and no other could open and close a door like that. Cruze shivered. He
always shivered when Shan Tung passed him, and always he swore that he
could smell something in the air, like a poison left behind.

Keith, facing the window, was waiting. The moment the door was opened,
he felt Shan Tung's presence. Every nerve in his body was keyed to an
uncomfortable tension. The thought that his grip on himself was
weakening, and because of a Chinaman, maddened him. And he must turn.
Not to face Shan Tung now would be but a postponement of the ordeal and
a confession of cowardice. Forcing his hand into Conniston's little
trick of twisting a mustache, he turned slowly, leveling his eyes
squarely to meet Shan Tung's.

To his surprise Shan Tung seemed utterly oblivious of his presence. He
had not, apparently, taken more than a casual glance in his direction.
In a voice which one beyond the door might have mistaken for a woman's,
he was saying to McDowell:

"I have seen the man you sent me to see, Mr. McDowell. It is Larsen. He
has changed much in eight years. He has grown a beard. He has lost an
eye. His hair has whitened. But it is Larsen." The faultlessness of his
speech and the unemotional but perfect inflection of his words made
Keith, like the young secretary, shiver where he stood. In McDowell's
face he saw a flash of exultation.

"He had no suspicion of you, Shan Tung?"

"He did not see me to suspect. He will be there--when--" Slowly he
faced Keith. "--When Mr. Conniston goes to arrest him," he finished.