his evening clothes, his face a little drawn and haggard in the
bright light.

"I could not resist coming in, Nigel," he said. "I saw the light in the
study from outside. Is there any definite news?"

Nigel drew him inside.

"There are indications," he replied cautiously, "that the present danger
is passing."

Karschoff nodded.

"I gathered so from Naida," he admitted. "Prince Shan, though, is the
pivot upon which the whole thing turns. You have heard nothing final
from him?"

"Nothing! Tell me, was any one arrested at the Albert Hall?"

"No one. The murdered man, as I suppose you have heard, was Sen Lu, one
of the Prince's secretaries."

"The whole thing seems strange," Nigel remarked. "Do you suppose Prince
Shan knew that an attempt upon his life was likely to-night?"

Karschoff shook his head doubtfully.

"It is difficult to say. These Orientals contrive to surround themselves
with such an atmosphere of mystery. But from what I know of Prince
Shan," he went on, "I do not think that he is one to shirk danger--even
from the assassin's dagger."

A milk cart drew up with a clatter outside. There was the sound of the
area gate being opened. Karschoff put on his hat. He looked Nigel in the
face.

"Maggie," he began--

Nigel nodded understandingly as he threw open the front door.

"I'll tell you about it to-morrow," he promised, "or rather later on
to-day. She's a little overwrought. Otherwise--there's nothing."

Karschoff turned away with a sigh of relief.

"I am glad," he said. "Prince Shan is the soul of honour according to
his own standard, but these Orientals--one never knows. I am glad,
Nigel."

CHAPTER XXIII

In his spacious reception room, with its blue walls, the high vases of
flowers, the faint odour of incense, its indefinable ascetic charm,
Prince Shan sat in his high-backed chair whilst Li Wen, his trusted
secretary talked. Li Wen was very eloquent. His tone was never raised,
he never forgot that he was speaking to a being of a superior world. He
had a great deal to say, however, and he was eager to say it. Prince
Shan, as he listened, smoked a long cigarette in a yellow tube. He wore
a ring in which was set an uncut green stone on the fourth finger of his
left hand. Although the hour was barely nine o'clock, he was shaved and
dressed as though for a visit of ceremony. He listened to Li Wen gravely
and critically.

"I am sorry about the little one," he said, looking through the