rhythmic chant of coolies on the river ended. Mammoth go-downs,
where the products of China flowed on their way to distant countries,
became gloomily silent and empty. Handsome, tall sikhs, the police of
the city, appeared in twos and threes where only one had been stationed
before; for in China, as elsewhere, wickedness is borne on the night's
wings.

With the descent of the velvety darkness the late wireless operator of
the transpacific greyhound, the _Vandalia_, slipped out of an obscure,
shadowy doorway on Nanking Road and directed his steps toward the
glittering bund, where he was reasonably sure his enemies would have
difficulty in recognizing him.

Peter's uniform now reposed on a dark shelf in the rear of a silkshop.
He had no desire to be stabbed in the back, which was a probability in
case certain up-river men should find him. The Chinese gentleman who
conducted the silkshop was an old friend, and trustworthy.

Peter now wore the garb of a Japanese merchant. His feet were
sandaled. His straight, lithe figure was robed in an expensive gray
silk kimono. Jammed tight to his ears, in good Nipponese fashion, was
a black American derby. His eyebrows were penciled in a fairly
praiseworthy attempt to reproduce the Celestial slant, and he carried a
light bamboo cane.

Yet the ex-operator of the _Vandalia_ was not altogether sure that the
disguise was a success. If the scowling yellow face he had detected
among the throngs on the bund that morning should have followed him to
the silk-shop, of what earthly use was this silly disguise?

He padded along in the lee of a money-changer's, keeping close to the
wall. By degrees he became aware that he was followed; and he
endeavored to credit the feeling to imagination, to raw nerves. A
ghostly rickshaw flitted by. The soft chugging of the coolie's bare
feet became faint, ceased. A muttering old woman waddled past.

He looked behind him in time to see a gaunt face, lighted by the dim
glow of a shop window, bob out of sight into a doorway. Turning again
a moment later, he saw the man dive into another doorway.

Peter ran to the dark aperture, seized a muscular, satin-covered arm,
and dragged a whispering Chinese, a big, brawny fellow, into the
circular zone of the yellow street-light. Quickly recovering from his
surprise, the Chinese reached swiftly toward his belt. Peter, hoping
that only one man had been set on his trail, gave a murderous yell, and
at t