He selected a table which commanded a view of the entrance, toyed with
the menu card, absent-mindedly ordered a Scotch highball, and slowly
scrutinized the occupants of the tables in his neighborhood. He felt
vaguely annoyed, slightly uneasy, without being able to sift out the
cause.

For a moment he regretted his audacity in encountering the curious eyes
of Hong Kong society, a society in which there would inevitably be
present a number of his enemies. It cannot be denied that a number of
eyes studied him leisurely and at some pains, over teacups,
wine-glasses, and fans.

But these were for the larger part women, and Peter was more or less
immune to the curious, bright-eyed glances of this sex.

His attire was somewhat rakish for the occasion; and it appeared that
sarongs were not being sported by the more refined class of male
diners, who affected as a mass the sombre black of dinner jackets. At
all Hong Kong hotels the custom is evening dress for dinner, and Peter
felt shabby and shoddy in his silk suit, his low shoes, his soft collar.

An orchestra of noble proportions struggled effectively in the moist,
warm atmosphere somewhere in its concealment behind a distant palm
arbor with "Un Peu d'Amour," and also out of Peter's sight, an
impassioned and metallic tenor was sobbing:

"Jaw-s-s-st a lee-e-e-edle lof-f-ff--
A le-e-e-edle ke-e-e-e-e-e-s--"

And Peter in his perturbation wished that both blatant orchestra and
impassioned tenor were concealed behind a sound-proof stone wall.

He was tossing off the dregs of the highball when there occurred a
low-voiced murmur at his side, and he arose to confront the pale, worn
face of Romola. She gave him her hand limply, and settled down across
from him, her eyes darting from table to table, and occasionally
nodding rather stiffly and impersonally as she recognized some one.

"You see"--he smiled at her, as she settled back and fostered upon him
a look of brooding tenderness--"you see, my dear, I am here, untagged.
Nearly twelve hours have passed since you sounded that note of ominous
warning. I have yet to feel the thrill, just before I die, of that
dagger sliding between my ribs."

She accepted this with a nod almost indifferent.

"Simply because I have persuaded them to extend your parole to one
o'clock. If you linger in China, you have--and need I say that the
same applies to me--six more hours in which to jest, to laugh, to
love--to live!"

"Fo