You saw, Harley?" I exclaimed excitedly. "You saw the stains? And I'm
certain the window was broken!"

Harley nodded shortly.

"Back to Wade Street!" he said. "I allow myself fifteen minutes to shed
Bill Jones, able seaman, and to become Paul Harley, of Chancery Lane."

As we hurried along:

"What steps shall you take?" I asked.

"First step: search Kwen Lung's house from cellar to roof. Second step:
entirely dependent upon result of first. The Chinese are subtle, Knox.
If Kwen Lung has killed his daughter, it may require all the resources
of Scotland Yard to prove it."

"But------"

"There is no 'but' about it. Chinatown is the one district of London
which possesses the property of swallowing people up."

III

"CAPTAIN DAN"

Half an hour later, as I sat in the inner room before the great
dressing-table laboriously removing my disguise--for I was utterly
incapable of metamorphosing myself like Harley in seven minutes--I
heard a rapping at the outer door. I glanced nervously at my face in the
mirror.

Comparatively little of "Jim" had yet been removed, for since time was
precious to my friend I had acted as his dresser before setting to work
to remove my own make-up. There were two entrances to the establishment,
by one of which Paul Harley invariably entered and invariably went out,
and from the other of which "Bill Jones" was sometimes seen to emerge,
but never Paul Harley. That my friend had made good his retirement I
knew, but, nevertheless, if I had to open the door of the outer room it
must be as "Jim."

Thinking it impolite not to do so, since the one who knocked might be
aware that we had come in but not gone out again, I hastily readjusted
that side of my moustache which I had begun to remove, replaced my
cap and muffler, and carefully locking the door of the dressing-room,
crossed the outer apartment and opened the door.

It was Harley's custom never to enter or leave these rooms except under
the mantle of friendly night, but at so early an hour I confess I had
not expected a visitor. Wondering whom I should find there I opened the
door.

Standing on the landing was a fellow-lodger who permanently occupied
the two top rooms of the house. Paul Harley had taken the trouble to
investigate the man's past, for "Captain Dan," the name by which he was
known in the saloons and worse resorts which he frequented, was palpably
a broken-down gentleman; a piece of flotsam caught in the yellow st