ved, a pair of eyes fastened upon him from a second-story window.

They were the eyes of a young Chinese woman, but he sensed immediately
that she was not of the river type. Her fine black hair was arranged
in a gorgeous coiffure. Gold ornaments drooped from her ears, and her
complexion was liberally sanded with rice powder. Her painted lips
wore an expression of malignity.

In the obliquity of the eyes lurked a solemn warning. Then he became
aware that she seemed to be struggling, as if she were impeding the
movements of some one behind her.

It is safe to say that in his tramps through the winding alleys of
Canton, of Peking, of Shanghai, Peter Moore had encountered many
Chinese women of her type. There was a sharp vividness to her features
which meant the inbreeding of high caste. She was unusual--startling!
She looked into the street furtively, held up a heavily jeweled
hand--an imperial order for him to stop--and withdrew. He lounged into
the doorway of an ivory shop and waited.

It was quiet in Chinatown, for the time was noon and the section was
pursuing its midday habit of calm. The padding figures were becoming a
trifle obscure, owing to a cold, pale fog that was drifting up from the
bay. In a moment the woman reappeared, examined the street again with
hostile eyes, held up a square of rice paper, and slowly folded it.

Peter Moore nodded slightly and smiled. It was a habit with him--that
smile. The sensitiveness of his nervous system found a quick outlet,
when he was nervous or excited, by a disingenuous smile. He proceeded
to the shop directly underneath her window, observing it to be Ah Sih
King's gold shop. The window was rich in glittering splendors from the
Orient. He picked up from the sidewalk a crumpled ball of red paper
and stowed it away in his coat pocket.

To an alert observer the indifference with which Moore turned and
pretended to study the gold ornaments in Ah Sih King's window might
have seemed a trifle too obvious, and the smile on his lips, one might
go on to say, was uncalled for.

As he waited, a soft thud sounded at his feet, coincident with a flash
of black and white across his shoulder. He covered the object with one
foot, as the oily, leering face of Ah Sih King appeared in the doorway.
The blanched face surmounted a costly mandarin robe, righteously worn,
a gorgeous blue raiment with traceries of fine gold and exquisite gems.
At this moment he seemed to exhale an