y drew the screen shut behind him. Another minute: no
sound detectable more untoward than that of steady respiration in the
bedroom; with a movement as swift and sinister as the swoop of a vulture
the man sprang toward the bedroom door.

Leaping from a sitting position, with a bound that was little less than
a flight through the air, the Chinaman caught him halfway. There
followed a shriek, a heavy fall that shook the bungalow, the report of a
revolver, sounds of scuffling....

Whitaker, half dazed, found himself standing in the doorway, regardless
of his injury.

He saw, as one who dreams and yet is conscious that he does but dream,
Ember lighting candles--calmly applying the flame of a taper to one
after another as he made a round of the sconces. The moonlight paled and
the windows turned black as the mellow radiance brightened.

Then a slight movement in the shadow of the table drew his attention to
the floor. Sum Fat was kneeling there, on all fours, above something
that breathed heavily and struggled without avail.

Whitaker's sleep-numbed faculties cleared.

"Ember!" he cried. "What in the name of all things strange--!"

Ember threw him a flickering smile. "Oh, there you are?" he said
cheerfully. "I've got something interesting to show you. Sum Fat"--he
stooped and picked up a revolver--"you may let him up, now, if you think
he's safe."

"Safe enough." Sum Fat rose, grinning. "Had damn plenty."

He mounted guard beside the door.

For an instant his captive seemed reluctant to rise; free, he lay
without moving, getting his breath in great heaving sobs; only his gaze
ranged ceaselessly from Ember's face to Whitaker's and back again, and
his hands opened and closed convulsively.

Ember moved to his side and stood over him, balancing the revolver in
his palm.

"Come," he said impatiently. "Up with you!"

The man sat up as if galvanized by fear, got more slowly to his knees,
then, grasping the edge of the table, dragged himself laboriously to a
standing position. He passed a hand uncertainly across his mouth,
brushed the hair out of his eyes and tried to steady himself, attempting
to infuse defiance into his air, even though cornered, beaten and
helpless.

Whitaker's jaw dropped and his eyes widened with wonder and pity. He
couldn't deny the man, yet he found it hard to believe that this
quivering, shaken creature, with his lean and pasty face and desperate,
glaring eyes, this man in rough, stained, s