Though Ashton-Kirk was as sure Sorakicha stood behind him as he would have been had his eyes rested upon him, he did not turn his head. The man's entrance had been effected almost without sound; the rustling of the curtains had been no louder than a lightly drawn breath.

"And now," reflected the secret agent, calmly, "he is waiting behind me until he is told what to do. I trust that I shall be sufficiently fortunate as to catch the signal."

But he continued to lounge back in his chair with crossed legs, balancing the stick lightly between his fingers. Okiu stood regarding him with careful attention.

"Yes," he continued, "I now see that it is probable that you are what I have always understood you to be—a man of exceptional talents. No one," with a slow smile, "cares to admit that he is dull of perception, but I confess, sir, that in this matter, in which I have been judging you, you may have been more successful than I have imagined."

"It is more or less difficult to follow the workings of a mind, the owner of which is not under one's immediate observation," returned Ashton-Kirk, philosophically. "So, looking at the matter from that point of view, you have nothing to chide yourself for."

But Okiu paid no attention to this; apparently he was grappling with a more concrete matter.

"What you have said interests me," he said. "And so," putting his hands upon the table, and leaning across to the other, "the paper has been found?"

"You might call it finding it, if you were at loss for an expression," replied Ashton-Kirk. "Though on second thought, I confess I should apply another term, myself."

"We will not discuss terms," said Okiu gently. "Let us call the matter of getting the desired thing what you please; there are more important matters to think about just now." He still bent forward, his hands resting upon the table; his expressionless face was held close to that of the secret agent. "And so," said he, "you could place your hand upon the person who now has the paper, could you? That is interesting. And still more interesting is the fact that you could do it in a very few moments."

Ashton-Kirk nodded and smiled.

"It gives us all a certain satisfaction to learn that we are interesting," said he. "This is so almost at any time. But at a moment like this—when interest is created in a person who had utterly lost confidence—it is doubly pleasing."

"Perhaps," said Okiu, and the purr in his low-pitched voice was more pronounced than the secret agent had ever heard it before, "you have occasion for satisfaction; and then perhaps you have not."

Ashton-Kirk met the black, heavy-lidded eyes squarely.

"Will you be more explicit?" he said.

"I can see no harm that it will do now," said the other, and the secret agent quietly noted the emphasis which he laid upon the last word. "So the facts are these. Though I regard you as a sort of fellow workman, and though I have a very definite admiration for your talents, still your interests are arrayed, so to speak, against mine; and this being the case——"

Here he paused. The glittering eyes lifted and darted a look over Ashton-Kirk's shoulder to the waiting Sorakicha. But even then the other maintained his lounging attitude and his manner remained unruffled.

"Well?" said he, inquiringly.

"This being the case," said Okiu, smoothly, "I have thought it best to——"

One of the supple hands began to rise; as it stirred, Ashton-Kirk launched a kick at the table which threw it against the Oriental and drove him back several steps. At the same instant as he delivered the kick, the secret agent bent low and leaped forward. The great arms of the wrestler closed above the chair upon empty space; then the light cane swished through the air; the globes of the cluster of lights which had hung over the table fell in a shower of fragments, and instantly the room was plunged into darkness.

Softly, and with the catlike quickness of Sorakicha himself, the secret agent gained the door. He had fixed its location in his mind, and so had no trouble finding it in the dark. It opened as he turned the knob; the hall too was dark, and he slipped into it, closing the door behind him.

Carefully, but with some speed, he passed along the hall, his hands outstretched like the antennÆ of an insect. From the room which he had just left came the sounds of stumbling feet and the confused outcries of angry men.

Just as the door was thrown open, Ashton-Kirk felt his hand touch the stair-rail; and he softly descended as the feet of the two Japanese sounded in the hall behind him. The lower hall was also dark; but through a fanlight he caught the gleam of a street lamp.

"The front door," he told himself, as he carefully made his way toward it. But it was fast. Up and down its edges ran his fingers; but there was no bar, chain nor catch; the bolt of the lock was shot, and the key had been removed. He turned with his back to the door and listened; the Orientals were stealing down the stairs.

For the second time that night his hand went into the outside coat pocket in search of the pistol. But, this time, when the hand slipped from the pocket, the weapon came with it. Silently he stood there in the shadows that lurked beneath the fanlight; the creeping sounds from the staircase continued and then paused. There was complete silence.

"They are listening," was Ashton-Kirk's thought. "They think that the fanlight may have attracted me, and desire to make sure."

At any moment he expected a flare of light, but none came; neither did he hear any further sounds. He held the pistol hand close to his body, the muzzle commanding the hall; the fact that ten grim, copper-clad servants of death stood between him and his foes was reassuring, and he continued to await the development of the situation.

For a long time there was silence; then he heard the creeping resumed; his jaw tightened and his grip upon the pistol butt grew more rigid. But another instant told him something else. The Japanese were not advancing as he had expected; instead they were retreating along the upper hall.

"They have made up their minds to the situation," was Ashton-Kirk's explanation. "And as facing a stream of bullets does not enter into their calculations, they are about to try something else."

This latter, of course, would be based upon his remaining where he was; and at once he took steps toward the confusion of things by also moving along the hall in the same direction as the others. He had noticed upon his entrance to the house that the hall was almost bare of furniture, so there was small danger of his colliding with anything. Little by little he went on; now and then he paused and listened intently. But there was no sound, however slight. At length his hands touched a smooth surface. It was a door; cautiously he turned the knob and opened it. The room before him was as dark as the hall; and he halted with the door only a few inches ajar, peering within.

"It's a room on the north side, and well toward the rear," passed through his mind, "and it's only natural to suppose that there are windows in it. The blinds must be tightly drawn, for I can't make out even a glimmer of light."

He waited a little, his pistol held ready, then he stepped into the room. The first thing that attracted him was a thin, bright line which apparently lay upon the floor at his right. He studied this for a moment and then it occurred to him what it was. There was a light in an adjoining room, and the rays were seeping under the door. Again he waited, and listened. It had been his purpose to locate a window, unfasten it, and so make his way to the open air; but the light in the room beyond indicated the presence of someone so close at hand as to make this proceeding perilous.

But as no sound came from the lighted room, he made up his mind to venture nearer. He had taken but one step, however, when a board creaked behind him in the darkness. Poised for the next step he halted and again stood listening. Nothing followed, and the breath slowly exhaled from his lungs, his flexed muscles relaxed, and he settled back upon his feet for another spell of silence. He had just about made up his mind that the creak had been caused by himself, when he became aware of another and barely discernible sound. It was soft and hissing, a sort of rubbing, as though one smoothly-surfaced thing were drawn across another. Like a flash the secret agent realized what it was. Some one stood in the doorway with his hands outstretched, as his own had been, and it was their contact with the door frame that made the sound.

Then there came a step, slow, careful, light; a pause followed and then the unknown's breathing could be distinctly heard. Another step followed, cautious, muffled, secret; and again came the pause.

The grip of the secret agent tightened upon the pistol; he faced about softly to meet the newcomer, whom a few steps would bring to his side.

But now the steps ceased, and though he listened with eager ears, Ashton-Kirk failed to note their resumption. This struck him as odd; there had been no sound, nothing that could have startled the other into a longer pause than formerly; and yet that he was standing stock-still somewhere in the darkness was unquestionable. Then like lightning it occurred to Ashton-Kirk why this was. Judging from the footfalls, he stood between the unknown and the door under which crept the line of light; and the break in this line, caused by his intervening feet, had caught the other's attention.

Gradually the secret agent became aware of the unknown's breathing; at first it was scarcely discernible, but little by little it grew in rapidity and harshness; it became labored, straining and drawn with increasing difficulty; as plainly as words could have done it, it spoke of mounting excitement and a quickly forming purpose.

The automatic pistol began to lift—but too late. Like a wild beast the unknown leaped through the darkness, and a pair of long powerful arms enwrapped the secret agent. The pistol fell to the floor, and there began a desperate struggle for the mastery. By a few swift twists and the free use of his knee, Ashton-Kirk managed to free his arms which had been pinioned at his sides; then he drove one elbow into his opponent's neck, and they went reeling blindly about.

There was a moment of this, then the attack of the unknown abated; it were as though he had felt his adversary out and found him rather more than a match. And with this discovery came new tactics. Ashton-Kirk felt the rugged grasp grow still slacker; one hand slipped away altogether. This could mean only that it was feeling in unseen pockets for a weapon; and upon this the secret agent began to fight silently, swiftly, desperately.

A series of short jarring blows drove the other back; a short powerful lock lifted him from his feet. But with a frenzied wrench the man broke the hold, and as he did so they both fell with their full weight against the door under which the light was shining. It gave way with a crash, and a flood of illumination poured upon them.

And with the first flash of it, Ashton-Kirk saw a hand armed with a "billy" lifted to strike him; and behind it was the white, desperate face of the man who had followed him into the room—the face of Philip Warwick. And as recognition came, the wrist bent with a quick practised jerk, the leather-covered lead descended, and Ashton-Kirk fell prone upon the floor.