ely together, the woman stood looking up at
him.

"Oh, thank God!" said the captive. "But what are you going to do? Can
you get me out?"

"Don't worry," replied Dan confidently. "Father and I can manage it all
right!"

He performed a singular contortion, as a result of which his other leg
and foot appeared inside the window. Then, twisting around, he lowered
himself and dropped triumphantly upon a cushioned divan. At that moment
he would have faced a cage full of man-eating tigers. The spirit of
adventure had him in its grip. He stood up, breathing rapidly, his crop
of red hair more dishevelled than usual.

Then, before he could stir or utter any protest, the golden-haired
princess whom he had come to rescue stooped, threw her arms around his
neck, and kissed him.

"You darling, brave boy!" she said. "I think you have saved me from
madness."

Young Kerry, more flushed than ever, extricated himself, and:

"You're not out of the mess yet," he protested. "The only difference is
that I'm in it with you!"

"But where is your father?"

"I'm looking for him."

"What!"

"Oh! he's about somewhere," Dan assured her confidently.

"But, but----" She was gazing at him wide-eyed, "Didn't he send you
here?"

"You bet he didn't," returned young Kerry. "I came here on my own
accord, and when I go you're coming with me. I can't make out how you
got here, anyway. Do you know whose house this is?"

"Oh, I do, I do!"

"Whose?"

"It belongs to a man called Chada."

"Chada? Never heard of him. But I mean, what part of London is it in?"

"Whatever do you mean? It is in Limehouse, I believe. I don't
understand. You came here."

"I didn't," said young Kerry cheerfully; "I was fetched!"

"By your father?"

"Not on your life. By a couple of Chinks! I'll tell you something."
He raised his twinkling blue eyes. "We are properly up against it. I
suppose you couldn't climb down a rain-pipe?"

VII

RETRIBUTION

It was that dark, still, depressing hour of the night, when all life
is at its lowest ebb. In the low, strangely perfumed room of books Zani
Chada sat before his table, his yellow hands clutching the knobs on his
chair arms, his long, inscrutable eyes staring unseeingly before him.

Came a disturbance and the sound of voices, and Lou Chada, his son,
stood at the doorway. He still wore his evening clothes, but he no
longer looked smart. His glossy black hair was dishevelled, and his
handsome, olive fa