nd a
key to shift the two locks with which it was fastened.

The contents of the box were few. Ling Chu's wardrobe was not an
extensive one and did little more than half fill the receptacle. Very
carefully he lifted out the one suit of clothes, the silk shirts, the
slippers and the odds and ends of the Chinaman's toilet and came quickly
to the lower layer. Here he discovered two lacquer boxes, neither of
which were locked or fastened.

The first of these contained sewing material, the second a small package
wrapped in native paper and carefully tied about with ribbon. Tarling
undid the ribbon, opened the package and found to his surprise a small
pad of newspaper cuttings. In the main they were cuttings from colloquial
journals printed in Chinese characters, but there were one or two
paragraphs evidently cut from one of the English papers published in
Shanghai.

He thought at first that these were records of cases in which Ling Chu
had been engaged, and though he was surprised that the Chinaman should
have taken the trouble to collect these souvenirs--especially the English
cuttings--he did not think at first that there was any significance in
the act. He was looking for some clue--what he knew not--which would
enable him to explain to his own satisfaction the mystery of the filched
pistol.

He read the first of the European cuttings idly, but presently his eyes
opened wide.

"There was a fracas at Ho Hans's tea-room last night, due apparently
to the too-persistent attentions paid by an English visitor to the
dancing girl, the little Narcissus, who is known to the English, or
such as frequent Ho Hans's rooms, as The Little Daffodil----"

He gasped. The Little Daffodil! He let the cutting drop on his knee and
frowned in an effort of memory. He knew Shanghai well. He knew its
mysterious under-world and had more than a passing acquaintance with Ho
Hans's tea-rooms. Ho Hans's tea-room was, in fact, the mask which hid an
opium den that he had been instrumental in cleaning up just before he
departed from China. And he distinctly remembered the Little Daffodil. He
had had no dealings with her in the way of business, for when he had had
occasion to go into Ho Hans's tea-rooms, he was usually after bigger game
than the graceful little dancer.

It all came back to him in a flash. He had heard men at the club speaking
of the grace of the Little Daffodil and her dancing had enjoyed something
of a vogue a