hrough it all, towering head and
shoulders above the crowd, stalked the stately Sikhs on patrol duty.
At last, after a drive that had occupied perhaps a quarter of an hour,
the coolie drew up, before what was probably the largest shop Browne
had yet seen in the neighbourhood. It was built in the Chinese
fashion, and, in order that West and East may meet on an equal footing,
had two names over the door, one in Chinese writing, the other plainly
printed in English characters: "Johann Schmidt." Browne alighted, and,
having told his coolie to wait, entered the shop. He was greeted on
the threshold by a stout Chinaman, who was plainly in charge.

"What for you piecee look see?" inquired the latter.

Browne, not being adept at pidgin-English, replied to the effect that
he desired to see and speak with Herr Schmidt. Whether the man
comprehended or not he could not tell; at any rate he left him alone in
the shop, while he disappeared behind a curtain at the farther end.
When he returned, a few seconds later, he was accompanied by a portly
individual, whose nationality the veriest tyro could not mistake. As
if to make it doubly sure, he carried in his hand an enormous pipe
fashioned after the pattern of the Fatherland. His face was large and
almost spherical; his hair was close-cropped, as was his beard; he was
attired in white trousers, a flannel shirt, which would have been none
the worse for a wash, and a black alpaca coat. The Teutonic stolidity
was certainly well developed in him. On seeing Browne he stopped and
sucked contentedly at his pipe, but said nothing. The younger man was
the first to speak.

"You are Herr Schmidt, I believe?" said Browne, in English. The other
nodded his head, but still did not venture upon speech. "I bring a
letter of introduction to you," said Browne, dropping his voice a
little, as though he were afraid of being overheard. "It is from a
certain Herr Otto Sauber, whom I met in Paris about two months ago. He
told me that you would do all you could for me in a certain matter."

"Herr Sauber?" inquired the German. "I cannot dink that I am mit him
acquainted."

Browne's disappointment was plainly discernible on his face. He had
fully expected that, immediately he presented the letter Sauber had
given him, this mysterious Johann Schmidt would understand and arrange
everything. This, however, did not appear to be the case. The man
before him sucked stolidly at his pipe, and watch