He stopped, his savagely gleaming eyes boring Keith to the marrow.

“He hates you as a snake hates fire-water.  It is possible, if he thought the opportunity had come to him—­”

Again he paused, cryptic, waiting for the other to gather the thing he had not spoken.  Keith, simulating two of Conniston’s tricks at the same time, shrugged a shoulder and twisted a mustache as he rose to his feet.  He smiled coolly down at the iron man.  For once he gave a passable imitation of the Englishman.

“And he’s going to have the opportunity today,” he said understandingly.  “I think, old chap, I’d better be going.  I’m rather anxious to see Shan Tung before dinner.”

McDowell followed him to the door.

His face had undergone a change.  There was a tense expectancy, almost an eagerness there.  Again he gripped Keith’s hand, and before the door opened he said,

“If trouble comes between you let it be in the open, Conniston—­in the open and not on Shan Tung’s premises.”

Keith went out, his pulse quickening to the significance of the iron man’s words, and wondering what the “mine” was that McDowell had promised to explode, but which he had not.

XVII

Keith lost no time in heading for Shan Tung’s.  He was like a man playing chess, and the moves were becoming so swift and so intricate that his mind had no rest.  Each hour brought forth its fresh necessities and its new alternatives.  It was McDowell who had given him his last cue, perhaps the surest and safest method of all for winning his game.  The iron man, that disciple of the Law who was merciless in his demand of an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth, had let him understand that the world would be better off without Shan Tung.  This man, who never in his life had found an excuse for the killer, now maneuvered subtly the suggestion for a killing.

Keith was both shocked and amazed.  “If anything happens, let it be in the open and not on Shan Tung’s premises,” he had warned him.  That implied in McDowell’s mind a cool and calculating premeditation, the assumption that if Shan Tung was killed it would be in self-defense.  And Keith’s blood leaped to the thrill of it.  He had not only found the depths of McDowell’s personal interest in Miriam Kirkstone, but a last weapon had been placed in his hands, a weapon which he could use this day if it became necessary.  Cornered, with no other hope of saving himself, he could as a last resort kill Shan Tung—­and McDowell would stand behind him!

He went directly to Shan Tung’s cafe and sauntered in.  There were large changes in it since four years ago.  The moment he passed through its screened vestibule, he felt its oriental exclusiveness, the sleek and mysterious quietness of it.  One might have found such a place catering to the elite of a big city.  It spoke sumptuously of a large expenditure of money, yet there was nothing bizarre or irritating