tchful and sad.

Yet these eyes seemed to twinkle now, shifting without a trace of fear
from the unwavering gun-barrel in Peter's hand to the unwavering glint
in Peter's blue eyes.

And there was something undeniably imperial in the young Oriental's
bearing. Perhaps this was caused by his attitude, or the Oriental
richness of his garb. He might have been an Asiatic prince, or a sheik
fresh from the desert, or a maharaja, from a jungle throne. A
glittering cluster of gems--diamonds and rubies--hung from a fine gold
chain which encircled his bronzed neck. His tunic was of satin, the
color of the tropical sea; his breeches were spotlessly white, and his
slippers were Arabian, with up-curled toes.

"Well?" asked the young Asiatic, when Peter's gaze finally descended to
the scarlet slippers.

"I am waiting," said Peter, impatiently.

Black eyebrows went up inquiringly. "I am a merchant--from Shanghai."

"What you are or who you are is of no importance," returned Peter in a
voice of cordial doubt. "Perhaps you've aroused my idle curiosity; at
all events, I want you to tell me why you were late in coming to your
wife's assistance."

"His life is more precious," she interceded, hastily.

The Oriental waved his hand, as if the answer were absurd. "You
anticipated me by three seconds," he replied. "I was drowsing. I
thought I had dreamed the scream. May I say--I am very grateful?"

Peter's expression was dubious, but he nodded at length as though
partly satisfied. "Perhaps you can tell me what became of the man who
opened my door?"

The man's face was frankly bewildered. "I am at a loss to account for
any man entering your room--unless by mistake," he said with genuine
concern. "I think you are crediting me with an interest in an affair
that I know nothing of. Unless--unless----" He hesitated and paused,
searching Peter's eyes with a glance suddenly startled. "Can it be
possible----?" he muttered. "I judge by your accent that you are an
American. I have spent the past four years myself in America--at
Harvard. Somehow----" He paused again, and smiled faintly.

Suddenly the smile departed, was displaced by the most murderous of
grimaces. He was looking beyond Peter. His right hand flashed into
his blue tunic. And before Peter could turn or dodge, he sprang past
him, colliding with an object which grunted and instantly cried out in
agony.

Peter turned in time to see a thin knife plunge into the