the armour. But she
failed to kindle the light in his eyes which--unless she had deluded
herself--she had seen there in the past; and because she failed and
could detect no note of tenderness in his impersonal curiosity:

"You are lonely because you are so English, so cold," she exclaimed,
drawing her robe about her and glancing sideways toward the door by
which Agapoulos might be expected to enter. "You are bored, yes. Of
course. You look on at life. It is not exciting, that game--except for
the players."

Never once had she looked at him in the Right Way; for to have done so
and to have evoked only that amused yet compassionate smile would have
meant hatred, and Zahara had been taught that such hatred was fatal
because it was a confession of defeat.

"I shall see you again to-night, shall I not?" he said as she turned
away.

"Oh, yes, I shall be--on show. I hope you will approve."

She tossed her head like a petulant child, turned, and with never
another glance in his direction, walked from the room. She was very
graceful, he thought.

Yet it was not entirely of this strange half-caste, whose beauty was
provoking, although he resolutely repelled her tentative advances, that
Grantham was thinking. In that last gesture when she had scornfully
tossed her head in turning aside, had lain a bitter memory. Grantham
stood for a moment watching the swaying draperies. Then, dropping the
end of his cigarette into a little brass ash-tray, he took up his hat,
gloves, and cane from the floor, and walked toward the doorway through
which he had entered.

A bell rang somewhere, and Grantham paused. A close observer might have
been puzzled by his expression. Evidently changing his mind, he crossed
the room, opened the door and went out, leaving the house of Agapoulos
by a side entrance. Crossing the little courtyard below he hurried in
the direction of the main street, seeming to doubt the shadows which
dusk was painting in the narrow ways.

Many men who know Chinatown distrust its shadows, but the furtive fear
of which Grantham had become aware was due not to anticipation but to
memory--to a memory conjured up by that gesture of Zahara's.

There were few people in London or elsewhere who knew the history of
this scallywag Englishman. That he had held the King's commission at
some time was generally assumed to be the fact, but that his real
name was not Grantham equally was taken for granted. His continuing,
nevertheless, t