she cried, half hysterically. "Let me go! You shall pay for
this! Oh, you shall pay for this!"

No one answered, and, turning, she leaned back against the curtain,
breathing heavily and fighting for composure, for strength.

IV

ZANI CHADA, THE EURASIAN

"I can't help thinking, Chief Inspector," said the officer in charge at
Limehouse Station, "that you take unnecessary risks."

"Can't you?" said Kerry, tilting his bowler farther forward and staring
truculently at the speaker.

"No, I can't. Since you cleaned up the dope gang down here you've been
a marked man. These murders in the Chinatown area, of which this one
to-night makes