Rajah always shrieked when some one entered
the room. Warrington silently slid out of bed and dashed to the door
which led to the gallery. A body thudded against his. He caught hold.
The body was nude to the waist and smelled evilly of sweat and
fish-oil. Something whip-like struck him across the face. It was a
queue.

Warrington struck out, but missed. Instantly a pair of powerful arms
wound about him, bearing and bending him backward. His right arm lay
parallel with the invader's chest. He brought up the heel of his palm
viciously against the Chinaman's chin. It was sufficient to break the
hold. Then followed a struggle that always remained nightmarish to
Warrington. Hither and thither across the room, miraculously avoiding
chairs, tables and bed, they surged. He heard a ring of steel upon the
cement floor, and breathed easier to learn that the thief had dropped
his knife. Warrington never thought to call out for help. The old
fear of bringing people about him had become a habit. Once, in the
whirl of things, his hand came into contact with a belt which hung
about the other's middle. He caught at it and heaved. It broke, and
the subsequent tinkling over the floor advised him of the fact that it
was his own gold. The broken belt, however, brought the fight to an
abrupt end. The oily body suddenly slipped away. Warrington beheld a
shadow in the doorway; it loomed there a second against the sky-line,
and vanished. He ran to the gallery railing, but it was too dark below
to discern anything.

He returned to his room, breathing hard, the obnoxious odor of sweat
and fish-oil in his nose. He turned on the lights and without waiting
to investigate, went into the shower-room and stood under the tepid
deluge. Even after a thorough rub-down the taint was in the air. The
bird was muttering and turning somersaults.

"Thanks, Rajah, old sport! He'd have got me but for you. Let's see
the damage."

He picked up the belt. The paper-money was intact, and what gold had
fallen he could easily find. He then took up his vest . . . and
dropped it, stunned. The letter of credit for half his fortune was
gone. He sank back upon the bed and stared miserably at the fallen
garment. Gone! Fifty thousand dollars. Some one who knew! Presently
he stood up and tugged at his beard. After all, why should he worry?
A cable to Rangoon would stop payments. A new letter could be issued.
It would take time, but he had