illage streets. The
world was lonely and awash.

Peter busied himself with Peggy's comfort when the first rickshaw,
dripping and wet, rattled up. He drew the waterproof robe up under her
chin and fastened the loops, then tucked it in under her feet. Her
cheeks were glowing with the pink of her excitement.

Anthony meanwhile gave similar attention to the other twin.

Peter glanced at his watch as they climbed in. He wondered how Anthony
might be taking his first and relatively unimportant lap of their
adventure, and he instructed his coolie, in "pidgin," to drop behind.

Clear gray eyes shone with a confident reassurance.

"You mustn't hit too hard, and be careful if you shoot your revolver to
discharge it in the air. At close range even the wads from the blank
cartridges are rather deadly."

Anthony's clear voice came across to him: "Of course."

They stopped at length before the rambling structure which was the
abode of Romola Borria. The lamp was extinguished, probably beaten out
long before by the pelting rain. Only a pale glow emanated from the
place, this from a tiny upstairs window, covered over with oiled paper,
and the only sounds were the ceaseless drip of the rain and the low
gibberings of the coolies as they examined the coins given them in the
greasy light of the rickshaw lanterns.

Peggy, slipping her arm through Peter's and hugging him close to her,
trembled with the excitement of anticipation.

"We must not be separated," he warned them in a whisper. "Whatever
happens--Peggy and Helen--stand close to us. In case of trouble, each
of you stand behind whichever of us is nearest. Don't scream. Don't
show any money. Peggy, put your pocketbook in your shirt-waist.
Now--ready?"

"Yes!" came the threefold whispering chorus.

He raised his knuckles, and brought them down sharply--three times
rapidly, twice slowly. Silence followed, the bristling silence of an
aroused house.

Slowly the door gave way, and a villainous-looking old Chinese in black
beckoned with a long snake-like finger for them to enter.

Only two candles now were burning on the lacquered rail in the smoky
corridor. Curtains at the rear parted; there was a sweep of heavy
silken garments, and a white-faced and beautiful woman made her way
toward them.

Deft employment of the make-up pot and painstaking searchings through a
great number of trunks had blended a picture that was all but
melodramatic.

Romola Borria's wo