ng ago." Madame Mauer answered quietly, but I saw by her
quick shiver that she had not been at peace, all this time.

"She's not there. The place is all shut up."

"Doesn't she usually attend these festivities up the hill?" I asked.

His look went through me like a dagger. "Not today, you fool!"

"Well, why worry about her?" It was I who put it calmly. Six hours
before, I had not been calm; but now I looked back at that fever with
contempt.

"She's been to Stires's," he went on; and I could see the words hurt
him.

"Well, then, ask him."

"He was asleep. She left her beloved gramophone there. He found it when
he waked."

"Her gramophone?" I ejaculated. "Where is Stires?"

"Looking for her--and hoping he won't find her, curse him!"

Follet took hold of me and drew me down the steps. "Come along," he
said. Then he turned to Madame Mauer. "Sorry, madame. This is urgent.
We'll tell you all about it later."

Felicite Mauer did not approve of Follet, but he could do no wrong when
she was actually confronted with him. She took refuge in a shrug and
went within.

When we were outside the gate, I stood still and faced Follet. "What did
Ching Po tell you and Stires?"

"Don't you know?" Sheer surprise looked out at me from his eyes.

"Of course, I think I know. Do you really want to tear the place up,
looking for her?"

"It's not that!" he shouted. "If it had been, every one would have known
it long since. Ching Po got it out of old Dubois. I shook Dubois out of
his opium long enough to confirm it. I had to threaten him.--Ching Po's
a dirty beast, but, according to the old man he told the truth. Ching Po
did want to marry her once. She wouldn't, of course, and he's just been
waiting to spike her guns. When he found out she really wanted that
impossible Yankee, he said he'd tell. She had hysterics. He waited for
her outside the Mauers', hoping, I suppose, it would work out another
way. When we appeared, he decided to get his work in. He probably
thought she had sent for us. And he was determined no one should stop
him from telling. Now do you see? Come on." He pulled at my arm.

"In heaven's name, man, _what_ did he tell?" I almost shrieked.

"Just the one thing you Yankees can't stand," Follet sneered. "A touch
of the tar-brush. She wasn't altogether French, you see. Old Dubois
knows her pedigree. Her grandmother was a mulatto, over Penang way. She
knew how Stires felt on the subject--a damn, dirty ship-chandl