Before the entrance of a curio-shop he halted and consulted a card.  Then, satisfied that he had found his destination, he picked up a wicker carrying-case that for the moment he had placed on the curb and entered the shop.

A Chinaman stepped forward, scrutinized him closely, and, nodding significantly, bade the new-comer follow him.

They went to the back of the shop.  The Chinese clapped his hands, and a panel in the wall slid back, disclosing a stairway.  The new-comer stepped through the aperture and the panel closed behind him.  He mounted the stairs and came to a room, magnificent in its Oriental splendor.

Priceless rugs covered the floor and walls, while on wonderfully carved teakwood stands reposed ancient porcelains, specimens of bygone dynasties, antique arms and armor cunningly wrought, jades and ivories marvelously fashioned by master craftsmen long since dead.  Seen through the filmy haze of rising incense, the room was a veritable treasure-house of Oriental art.

On low settees a few richly clad Chinese were reclining, and in a far corner, gazing intently into a globe of crystal, sat a man of the same race as the new-comer, a Madagascan.

Startled at the entrance of the giant, he left off his shadow-gazing and came hastily forward, cringing as he did so.

The giant, in an impressive, booming voice, now spoke for the first time.

“I, the Strangler, have come from Madagascar with the Great Torture.”

A door opened and Doctor Q entered the room, his head wagging from side to side.

As he caught sight of the Madagascan he stopped short and put his hand to his head with a gesture of perplexity, striving piteously to place the stranger.  He could not succeed.  With a half-running, half-stumbling gait he withdrew to a corner of the room and furtively watched the two Madagascans.

There came the sound of a gong.  A panel slid back, and into the room there majestically swept a Chinaman of pure Mongolian type.

He was gorgeously clad in flowing silks and wore the princely cap with a button.  At a glance his piercing eye took in every detail of the room.  Then he went directly to the Madagascan, whose overbearing air of assurance immediately forsook him at the Chinaman’s approach.

He bowed low and reverently, for it was Long Fang to whom he made obeisance, Long Fang, leader of a great Tong, and implacable foe to all others, a Chinese whose tentacles of power reached into every corner of the underworld, spreading terror.

In an incisive, icy voice that sent a chill through the big man’s frame, he now spoke.

“You have been overlong on your journey and we have been waiting for you.”  Then with a menace in his voice he snarled, “It is well for you that you came at last.”

The big man shuddered and remained silent.  Long Fang crossed to Doctor Q.

“The instrument of torture is here,” he said.  “The Madagascan has just brought it.  He is an unrivaled strangler.”