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happened, no clue could be picked up from it leading either to the time of to the place of the Si-Fan meeting. As to the man, Fordwich, there was no longer any room for doubt… He had been covering her since their first meeting in Java. He was a secret service agent, either of Great Britain or of the United States.
    But, although she taxed her memory unmercifully she could recall not one slip she had made. All the same, it must have occurred; for he had searched her room, and had taken nothing but the letter from her father which betrayed her identity.
    Where was that letter now?
    Highly probable that every precinct in New York City had a description of the appearance of Dr Fu-Manchu’s daughter!
    She smiled, turned, and went into the softly lighted room, redolent of old memories. Mai Cha, Who had been seated, reading, stood up as the graceful figure appeared.
    “Sit down, dear. There’s no need for ceremony when we are alone.”
    She addressed the girl in English, which she spoke without trace of accent.
    “Thank you,” Mai Cha said simply, and obeyed.
    “I have had the same training as you.” Mrs van Roorden sank onto a low settee. “The beautiful old courtesies. But we both live in a new world. Perhaps we shall never know that old world of ours again. You are to be my guide tonight?”
    “Yes, my lady. Those are my orders. But I was told…”
    Mai Cha hesitated.
    “Yes, dear, what were you told?”
    “That Sha Mu would follow, to protect us if necessary.”
    “You know Sha Mu?”
    “He was here a year ago.”
    “He landed with me. But I am sorry to say he has disappeared!”
    “That is bad,” Mai Cha murmured.
    Mrs van Roorden studied her. She was very young to be a child of Huan Tsung. Her mother must have been pretty, for beauty was not a characteristic of the old mandarin.
    “We must go alone. I am a stranger to New York, Mai Cha. Is it far?”
    “Quite a long way. We can take the car nearly to where we are going and then we must walk.”
    “I wonder if you can find me a cloak to put over my frock?”
    “Certainly, my lady. I was told to do so.”
    The careful staff work of Huan Tsung could be detected in this. What he had not foreseen was the loss of her credentials—so that she must convince six men, each one risking his liberty, six men who had never met her before, that she was authorised to preside over their conference…
    * * *
    The car in which Nayland Smith was being driven to Kwang T’see’s house of mystery slowed up at a selected point, and Harkness got in. Although the black sedan belonged to Headquarters, there was nothing visible to indicate this fact, and the police driver wore plain clothes.
    “Turn right at the lights,” Harkness directed, “and cruise along the river front slowly.”
    “What news?” Nayland Smith asked.
    “The meeting is at Kwang’s beyond doubt.” Harkness fitted a cigarette into his holder. “Something afoot there all right. And we have settled one point that was bothering you. Visitors aren’t going in at the store; they’re ringing a private bell beside the door on the other street. Small office belonging to the warehouse.”
    “There have been visitors, then?” Smith rapped. “How many?”
    Harkness nodded as he lighted his cigarette.
    “Two, so far. Strangers to the area. And both carried cases.”
    “Similar to Orson’s which I have here?”
    “That’s it. The first man arrived on the dot of one-thirty-five. Exactly at one-forty, the second came along… Ah! Here’s a report.”
    He lifted the ’phone, listened, said “Go on reporting,” then hung up.
    “Another?”
    “Number three was there on the stroke of one-forty-five. I expect you follow my line of reasoning, Sir Denis?”
    “Clearly. The cards are timed so that no two deputies arrive together. My card says: ‘Two a.m.’—So I’m evidently expected to be the sixth arrival. Do they all come alone?”
    “Yes. On foot.”
    “H’m.”
    Nayland Smith stared out across