He tore open the envelope and glanced at the note.  It came to the point with brutal frankness.

“Johnny Thompson:  You are known to have in your possession rare gems which do not belong to you.  You will please leave them on the doorstep of 316 North Bird place, and rap three times before you leave.

“If not—­”

That was all, save that in place of a signature there was a splotch of red sealing wax.  The wax had been stamped with an iron seal.  The mark of the seal was that of the Radical Clan—­the same as that on the envelope which contained the diamonds.

“And that, I suppose,” whispered Johnny to himself, “means that if I do not leave the diamonds where I am told to I shall be flattened out like that drop of wax.”

Switching out the light, he opened the blinds and took his old seat by the window.  He was at once absorbed in thought.  So all his dodging and twisting had not served to throw them off his track.  They had discovered his den.  And he must give up the diamonds and—­

“If not—­”

Those two words stood out as plainly before him as if they were flashed forth from an electric sign on the roof across the river.

He was half minded to give the diamonds up, but not to those rascals.  No, he would allow one of their spies to trail him to the Custom House, and there, before the man’s very eyes, Johnny would take out the envelope with the seal plainly showing, and hand the diamonds in as smuggled goods.

There was but one objection to this plan; he still had a strange fancy that someway Cio-Cio-San had a rightful interest in those gems.  At least, he was not sure she did not have.  Until he had determined the truth in this matter, he was loath to part with them.

But in keeping them he was taking a risk.  He might be attacked and killed by that ruthless gang at any time.

For a long time he sat, staring down at the river.  He was not in a happy mood.  He was tired of all this trouble, fighting and mystery.  On crowded State street that afternoon, he had seen Mazie.  That made it worse.  He had never seen her look so well.  She had changed; grown older, and he thought a little sadder.  Was the sadness caused by the fact that she believed him dead?  He dared to hope so.  All this filled him with a mad desire to touch her hand once more, to speak to her, to assure her in a score of ways that he was not dead.

Then Hanada had disappointed him.  He had hoped they would meet again and have another conference that night; had hoped that the wise little Jap would have some solution of the mystery of the shots from the river, and the strange disappearance of the man they had taken to be the Russian.  But Hanada had said “No.”  He had given no reason; had merely left things that way.  Hanada had been like that always; he never explained.  Perhaps he did have some other important engagement; then why could he not tell Johnny of it?  Why all this constant enshrouding of affairs in mystery?  What did he, Johnny, know about the whole business anyway?  Not a thing.  He was only assured by the Jap that it was his duty to stick on the trail of the Russian until it led somewhere in particular.  He was not, in any circumstances, to have him arrested or killed without first consulting Hanada.