ff, a door opened in the wall opposite, dull light from
behind disclosed the silhouette of a man in Chinese robes, his head
inclined in a bow of courteous dignity.

In good English but with musical Eastern inflection a voice gave greeting:

"Good evening, Thirteen. You are awaited--and welcome!"

"Good evening, Shaik Tsin," the European replied in heavy un-English
accents. "Number One is here, yes?"

"Not yet. But we have just received a telautographic message saying he is
on his way."

Nodding impatiently, Thirteen passed through the door, which the Chinaman
quickly closed and barred.

The chamber to which one gained admittance by ways so devious and fantastic
was large--exactly how large it was difficult to guess, since all its walls
were screened by black silk panels upon which golden dragons writhed and
crawled. A thick carpet of black covered every inch of visible floor space,
a black silk canopy hid the ceiling, and all the room was in deep shadow
save the space immediately beneath a great lamp of opalescent glass,
likewise draped in black.

Here stood an octagonal table of black teakwood, on seven sides of which
seven chairs were placed. When Thirteen had taken his seat all these were
occupied. On the eighth side an eighth chair stood empty on a low dais, the
heavy carving of its high back, its massive arms and legs, picked out with
gold.

The six who had anticipated Thirteen at this bizarre rendezvous hailed him
as a familiar, according to their several idiosyncrasies, brusquely,
indifferently, or with some semblance of cordiality. They made a motley
crew.

Two were Englishman in appearance, though the figure of languid elegance in
evening dress that might have graced the lounge of a West End club had a
voice soft with Celtic brogue. The other owned a gross body clothed in loud
checks and, with his mean blue eyes, his mottled complexion, and cunning
leer, would not have seemed out of place in a betting-ring.

Aside from these there were a moon-faced Bengali babu, a dark Italian with
flashing eyes and teeth, and a stout person of bovine Teutonic cast--the
type that is sage, shrewd, easy-going when unopposed, but capable under
provocation of exhibiting the most conscienceless brutality.

From this last Thirteen got his warmest welcome.

"You are late, mine friend."

"In good time, however," Thirteen responded with a nod toward the vacant
chair. "More than that, the summons was handed me only twenty