the mandarin appeared to be hungry for Peter's companionship. Over
the chess-board, between plays, they discoursed lengthily upon the
greatness of the vast empire, once she should awake; upon the menace of
the wily Japanese; upon the lands across the mountains and beyond the
seas, and their peoples, of which Chang had read much but had never
visited.

Wood was heaped upon the fire, which flared up and leaped after the
crowding shadows.

It was the life that Peter dearly loved.

The mandarin's eyes glowed, and rested upon him for longer spaces. His
words and sentences came fewer and more reluctant.

In one of these pauses he seized Peter's hand. And Peter was forthwith
given the meagre details of a story, neither the beginning nor the end
of which he would ever know. It was the cross-section of a tale of
intrigue, of cold-blooded killings that chased the thrills up and down
his spine; a tale of loot, of gems that had vanished, of ingots and
kernels of gold that had leaked from iron-bound chests.

The mandarin uttered his woe in a quivering voice, shifting from a
Bengal patois to Mandarin, and again to reckless English.

Peter was given to understand that in Chang's camp was a traitor, a man
who eluded him, whose identity was shielded, a snake that could not be
stamped out unless the lives of every one of his attendants were taken!

In a composed voice Chang, the mandarin, was saying:

"You have walked far. You are weary. Another couch is in my tent.
You shall sleep there."

The candle was guttering low in its bronze socket when Peter awoke. A
cool breeze stirred the tent flaps. A queer feeling oozed in his veins.

He lay still, breathing regularly, searching the corners with eyes that
were brighter than a rat's. The low sleep-mutterings of the mandarin
continued from the couch across from him.

Slowly the tent flaps were being drawn back. Peter strained his eyes
until they ached. He was impelled to shout, to awaken his companion.
Yet the visitor might be bent on legitimate business. He would wait.
In the final analysis it was Peter's profound acquaintance with the
ways of the East which sealed his lips. In the heart of China one does
not strike at shadows, or shriek at sight of them. Not always.

At his side between the covers lay a strong, naked dagger. Why the
mandarin had provided him with the weapon he did not know.

A gray shadow entered the tent and backed noiselessly against the front