upon Peter's inert hand, and he
opened his eyes.

Memory came slowly back to him. He remembered that he had killed. The
last thing he distinctly recalled from that moment of ungovernable fury
which had taken hold of him was that Kahn Meng, the traitor, had drawn
a pistol. As a natural consequence he should be dead. Perhaps he was.

Slowly his brain became clear, although queer vapors arose in it.

Soft footsteps crossed the stone flagging with a clicking of dainty
heels. Small fingers, exquisite to the touch, brushed the tousled hair
from his forehead. These were cool and pleasant.

"Old Sweetheart!" said a happy voice.

The cool fingers crept underneath his chin and lingered there. Others
crept under his neck. A warm, satiny cheek floated down to rest upon
his forehead.

Dozens of questions swarmed out of the wreckage of his waking
consciousness.

"You are safe? Where are we? What happened to that scoundrel, Kahn
Meng? Why did they bring you here? Did they harm you? Who hit----"

A silvery laugh interrupted him. "Yes, yes--yes!" said the voice that
was sweeter to him than all of the music in Christendom with heathendom
thrown in for good measure.

"I am safe. I was kidnapped and treated with all respect due a famous
doctor--because a dead monster was suffering from neuritis. We are
alone, in a tiny glass house on the roof of the ivory palace, and dawn
has this very moment come. Such a glorious dawn, Peter!

"Are you rested? I never saw any one so completely burned out. Such
fury! Gracious, what a man! But why, Peter, did you attack poor Kahn
Meng? He's the best friend you have in the world!"

"The Gray Dragon!" muttered Peter, clenching his fists.

"Peter, Kahn Meng would lay down his life for you. Of course, he is
the Gray Dragon; but that is only a name now. He is the Gray Dragon,
and he has you, and you only, to thank for it.

"The title is hereditary, and he is the last of his line. He knew what
that monstrous father of his was doing, and he has been helpless--until
you freed him. And the dreadful secret, Peter, is that that beast was
not Kahn Meng's father. A Singhalese trader, murdered years ago, was
his father, and his mother, a beautiful woman of the Punjab, was for a
time the wife of the beast!

"The entire organization has now come under Kahn Meng's control. He is
the Gray Dragon of Len Yang, and it is a title that from now on will be
a power for good, for construc