cret agent of the
British Government. That string of glass beads is the key to a code
relating to the uprisings in India. The loss of it will cost a great deal
of money and time. Bring it back here this afternoon, and I will pay down
five hundred gold."

"I agree," replied Ling Foo, tossing his pipe into the alcove. "But no one
must follow me. I do not trust you. There is nothing to prevent you from
robbing me in the street and refusing to pay me. And where will you get
five hundred gold? Gold has vanished. Even the leaf has all but
disappeared."

Cunningham dipped his hand into a pocket, and magically a dozen double
eagles rolled and vibrated upon the counter, sending into Ling Foo's ears
that music so peculiar to gold. Many days had gone by since he had set his
gaze upon the yellow metal. His hand reached down--only to feel--but not
so quickly as the white hand, which scooped up the coin trickily, with the
skill of a prestidigitator.

"Five hundred gold, then. But are you sure you can get the beads back?"

Ling Foo smiled.

"I have a way. I will meet you in the lobby of the Astor House at five";
and he bowed with Oriental courtesy.

"Agreed. All aboveboard, remember, or you will feel the iron hand of the
British Government."

Ling Foo doubted that, but he kept this doubt to himself.

"I warn you, I shall go armed. You will bring the gold to the Astor House.
If I see you after I depart----"

"Lord love you, once that code key is in my hands you can go to heaven or
the devil, as you please! We live in rough times, Ling Foo."

"So we do. There is a stain on the floor, about where you stand. It is the
blood of a white man."

"What would you, when a comrade attempts to deceive you?"

"At five in the lobby of the Astor House. Good day," concluded Ling Foo,
fingering the buttons on his counting rack.

Cunningham limped out into the cold sunshine. Ling Foo shook his head. So
like a boy's, that face! He shuddered slightly. He knew that a savage
devil lay ready behind that handsome mask--he had seen it last night. But
five hundred gold--for a string of glass beads!

Ling Foo was an honest man. He would pay you cash for cash in a bargain.
If he overcharged you that was your fault, but he never sold you
imitations on the basis that you would not know the difference. If he sold
you a Ming jar--for twice what it was worth in the great marts--experts
would tell you that it was Ming. He had some jade of superior qual