words his whole expression changed, and so
suddenly as to startle me. He sprang up from the table, and:

"Have you an hour to spare, Knox?" he cried excitedly.

"I can spare an hour, but what for?"

"For Kwen Lung!"

Four minutes later we were speeding in the direction of Limehouse, and
not a word of explanation to account for this sudden journey could I
extract from my friend. Therefore I beguiled the time by telling him of
my adventure with Captain Dan.

Harley listened to the story in unbroken silence, but at its termination
he brought his hand down sharply on my knee.

"I have been almost perfectly blind, Knox," he said; "but not quite so
perfectly blind as you!"

I stared at him in amazement, but he merely laughed and offered no
explanation of his words.

Presently, then, I found myself yet again in the familiar room of the
golden joss. Ma Lorenzo, in whom some hidden anxiety seemed to have
increased since I had last seen her, stood at the top of the stairs
watching us. Upon what idea my friend was operating and what he intended
to do I could not imagine; but without a word to the woman he crossed
the room and grasping the great golden idol with both arms he dragged it
forward across the floor!

As he did so there was a stifled shriek, and Ma Lorenzo, stumbling down
the steps, threw herself on her knees before Harley! Raising imploring
hands:

"No, no!" she moaned. "Not until I tell you--I tell you everything
first!"

"To begin with, tell me how to open this thing," he said sternly.

Momentarily she hesitated, and did not rise from her knees, but:

"Do you hear me?" he cried.

The woman rose unsteadily and walking slowly round the joss manipulated
some hidden fastening, whereupon the entire back of the thing opened
like a door! From what was within she shudderingly averted her face,
but Harley, stepping back against the wall, stopped and peered into the
cavity.

"Good God!" he muttered. "Come and look, Knox."

Prepared by his manner for some gruesome spectacle, I obeyed--and from
that which I saw I recoiled in horror.

"Harley," I whispered, "Harley! who is it?"

The spectacle had truly sickened me. Crouched within the narrow space
enclosed by the figure of the idol was the body of an old and wrinkled
Chinaman! His knees were drawn up to his chin, and his head so
compressed upon them that little of his features could be seen.

"It is Kwen Lung!" murmured Ma Lorenzo, standing with clasped ha