had important news. I have two men outside, but these devils got me
before I could blow my whistle. Not much use to try it now," he
observed, looking about grimly.

"I sent you no note," I replied. "On the contrary, I got one from you.
That is why I am here."

"We are both nicely trapped, it seems," he growled. "I wonder what these
fellows are up to. They have searched me, but they took nothing, so far
as I can see. I can't figure the thing out at all. What have you
learned--anything?" He turned to me with a quick look of interrogation.

"Nothing. They took my bunch of keys, and left me here about an hour
ago. I am as much in the dark as you are."

"Your keys," he muttered, softly; "your keys. What could they have
wanted with them?" He seemed lost in thought.

Our further conversation was interrupted by the sudden opening of the
door on our left. Some score or more of Chinamen crowded in, and were at
once joined by the figure of the priest, who rose to his feet and
advanced toward the center of the room. He was a terrible-looking old
man, his face drawn and leathery, his eyes like burning coals, his mouth
cruel and thin-lipped. All the others seemed to pay him deep respect.
One of their number advanced and handed him a large object which he
eagerly grasped. It was my Gladstone bag. McQuade and I glanced at each
other in sudden comprehension. "It's my bag," I whispered to him. Now I
knew at least why they had taken from me my keys.

The old priest placed the bag upon the floor and, kneeling beside it,
proceeded to open it with eager, trembling hands. The others crowded
about, every face tense and full of expectation. The kneeling figure
proceeded slowly to remove and examine every article of clothing,
throwing each one impatiently aside as he apparently failed to find that
for which he sought. Presently his eye fell upon the small, green cake
of soap which I had thrown loosely into the bag upon my departure from
The Oaks. He seized it with a cry of triumph, and, taking a knife from
his girdle, proceeded with extreme care to cut the cake of soap in two.
The crowding figures about him hung upon his movements with intense
anxiety. The room was as silent as death. I heard McQuade's muffled
breathing as he watched the old man's every move, but I could see from
the expression of his face that the scene meant no more to him than it
did to me. Suddenly, with a loud cry, the priest broke the cake of soap
in two, and there,